OOC: Takes place before Lubomir Varg joins Shadowed Sun, seen HERE
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Lubomir was tired. He couldn't honestly tell when he'd last eaten. He could remember hunting small game a few nights ago, but for the life of him he couldn't remember if he'd actually caught anything. The past couple of days he'd spent crossing a burnt land. It was full of a thick miasma, a smell so putrid it nearly choked Lubomir. He'd been used to the great open plains, covered in pure untainted snow. This new country was certainly not like the old; it felt dead and lost and abandoned. Lubomir feared that he'd made a wrong decision in going East.
He sat down on the ground and put his head on his paws. He would rest here and then continue in his search for others. So far he had caught no scent, but perhaps he couldn't underneath the foul smells. Perhaps there was truly nothing to catch. No scent, no smell, no whiff, nothing. If the land were indeed barren and abandoned, then he would have two choices: die here or make the long journey back home. Lubomir wasn't entirely sure what was worse. He could die here or die on the road. For now, though, he was tired and he needed sleep. Wearily he closed his eyes and drifted off, to dream of endless hunting with his old pack. His ears though remained pricked, to make sure nothing would attack him.
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[html] I'm assuming this happens on the mountain. If that's not the case let me know.
The only time Tristan left his sister’s side was to look for food. He was doing so now, trailing over the mountain quietly. What animals were left were being picked clean, but everything followed cycle. One foot after another, over another stone, auburn fur bright against the soot-stained landscape. There was nothing on this side of the mountain, but Tristan had spotted movement and was following it. Of course, as he neared, his disappointment was found—this was not food, but a straggler. Of course.
“You shouldn’t sleep here,” he said abruptly, advancing. Though a hybrid in truth, Tristan’s size was above average for a wolf, though it was his eyes that were the most imposing. A blue that was nearly white, remarkably cold. He paused his movement, keeping his gaze on the male. He was burning daylight, wasting time on this side of the mountain, but he had several hours before twilight fell. [/html]
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OOC: Yep, on the mountain
His eyes sprang open immediately but his body was too weak to react and jump, so Lubomir merely contented himself with looking at the male. The words travelled through his ears to his brain and seemed to lodge there, sticking like glue. He must have been exhausted, though he would never accept that. Lubomir was too proud to even tell himself that he needed rest. And right now he needed food. Wearily, he pushed himself upwards and staggered slightly.
The eyes. That made him freeze on the stop. It wasn't even the look in them, it was the colour. Something so blue it was white, something so completely beyond what Lubomir had ever seen that he could only stare. He shook his head and try to break free of whatever hold the wolf had on him. It was certainly no time to make enemies. He would need all the help he could get.
'I beg your indulgence. I wish to trespass on no one's land.' His voice was rusty and low. It had been a while since he'd used it and his throat was dry. Mostly, Lubomir had howled in despair, longing to undo what had been done in the Old Country and finding no solace. This was the first time in weeks that he'd spoken to any living thing. Perhaps some could might come of it. 'If you own this land, I will make my way onwards now. If not... If not, is it permitted to hunt with you? I do not know what happened here, but I know when I last ate and good sir, my needs command me.' Certainly an impressive speech, and a grovelling one. Lubomir hated himself for stooping so low and having no pride, but he would rather be fed and seen as weak than starving but proud. Pride was foolishness now.
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[html] “These aren’t claimed lands anymore,” he said darkly. “The fire took care of that.” The ground here felt peculiar, as if it had died with the fire. It was not familiar, as it once had been, and it was going to take years to recover. Never again, though, would wolves live here. There was nothing left for them. Tristan’s stoic face did not change, but he snorted through his nose and looked away from the stranger. “If you think you can. You’re in no state to do much of anything,” he stated. Without another word he began walking again, following indistinct trails. [/html]
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Not claimed? Again, the words bypassed his brain, an amalgam of sounds and meaning that he could not make sense of. He realised that for the past few days he'd been walking through burnt lands and scarcely given it a second thought. He shook his head and focused on the stranger again, trying to understand what it all truly meant. His brains kicked in finally and came up with the following: 1. something terrible had happened here; 2. he was alone in a foreign land, at the mercy of strangers; 3. if he didn't get up to follow this wolf, he would be stuck here and sure to die.
'Trying never hurt anyone.' His paws found the ground and some meagre strength passed through his legs. He pushed himself up, slowly, wearily, his bones aching. He needed to find it in himself, he needed to follow this wolf to food and perhaps a promise of more. 'I am Lubomir,' he stated simply as he trotted in step with the stranger. The respectful tone had not left him, but he was trying hard not to sound pathetic. 'Is there anything here left? Of wolves? Of food? What happened?'
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[html] “Tristan,” he said, offering his name with much indifference. He had become used to such a thing. The red male’s head dropped to try and gather scents above the ash, but found none. Frowning, he turned back towards the mountain. “No, from what I can gather. A fire burnt this place up and most of the survivors fled west.” There were many who weren’t so lucky. His sister’s children were among them. Pushing that thought from his mind he paused suddenly, eyes locked on the ground. There were deer tracks, fresh ones, and they were at an odd pace. This fellow was well on his way to death—maybe dead all ready.
Quickening his pace, Tristan soon found the prize; a young buck who had been caught in the fire, covered in sores and not long dead. The crows had begun picking at the body and he rushed at them, snarling. They took off and landed nearby, complaining loudly. Tristan ripped into the animal, tearing off its hind leg before turning his attention to the rest of the animal. He did, after all, have someone else to feed. [/html]
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Fire? By now his pace was falling behind again and he felt faintly worried that the red wolf would leave him behind for dead. Lubomir knew better than to try and help with hunting. He might as well preserve his strength for any tackling they might have to do. And then his mind processed the rest of the sentence. Survivors. Fleeing. West. He was about to ask something else when Tristan moved ahead and he had to draw breath and follow him
It was dead. That much was obvious. Lubomir nearly swooned from the smell. Something as big as a deer was indeed a worthy prize, one he had not been given in weeks. Not good enough to tackle large animals himself and reluctant to join any pack during his travels, he had had to make do with smaller animals and anything dead he could find. This, however, was a feast. Curiously enough, Tristan was tearing a leg from the animal. Lubomir hesitantly came closer. He was certainly not after much, just a moiety, a little piece for himself. 'How should we divide it?' He wasn't about to stand and stare, not with the crows so close. And... who survived? Any in your pack? How many souls had been lost? And was Tristan alone, like Lubomir?
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[html] By the time his companion had spoken, Tristan had eaten enough to fill his belly for the moment. Despite his size, his stomach had shrunk to the point he could survive on less then expected. Licking blood from his face, the red wolf eyed the stranger curiously. “You can have what’s left,” Tristan offered, having secured enough for Fatin. “You look like you need it,” he added snidely, shaking ash from his coat. “I don’t know who survived,” he answered honestly, looking out to the ruined forests. “I’ve seen two besides my sister, and heard more.” [/html]
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OOC: Closing it after you post works just fine with me ^_^
Lubomir's first bite of the meat nearly made him throw up. It had been too long, his stomach wasn't used to feasting any more but he took another bite and soon enough he was almost so engrossed in eating that he missed what the other was saying. He lifted his head and listened intently, trying to see if there was some hidden information Tristan could not openly disclosed, but it seemed like there was little else to say. Lubomir felt sad again, because almost instinctively he knew that the other had urgent business to attend to. And the grey wolf had a journey to finish. On the other hand, at least there were survivors and Tristan still had his sister. He even considered making a joke, a comment to lighten the dismal mood, but it would have been ribald, uncivilised and in bad taste. So instead Lubomir gave Tristan a small smile and said, 'I can only thank you. Had you not roused me, I might have decided to end my journey and my life there. And I give thanks for sharing this with me. I wish you good fortune, may you and your sister find your way out. I will not forget your kindness, Tristan.' Slowly, he bowed his head in a humble manner and proceeded to tear more meat off the buck. He would fill his stomach and move on.
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