when the words are aged, war is waged
#1
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Finding his sister had taken a great weight from his shoulders, but he did not want to return to the rest of the tribe. It was a foolish idea to do so regardless — especially if they were coming to meet up with the few that were in this area already. So Itsihnalv had taken it upon himself to scout out his possible home. He had set out with Ataya, his dark gray horse, early in the morning to go trace the western coastline as it meandered north. They had been doing fine until a scent barrier told them a pack — and one not comprised of wolves — was positioned in the crook of the bay, where it looped back around to the west. It was no matter for the duo; they simply took the long route around and continued until they ended up in the land known as Drifter Bay.


It wasn’t a very fantastic area by any means; a broad expanse of sea, made a dull gray by the clouds that hid the sun, nondescript sand, broken shells, and scattered pieces of driftwood. He conversed shortly with Ataya, noting that she was tired and would like to rest for a bit. He acquiesced, slipping nimbly down from her back and giving her the go-ahead to go wandering to look for whatever she could graze from, and to call or come back if she needed him. After that, she wandered away without another word.


Itsihnalv took a few minutes to wander up the beach before, feeling tired of walking, picked a spot on a larger piece of driftwood and took a seat. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning towards the sea as he stared at it. His mind was elsewhere, but he could still feel the familiar — and yet still somewhat eerie — prickling of the fur at the back of his neck as Uguna appeared by his side. The badger, hunched over as usual but still retaining his definite air of dignity, glanced out of the corner of a crystal eye at the young werewolf. “How do you feel, Itsihnalv?” The voice rang in his ears, but he couldn’t be sure if he actually heard it or if it was just resounding in his head. He shrugged his narrow shoulders, hunching over even more. “Nervous. There are many others here, and some I do not recognize the scents of at all. It is dangerous. I do not know if I agree with us settling down here.” Uguna grunted. “Sometimes you should just leave the decisions to your Chieftainess, and do your own duties.” With that note, he faded away once more.


The tribal werewolf sighed, shaking his head. It may have seemed like he was just talking to himself, and sometimes it felt like that, too. Uguna wasn’t exactly willing to share his vast wealth of knowledge all the time. It was really frustrating on a wolf with little patience to begin with.
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#2
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_____It had been only roughly a day since Andrezej had met his untimely demise along the shores of Drifter Bay and already she noticed that the rain had washed away the blood. It had been in the air, clung to her body, and permeated in her memory for hours. She was struck almost how oddly she had slept that night, it had been an easy sleep to fall into and she had woken from it early as she had the morning before. It had been like after Meth had died, though she had dreamt for weeks of hearing her cries against the creaking and failing of the burning wood as it had come down on top of her. But Andrezej hadn't screamed out in pain, he hadn't begged for his life. He had laughed, he had laughed right up into the moment Gabriel tore his throat out and left them all covered in blood.


_____But Corona didn't feel bad about what they had done; she felt a sense of relief there. Instead she was more curious of what had gone on in her brother's head, what exactly had made him tick out of time with the rest of them. She presumed that whatever it was didn't stem because he had been exiled—it was in fact, the reason why he had been ousted in the first place—but of something that had gone on well before the fire on the other side of the mountain, before her mother had disappeared like a wraith into the night. Whatever was wrong with that boy she could not fathom and only hoped that whatever it was would never crawl up through the cracks of Inferni again. Or any family she was related to.


_____Where he had died, maybe not much further away if not on the spot, was the place where he had been buried. Corona assumed that Rachias had done that, because she had been there shortly thereafter. The dark sand and stone had been disturbed in a way that was more than what they had done. And to think, she still had Andrezej's knife. She didn't know why she had kept it, other than to make sure no one else did harm with it and even at that, she knew that knives were pretty much only useful for that (because they were already equipped with their own cutting devices). Sighing, she didn't move from where she was hovering over the grave, half hoping she'd find answers she was looking for.

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#3
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Eventually, the young werewolf grew tired of his spot looking at the dreary ocean. It wasn’t particularly interesting to look at anyway; not that anything around here was. From what he had figured of Drifter Bay from the past few hours he had been wandering along it was that it wasn’t really interesting at all. It was gray, boring, cold, and depressing. He sighed, smoothly rising to his feet from his driftwood bench and started back along the way he had come. Itsihnalv was rather looking forward to getting back further into the mainland, and he thought Ataya needed a little break. He’d call for her later. He was more looking forward to walking and getting all the rest of his thoughts in order first.


He probably would have continued his walk without looking up from his immediate path if the actions of the previous few days didn’t leave a grisly reminder in the air. He immediately stopped, standing stock-still. The fur along his neck prickled at the smell of blood — not just the small amount of blood-scent that would indicate a trip, fall, and bleeding knee, but that of someone losing blood enough to perish — and he immediately whipped his head around to see if what had spilled the blood was still around. He almost started when he saw the figure of a golden-furred canine — not a wolf, but something that looked somewhat close — looking down at the ground around the spot that the blood-scent came from.



Itsihnalv didn’t move. He was definitely within sight, hearing, and scent range of the other, which meant he was definitely in the danger zone if she was, in fact, one who had spilled this blood the previous day. He wanted to get out of there, summon Ataya, and run to his sister to tell her of the violence that had happened here. He would have, if not for Uguna’s words in his ear. “You need the whole story to tell your Chief, Itsihnalv, not just what you think you have seen.” Though he wanted to disregard the piece of wisdom, it rang true with the werewolf. So he approached — very, very carefully — until he was roughly twenty feet away from the other canine.


“What happened here?” he asked lowly, his entire body straining towards running away. He was standing rigid, his dark eyes somewhat wide. Like an animal about to bolt. But still, he refused to run yet. Not until he had heard whatever the golden-colored creature knew.
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#4
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_____She wasn't standing there pondering things for very long before an auburn-coloured man turned up out of the corner of her eye. Corona wouldn't have thought anything of it had he not been a wolf; it could have been someone from Inferni. But the fact that he approached with such an expression and a question told her that he wasn't from around there at all. Still, she went on a slight defence of her own, ready and willing to strike him if he turned out to be more hostile than just have an innocent question.


_____“Someone died,” she said, stating the obvious. “He was buried where he died.” She didn't go into details, though the tone of her voice probably revealed that it wasn't much of an occasion. A sad one, maybe even a little bitter sweet; but someone had been lost. She let her head hang for a moment more, and then levelled it out with the man. “You're not from around here, are you?” She had never seen the likes of him before, though that went for just about everyone outside of a few. Corona wasn't exactly the social butterfly of the year by any stretch.

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#5
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He drew his lip back from his teeth in a momentary, silent snarl at her plaintive response. Of course someone had died here; anyone with a nose could smell that! The stench of death hung on the air like a curtain around a hospital bed, and was just as opaque. He sighed, his frustration released through that sharp breath. “Someone was killed here,” he responded, feeling as though he was correcting her more than anything. He regarded her critically, thinking that he might be facing someone who had been present — or active — in whatever murder had happened here. Because it hadn’t been accidental; not on this beach. The wolf would have had to have tripped and impaled his or herself on a spike of driftwood to end up with this much blood spilled, and that wouldn’t explain the multiple canine scents he was picking up now beneath the overpowering blood scent.


He didn’t needle her for information on it, though; not yet. Hopefully, once he knew who the hell she was, he would have more reason to know. For now, however, he simply shook his head at her question. “My tribe and I have come from far away to this place,” he answered, speaking somewhat defensively. He wanted to make it seem like he was in a large group (which he was), just in case the now-calm golden canine decided to snap and go on some murderous rampage right here and now. “And I am not sure I would agree with settling down here if this,” he stamped a foot once on the ground, meaning the death of the previous day, “Is commonplace.”
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#6
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_____Though he didn't directly answer her question, she got the indirect answer in the terms of talking about settling a tribe down. This proved intriguing, though she was somewhat entertained by how vehemently seemed about what had happened. So someone was murdered, so there she was standing over the grave looking sad and he had to go and point out every little obvious thing that was already outstanding in her mind. “Then I'd suggest you don't settle in the north. This land belongs to Inferni,” she answered him, talking at the same tone and pace as she had before. Though the very ground they were standing on wasn't directly belonging to Inferni, it may as well have.


_____“And there are some in Inferni who do not take well to wolves, especially ones that point out the obvious such as yourself.” At which point, her blue eyes left his dark ones and went back to the grave at their feet. “The man who is buried here is my younger brother. He attacked our family, my niece specifically, and came back to do away with us all.” So yes, he had been murdered, but that didn't make it wrong in her eyes. It had been justified. It had needed to be done. Though she desired to know what had driven Andrezej so, it was an answer she would never receive.

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#7
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“We will not settle in a place where it would cause conflict,” Itsihnalv said firmly, crossing his arms across his narrow chest. He found that it was very rough to speak to this canine, as everything she said and did conveyed a condescending tone to him. His frown deepened as she continued, though his understanding broadened more of her reasons. Itsihnalv had no qualms with eliminating threats such as whoever was murdered here last night, but that was not his reason to be so cautious and guarded. He roughly disregarded her pointed comment aimed towards himself – not really caring enough to engage in pointless insults – and remarked further, as to expand her own knowledge on his reasoning. “Are lunatics such as this,” he motioned to the ground, roughly implying her murdered brother, “Common here?” He frowned and shook his head before returning his inscrutable dark gaze to her. “If you do not understand my reasoning, it is only because I do not wish my tribe to live in a place where they are any more in danger than they were previously.”
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#8
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“No, they aren't.” It wasn't every day that someone wanted to kill their entire family. It wasn't every day that someone wanted to try and take over the family business before they were old enough and experienced enough to do so. Andrezej believed himself to be the exception to that rule and well, turned out he wasn't. In the end, they had put him back in his place and sent him back to the ground where he belonged. “Coyotes and hybrids aren't liked by some in this place, however. We don't go out of way to attack them, but they attack us on occasion because we're nature's scapegoats.” Devil's Rejects, something of that sort. She didn't know, but she was telling him what she did anyway. “So if you have anyone who is either a hybrid or a coyote, I suggest that you ask them to avoid going near a place to our southwest, Dahlia de Mai.” But maybe it would be better if his kind didn't even settle there. There were plenty of other places to go and set up a tribe, so why did it have to be there? With her eyes still focused on the ground at their feet, she pondered telling him that but decided not to. He was pigheaded enough, he'd learn in due time.
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