White Tide Jetsam
#1
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Word Count :: 572


So much had happened to her lately that her mind could easily have been a whirling maelstrom of chaos: a moving biro doodle of a scribble covering almost the entire page. Instead, the paper was wiped utterly blank, because Caspa had been training for months in stilling the hubbub, and she wasn't going to stop the practice now, despite the havoc that had wreaked itself on her peaceful life lately. She especially wasn't thinking about her limp, which was less pronounced now being more of a flat-footed movement where both feet barely skimmed the ground. As limps went, it was a strange one for the cause was not a discrepancy in the limbs, but the tightness in her chest which abhorred all shocks or sudden movements. It had amazed her how one beating could have set so many things wrong, and how weak she really was when she let others get close. They would never get close again.


Walking was good, it was her oldest habit and something she felt utterly comfortable in, though she worried she wouldn't be able to run for a long time as she used to through the human city. Out here in the woods though, walking seemed a more suitable gait, the still and soft snow-tipped moonlit treescapes far too quiet to warrant any kind of crazy dash. The moon was full again, or just a few days off, in the exact phase that she had last met Denver and they had agreed to meet again - only, this was the second reoccurance of the lunar date, as she'd been unable to travel during the last one. And even now she was a little late - the moon was already getting low in a steadily lightening sky, so if he had bothered to come at all after her failure to show up last time, he might have already left. At least Caspa hadn't gone much out of her way, having been travelling in the north already, and timing her return for this moment, aiming at the vague chance he would have kept faith in their tenuous agreement.


She watched the first rays of sun turn the misty clouds into pale amber liquid stains as she walked, the only thought floating into her calm mind one of relief that the cold would soon subside, if only briefly. She wore a black leather hood which extended into a shoulder-covering cape, and her long sheepskin gilet with the wide knife-bearing belt cinched tightly against her fur, but she still felt the cold through her insubstantial fur. She banished the thought though: suffering was something to be appreciated and endured, not spurned. If she'd really wanted to keep warm, she wouldn't have given her trench coat to Terra to borrow while her own garment was being worked on in secret. But then, the surprise would have been harder to cover up. She saw the rocks ahead where she'd run into Denver on that fateful day, and realised how ironic it was that she was having nostalgic thoughts of the Court while spending all her time up here where its last - or most recently known to her - disloyal member now lived. She started to circle the granite piles, searching for tracks in the creamy snow - had he been here at all, or was she a fool to assume the possibility?

Image courtesy of h.koppdelaney @ flickr; Table by the Mentors!

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#2
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omg, i am terrible. also, lol lazy denver

Even as Denver advanced in the ranks of Salsola, he found little desire for close friendships within his pack. Partly because many of them were mysterious, quiet people who kept to themselves. Denver understood this desire, and even he often longed for solitude, and found it in his modest stone shack. While he did not shun social situations, he found that most often they were useless things, arbitrary and uninteresting most times. He knew how to make the most out of these situations, though, and use them to his advantage. He knew it mus have been these attributes -- along with his loyalty, bravery, and strength, of course-- that made his King choose him as a Confidant. Sirius had chosen Magnolia, too, he remembered with a smirk; they had risen together.


But as proud as his high rank made him, Denver still remembered Caspa. It had been longer than expected since he'd seen her, and though he would not admit it, he had worried. The ivory mutt hadn't known much about the war to the south, but he'd heard whispers of its happenings. None had said how bad it had been, though, and Denver would have never guessed.


He'd made a small fire at the foot of the mountain, not far from their last meeting spot. It was not so far from Salsola, and he was anxious to see her again. The last time, he had lingered around the area, waiting to notice her scent on the breeze as he practiced his lassoing and knot-tying. In the end, he'd felled himself a sizable doe, which he'd dragged back to his home as the sun fell. This time, he'd come a bit later in the day, scouting out the area to be sure she wasn't already there. Then, he'd made the fire. He wasn't hungry just yet, but the walk out here had been enough to tire him, and he'd fallen into a lazy sleep against the trunk of a low tree, his vigilant watch abandoned. The orange glow of the flames colored his woolen clothes brightly, and its warmth kept him lulled into a gentle sleep.


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#3
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After treading softly in a wide circle, resembling the full moon she walked under, Caspa was about ready to give up. What would her next move be, she wondered. Straight home, or find a place to rest first. She turned to head south, thinking she would move a little distance from the higher ground at least. Something made her pause once more though, stray hairs from her braids blowing a little and catching the first few rays of the late winter dawn, drifting in the softly swirling air that brought the scent of woodsmoke.


Curving her steps in an attempt to find the source, she completed another side of the figure-8 before seeing the glow of firelight. More cautious steps brought her close enough to spy the slumped and sleeping figure, and she smiled, purely because there was nobody there to see her do so.


Finishing her approach almost near enough to reach out and touch him, she crouched, elbows resting loosely on her knees. In this position, her ribs were eased a little; it had the added attraction of bringing her right down to his level. Caspa could never resist the chance to take someone by surprise and thus give herself a small psychological advantage, even an ally like Denver. She also trusted him not to attempt to kill her: or at least she hoped not. "Good morning," she stated after a moment, her black eyes boring into the back of his skull by way of his eyelids.

Image courtesy of h.koppdelaney @ flickr; Table by the Mentors!

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#4
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sorry for the shortie! <3

Denver hadn't slept long enough to dream, but his body was warm and comfortable beside the fire, his mind blank and happy in rest. So when the voice came, soft and nearby, his eyes shot open suddenly, waking and reeling back against the bark of the tree. Wide-eyed and panic-stricken, his heart raced until pale blues found those familiar heavy-lidded ebon eyes. It was just Caspa. His anxiety faded immediately, breathing out a heavy sigh and shaking his head. It could've been anyone; one of those crazed coyote he'd heard about from Inferni, or any of the dangerous assassins lurking around in these neutral lands. It wasn't a smart move, nor a safe one, and he could feel his face flush. Good thing she couldn't see under his fur. "Jesus, Caspa, you scared the hell outta me! he said, scrambling to regain his composure. "I must'a fallen asleep... Where've you been?" he asked, rubbing an eye groggily once he was sitting upright again, ivory hand wiggling a stick about the ashes to prod the fire back to life. Now that she was here, he almost felt guilty for napping. He had waited, though, at least. Finally they met again; Denver didn't like being stood up.


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#5
She had been admiring his bravado in slumbering in such a wild, far-away part of the world, but she had to settle for admiring his gumption to admit it had been a mistake. She tried not to let a flicker of amusement show, but it was quite something to see him flinch back against the tree's bole with alarm at her subtle entrance. Oh, she was such a ghoul at times: almost a vampire of the emotions of others, excepting her beneficent nature. She flopped back onto a small heap of snow triumphantly, giving him distance to recover and pushing her cold toes nearer to the embers. "I am sorry." She had two things to apologise for: missing her appointment at the last moon, and the shock she'd given him by turning up so unexpectedly this time. "I was detained, against my will… by no other than Pestilence… and War." She shot him a dark, meaningful look, tilting her jaw to show him the new scar that split her lower jaw in two. How ironic that her scourges tallied with two of the Horsemen: she knew she hated horses for a reason. "You should be warned, as you are in my company, I expect Famine and Death to follow at any minute." She heaved a melodramatic sigh. "We should perhaps make this encounter a short one." But the way she laced her fingers comfortably around her knees and bent her face to the re-kindling flames, it seemed more likely she was settling in for more of a rest and recuperation from her long walk than making any plan to leave immediately. It was just word-play: if anything, Famine had already struck her from birth - her build was nothing but that of a starveling. And Death? Well, Skoll had thought her a ghost from the first. Perhaps He had already taken her too.
#6
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<3

Was she joking? At first Denver couldn't tell, but when her chin showed a fresh pink scar, he knew she wasn't. Caspa talked of the trouble that had kept her, but in a way that made him wonder how bad it all had really been. "You serious?" he asked, but knew it was true. "What happened?" Sitting back against the rough bark of the tree, he looked his friend over with pale, wondering eyes. The war had not affected the northern packs, and he was thankful; Denver wanted no part in a war that wasn't his own. "Well, if I die, it's all on you to tell m'pack," he said with a momentary chuckle. It wasn't a joking matter, he knew, but she seemed to make light enough of it that he might as well too. Her posture did not suggest a short meeting, and for that he was glad. It could take hours for them to catch up on everything that had happened in the past months. The sky had grown dark, but the fire grew as he added a fresh log, and soon the crackle of the flames provided ambiance for their talk.


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#7
Two words. Two words, greedy for so much more in return. What happened? Caspa blinked into the flames, arranging everything in chronological order as she had been taught by her historian lecturer, explaining the best way to recount a story. One of the more valuable lessons from her youth.

"The Court went to war with a Western pack," she paraphrased. "They raided our lands and took hostages. They were opposed to hybrids and dogs," she added, shooting Denver a meaningful look. "Lives were lost when we invaded, but their new ruler is supposed to be reasonable enough and hopefully, the racist sentiment is gone for now…" She tailed off, reminded that she still had not met the woman. Not that she'd met the old leader, either. Really, she had blindly followed her King in all this matter. It was a good job she trusted him implicitly, and her soul was one that yearned to prove itself.

"Then I was taken in by a criminal slave trader, like a fool. She led me away from the pack and almost killed me in the woods. I will hunt her down," Caspa promised. "She is mad, though, so may not last long enough for me to find her." But Caspa wasn't entirely sure of this. She had been the one to attack Amy, in actual fact. But the dog needed killing: it was as simple as that.

She racked her brains but nothing else that might concern Denver came to mind. Aside from the obvious. She had met others of his land, and gleaned nothing but suspicions from their company. She did not wish to volunteer this information so easily, though. It would gain her nothing: Denver was under some kind of oath of loyalty, and ever reluctant to reveal details of his packmates. She would return the favour, so it would be up to him to relent first. But perhaps his guard had relaxed a little since their last meeting. She would test the waters.

The fire was a companionable blaze now. "How can I be your messenger to a pack I know nothing about?" she teased gently. "Perhaps this would be a good moment for you to give me your Northern news, if you have any." She kept her tone casual, her palms soaking in fire heat and eyes drinking in the flickering, mesmerising flames.
#8
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weird pooooost

Denver could scarcely believe the tale, even as she wove it before him. He'd heard nothing of the intensity of the war. Salsola hadn't been touched, nor had it been involved in any way, and so his own involvement and interest had been limited. He'd been concerned, though, when Caspa hadn't arrived at their last meeting. He was thankful that her wounds were minor, and despite his failed allegiance to the Court, glad that it still stood strong. He couldn't truly hate the pack, not when it was home to one of his only friends, former home to Magnolia, and still home to her father. Denver hadn't liked Niro, it was true, but his grudge against the man mattered little now. "Which pack?" he demanded, wanting to know the name to avoid. The mutt rarely traveled south now, though, hard as it was to wind around and between the four northern packs just to get down far enough. He bothered little with travel lately, and had spent more time doing his duties as Confidant.


The wolfdog sat in silence as she regaled the rest of the story, his brows furrowing this way and that as he frowned between her and the flames. He warmed his own hands against the blaze as she talked of her captor, promising to end the criminal's life as she had nearly done to Caspa. "What's she look like? I'll kill 'er, too, if I see 'er," he swore, offering his allegiance to his pale, willowy friend, now scarred from a war that shouldn't have been. He couldn't believe that he had sat here idly while the southern packs had raged against each other. But had he known, would he really have gone? Denver scratched at his chin, leaning forward.


Icy blues melted in the firelight, and he took a heavy sigh as she requested news from the north. "I'm afraid it's nothin' so exciting," he offered lightheartedly, grinning for a moment to relieve the stress of the harsher subject. "Salsola's going strong, but most of us don't interact much with other packs," he shrugged, shifting his weight to move his feet into the warmth. They'd begun to tingle from the chill. "I've made a good friend here, though. A girl who moved here from the Court, too," he mentioned, talking freely of Magnolia for the first time since they'd begun their partnership. He would still not speak of her in terms of claim, since they were not truly together, but they spent an awful lot of time with one another. "Magnolia Takekuro's her name. She was born there, but I guess she didn't like it either," he finished with a shrug, glancing towards Salsola as if Maggie might come walking out just then, but he didn't. He almost wished she had.


"Besides that, nothin' but work. Sirius and Eris have made me a Confidant now, only a few notches below even them," he offered proudly, his voice lowered a bit, just in case. Sometimes it felt as if the trees had ears, and in Salsola, he could never be sure. "Maybe soon I can show you some 'o the land..." he trailed off, still unsure about this bit. Really, it wasn't much to look at, and Caspa would probably prefer the Court's landscape besides. Still, the urge to share with her was now persistent, since she had so recently almost lost her very life.


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#9
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"AniWaya," Caspa answered offhandedly. "But this is old news now, and for months there has been a renewal of peace," she reminded the hastily-spoken wolfdog. Less historical was the topic of Amy. "A yellow dog with a wagon. If you see her, be careful. She needs killing, true, but she is very violent and strong." Caspa was fairly sure the secretive and possessive Salsola would help to protect Denver in the event of fighting Amy, but what if he met her alone? Then he was better off running, in Caspa's opinion, but she would leave that judgement up to him. "I have seen no sight or sound of her since. She may have a hiding place. Perhaps more than one." Her conjecture tailed off: really it was nothing more than guesswork, and she became quiet again to listen to his side of the story.


As usual nothing was shown during this time but within her mind jolted. Maggie, the girl who had almost accidentally stolen her sacred pendant. The unhappy daughter of the blase Niro. Caspa wondered if Maggie had found the man who'd given her the cross necklace. That had sounded like a youthful infatuation if anything, though, and something in Denver's fire-lit eyes made Caspa wonder if the girl had moved on since their meeting.


"I remember her," she commented casually after he spoke. "She never wanted to be a Miracles wolf if I remember. She was so young, and already talking of running away." Sadness tinged her tones, but at least the girl had found a better place and escaped her misery.


Caspa gave him a sly look at the mention of his promotion. His dreams of grandeur had always been amusingly transparent since the day he'd strolled up to the stables asking for directions to the palace, dreaming of a golden crown, or at least that was what Caspa suspected. "You seem to be proving yourself," was all she said, though, not teasing him for once. It was good for her friend to climb in rankings. He was one of the more trustworthy canines around, and she had a sneaking suspicion there were some good qualities under the rough surface. "I would not want to undermine your efforts by getting you in trouble, much as I'd like to see the source of this secret power of yours," she sighed, but there were selfish reasons there too - she did not necessarily want her identity to be recalled to the dangerous Thistle King whose eyes had bored into her as if she were a possession like the silvery mare he rode or the knife in his hand, a sensation only half-formed but still sending shivers down her spine. "Who is Eris?" she asked: it was a name she'd heard before somewhere. "Are your numbers still swelling? We are smaller than before, since the new pack broke away. We can still defend ourselves, of course," she added quickly, hoping he didn't unthinkingly pass on news of the Court's weakness. They still had a good force of knights, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough to hold the borders in the event of another war. But that was why she was here talking to Denver, wasn't it? They trusted one another to stay confidential, and to share all the most important news from their respective lands.

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#10
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i did not even realize it had been so long on this, omg. just hit me next time. xD

Denver hesitated, but then reluctantly nodded, agreeing to the change in subject. War wasn't the most pleasant of things to talk about, and especially since she was alive he supposed he shouldn't dwell on it. But still, his friend had been held captive, mistreated. It made him angry to think of it. The Confidant growled; he wasn't going to go and track down the bitch, but he would certainly watch out for her. "I ain't afraid of no yella' dog," he said, spitting at the ground. How dare a dog go around ruining our reputation. Denver was a proud creature, and he did not like to see his heritage disgraced. He wasn't a yellow dog, but he was a dog nonetheless, pure or not. It was heinous. "I'll kill 'er," he promised again, rolling his sleeves up in the warmth.


"Mm," he mumbled, shrugging. "I didn't know 'er back then, but that sounds like Maggie alright." In spite of their prior talk, he smiled now, thinking of her. It was small and fleeting, but it showed. "She's a cool girl," was all he added.


Denver couldn't help but straighten, his pride showing through as she boasted of him. "Sure am," he grinned. At the idea of a secret power, he laughed. There was no secret, only power. "Maybe one day I can show ya." Though thinking on it, Denver couldn't remember when he'd seen an outsider inside of their territory. The ones that had tried were slaves now. "Eris is second-in-command," he explained. "She got me in." At her questions, he shrugged. "We're 'bout the same, t'be honest. There's a couple more kids now, and maybe s'more adults, too, but not too many." She didn't know the size of their pack to begin with, he knew, and so he was not afraid to reveal this information. Denver trusted Caspa, but the willowy woman was still not part of his pack, and he feared any of them finding out, and thinking he shared too much. Who knows what they might do to him.


"What new pack is that?" he asked, curious and wary now. Denver hadn't heard about this, but then again, he didn't get out much these days.



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#11
No worries! Its getting quite crusty now... I'm sure Casa isn't officially 'new' any more... haha. Wrap up soon perhaps.

Children was a good sign. His pack was growing and remaining strong. She was glad for him. She didn't pry further on any of his answers - even considering his enthusiasm towards the subject of Maggie. She was no spy, any more than he was and would not stick her nose into business that had no direct bearing on her or her pack. Although even this, she would never repeat - at least without assuring his absolute anonymity. Denver was similarly reticent, and she found herself approving of the manner they conducted their information exchange, methodical and unemotional though it was. They seemed to have a similar way of thinking. He had asked one question though. "The new pack is called Casa di Cavalieri. They are a pack of warriors, but their hearts appear to be in the right place," she explained a little dubiously. With violence, it was so hard to tell sometimes what was right and in what magnitude; especially a mass and planned attack. But so far she had no word of misdemeanour from their direction. "Anann leads them, if you remember her… not alone I think." She had taken a mate with her from the Court, leaving their numbers low, but he hadn't been quite such a fighter by all accounts. More than that Caspa did not know.

The fire flickered low and Caspa stirred it with a stick, accidentally sending sparks towards Denver's feet which she quickly patted out with the same stick, leaving little round marks of charcoal. She sighed, remembering how she'd stained Strelein's fingers a similar way, with his drawing materials. Her expression took on a far more mournful and wistful tone. "I am glad everything is going so well for you, Denver."


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