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A place, somewhere in her history — maybe not hers, but the clans as a whole — existed over the mountain, blackened and soot-streaked, a beach much like theirs — but she would never see it. Long determined it had been that Valkyrie de le Poer, though curious about the past of the clan, would never ascend the Halcyon Mountains to see the extent of the damage. The land's recovery was probably marginal right now; scars like that took lifetimes to heal.
This didn't stop her from going anywhere near the mountains at all, however. She had moved right from Inferni's territory that sprawled over The Waste to the lower mountain, where the terrain was still smooth and somewhat welcoming, and had stopped only when she had spotted a tiny herd of critters.
The scenario was easily stated in a diary, which was kept open on the small pile hidden in the trees that was Valkyrie's dress, her belt, and a girlish sunhat she had been wearing prior to shifting: "Sun: High in the sky. Herd of sheep, upwind, three lambs."
Valkyrie preferred to write concisely and neatly, as though stating the point was more important than the flowery details of life. She crouched amidst undergrowth in that low part of the mountain, watching as they grazed, and picked out not one of the recorded lambs, but a young growing buck.
One couldn't say she wasn't an ambitious youth, but she believed if she could isolate it on a cliff, she could run it off, and the ridges weren't very high above her. Disentangling it from the herd's protective circle would probably be much, much harder, but maybe the stupid side-eyed animals would be more concerned about the younger lambs to notice one male slipping away into oblivion.
Her paws tensed as her Secui form's thick muzzle pushed gently into the foliage, parting it silently, and amber rum eyes scoured the scene before her for an opening.
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------Anselm had grown on up the leeward side of a mountain range. Although he wasn't quite able to understand why the weather bade that half of the range to be drier than the other, he certainly understood the consequences. Those on the windward side were blessed with increased rain, abundant rivers and lakes as a result, and more prey in turn. The two packs that laid claim to those territories always reined supreme, the sheer quantity of resources being the end-all, be-all factor in battle. Fortunately, Azadis and the Kackawan were content to let the three less fortunate packs to the south squabble amongst themselves.
------Needless to say, mountains struck a peculiar chord with the hybrid; whether it was more nostalgic or dreadful was up for debate, but it certainly rattled him deep in his core. The tattooed wolf still preferred to train in the mountains occasionally; their steep slopes, rocky terrain, thinner air, and general seclusion culminated in a supreme environment for increasing performance with limited interruptions. Not only did they reward sure-footedness and coordination, they challenged the lungs and body to scrape by on less oxygen. Consequentially, the same exercises at lower elevations would be even easier.
------Given Inferni's "situations" (Dahlia de Mai, Phoenix Valley, Bastardo, and all the idiots that thought it was okay to just hang out in Inferni's back yard), Anselm had been hard pressed to find time to himself away from the territory. With Kaena and Gabriel he had little to worry about, though, and Halcyon Mountain wasn't exactly far from home. Fully shifted to maximise the effectiveness on his training (it was much harder to keep balance on two legs than four, and the large optime form certainly demanded more oxygen), Anselm moved at a brisk pace up the slope, using his claws and hands to grip boulders and hoist himself up so he could move on. A sharp crack! in the distance caught his attention, and he slipped closer to the source: two rams practising for the upcoming rut in an impressive attempt to woo the small herd of ewes nearby. He regarded the engaged beasts indifferently--they were preoccupied and wouldn't be bothering him, most likely, and he was upwind of them (and consequentially his granddaughter) anyway. It wasn't like he could sneak up--he could always find an easier meal later.
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The younger of two Luperci, the one spurring a situation that was probably not the best idea (in retrospect this would be proven), also heard the resounding crack of horn-on-horn in the near distance. She, unlike Anselm, had no idea what that sort of signal meant, so for a moment she froze, daring even a hair along her black-stippled back to stir. The wind, fortunately, died momentarily to help her with her conquest. The echoing of that whip-like impact fell away, and Valkyrie relaxed a little, creeping forward just a little more.
The herd, of course, caught wind of the creature in the mountains sooner than she did, and a restlessness fell about their actions. The males stopped their sparring, glancing upward as if expecting a rock slide to tumble upon them, and Val's delicate senses prickled the moment the scent caught her nose: coyote.
Normally a welcome scent, that of Inferni suddenly infuriated her, tickling her irritation and pulling her fancy down a couple notches. For one of her clan mates to be here, now, was unfortunate, and he had chosen a rather ill place to seat himself. She couldn't see her grandfather, nor was she able to pick out his own unique scent amongst that of sheep and coyote generally, but she knew somebody was there, disrupting her hunt. Perhaps it wasn't intended, but she wasn't about to lose out now.
She broke cover quickly, while the sheep were still assembling themselves, throwing her Secui bulk forward into a lumbering run the moment they noticed her. Unpractised and of the belief that surprise was an element that was always beneficial to the hunter, Valkyrie believed that their scattered bleating and confusion was a bonus for her, and at first it seemed that was the case. The young ram she had chosen turned in a skitter of grass and stone and bolted for a ridge, her plan of attack already falling easily into motion, and she followed, sure-footed despite not being too used to the terrain.
It might've worked, if the ram hadn't stopped before tumbling over that precarious precipice to its death below. What she hadn't included in the equation was the beast's defensive nature, and considering she knew nothing of sheep and their mating rituals, she could not have foreseen it. Instead of running over the edge, her quarry turned at her with an aggressive snort, waving its horns.
She backpedaled hard, pulling herself short of the beast just in time for it to toss itself forward and smack her back with its juvenile rack. She, of course, bounced harmlessly away, sucking breath in as the pain of that blunt impact shot through her shoulders, her arms, her ribs' contact with the ground, and most of all, through a shallow (though quickly bleeding, given it was the head) gash it had split across the top of her forehead.
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------Unease washed over the heard like fog rolling through a valley. This was a natural and somewhat predictable response, and initially he thought nothing of it. He was about to turn and continue on his way when chaos erupted below. A frown settled upon his features quickly and he turned back, watching in confusion as they scattered and guided the youngest to safety. His crimson gaze scanned the ground below quickly and a flash of movement caught his attention. Anselm hardly knew Valkyrie's scent, much less what she looked like, but he did register her build as having a strong coyote influence. His black-tipped ears pressed forward as he recognised her tactic--it was one he had used himself, albeit in slightly different circumstances. Adrenaline surged through his veins at the prospect of a hunt, but his enthusiasm faltered as something went wrong: the horned beast wasn't going down without a fight.
------For everything, Valkyrie had probably selected the most (strategically, not physically) benign target overall. Even fully shifted, Anselm was less than enthused about the idea of grappling with one of the huge rams--they weighed nearly as much as he did. By not targeting one of them, the ewes they wished to mate with, or the children the ewes would fuss over most, she had done well. At least the bigger beasts wouldn't mind the coyotes eliminating one of their prospective competitors. The wolf dropped to a crouch, turned, and gripping the lip of the ledge, lowered himself down to the next level. The next platform was lower to the ground and he moved head first in an awkward leap; here he saw the ram charge. All at once it hit him; this girl was definitely from Inferni, definitely young (the secui form had been deceptive from a distance), and he knew of only one young girl in Inferni: his granddaughter.
------Hackles on end and eyes burning like wildfire, the tattooed hybrid moved without hesitation now. He dropped down two more levels in haste, landing roughly in a crouch on the final drop, which was the greatest. Ignoring his jolt as his joints protested the rough impact, he moved forward with a roar, hoping to focus the ram's attention on himself. The others had already scattered and the young ram was feeling the desperation of his abandonment sinking in. The beast now turned its attention from the girl, focusing instead on the much larger male that was still charging directly. Still quite cornered, the ram saw only one option: to counter the caramel hybrid's charge with one of his own.
------Unlike a fight with other wolves, Anselm saw this as an all-or-nothing shot. Wolves knew when to stop--they knew when to retreat so they could live to fight another day. They also possessed a degree of mercy, or perhaps they were unable to ignore the potential for consequences involved in taking another canine's life. This situation was different; the ram had everything to lose and it couldn't be swayed by words or logic. Timing was everything. It was a strange sensation, charging towards a massive oncoming truck of a beast, but Anselm kept on all fours full tilt until the last possible moment. When the ram was only a metre or so away, he rose swiftly, hands out and palms up on either side of the ram's head. He grabbed both horns, one in each hand, and twisted hard as a driver may turn a steering wheel around a sharp corner. His body leaned forward and his hind feet gripped the rocky soil as best as they were able as the ram's momentum drove him backwards with a rough blow to the gut, but his grip released quickly and the large animal fell in a heap on the ground. Its neck had never been meant to turn 90 degrees so suddenly. His vision threatened to black over due to the wind being knocked out of him and he was panting roughly. Settling into a crouch over the animal, one arm was used to prop himself up as he rested the other on his abdomen, muttering curses and half-ready to punt the damn thing over the cliff as soon as he regained his breath (not really, but it was a nice thought).
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She coughed viciously when the ability came back to her, rolling to the side as her bruised ribs protested, and she stood quickly. Blood had spilled across the left side of her head and over her eye, forcing her to close it and therefore taking away both a chunk of her vision and her necessary depth perception. Like that, Valkyrie was mostly useless.
The ram was a stupid animal when compared with Luperci, but it wasn't dumb enough to know she wasn't a threat anymore. Any wolf near a herd of anything — thought it was beginning to retire and her prey, now a bully upon her, was growing restless by the moment — was always to be taken as a threat, and prey animals knew this better than any.
It snorted and was about to take another run at her when a canine roar (perhaps somewhat mangled by both fury and intention) broke the stillness, and it found its next opponent already at a run.
Anselm was a magnificent creature, a coyote that, of yet, had little to no match for brilliance. His coat was like wildfire to the golden hybrid child — it sparkled in the sun, a hazelnut-red with hints of gold and caramel-cream all swirled into one tasty batch of Anselm — with splashes of black to break the mold. Like most canines he was lighter at the cheeks, the chin, and the belly, but that was not what had attracted her attention. On the back of his left arm, not far above the wrist, was a bright red tattoo.
She had no idea what it meant, but it matched his eyes impeccably, and she momentarily wished she could have one, too. Many of the clan members had the Chaos Star symbol, but she was not to receive that when she came of age, either.
She watched with some astonishment as Anselm took the young ram — likely readying itself for its first rut ever — head-on. It was a bold move, something she would probably never have dared, but he must've done it before. That, or he was a very strategic coyote, and simply knew tricks she couldn't imagine ever learning.
All she really saw was the beast connecting with her grandfather, who she hardly knew but in talk anyway, and then the beast crumpling to the ground as Anselm leaned on one arm, muttering to himself.
Ignoring the cut in her head — the blood would become sticky and dry in time, and it wasn't deep nor, she somehow determined, fatal — Valkyrie pushed herself forward, her bulky form slowly streamlining and shortening until she was in her Lupus form.
Nobody had ever told her it was potentially dangerous to shift with an injury, but nothing seemed to happen when she did. Are you all right? she asked when she got near Anselm. She gritted her teeth a little as she thumped back to the ground and observed his arm pressed against his stomach, and she wished briefly that she had some sort of painkiller on her for his benefit. Is there anything I can do? she then asked, meeting his eyes with an innocence there that had always been a part of who Valkyrie was, a need for direction to be given and not derived from assumption. And, of course, she was willing to take any command he may give her.
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#$%@Many things associated with life were painfully weak: leaves were fragile and tore easily, flesh readily gave way to teeth and crafted metal alike. Sometimes vulnerabilities weren't so obvious. Even the tall and mighty trees, often thought of as permanent (for most were in any given canine's lifetime), could be brought down by fungi and rot or powerful winds that pushed on them perpendicular to gravity's pull. Bones were similarly remarkable when it came to compressive strength, but they, too, succumbed to shear forces. If Anselm had pushed the ram straight back, his efforts would have been pointless.
#$%@An opportunistic creature at best, he'd regarded what others may consider weapons (the ram's horns) merely as handles for his convenience. It was unfortunate that he'd never fine tuned his muscles to both rotate and push--but why would he, when the need had never arisen before? As such, to ensure the twisted neck had properly snapped, he'd needed to absorb the beast's forward momentum as best as possible without being able to explicitly resist it. The animal's head was broad, though, far more so than a well-aimed fist, which spread the force of impact over a greater area: he would be fine in a moment (Anselm's training consisted of a motley of different styles, what could be traditionally thought of as boxing being one of them--he at least knew how to tense the muscles of his abdomen such that the blows affected his internal organs less).
#$%@"Could be worse," he said raggedly, as he gradually became aware of the reality beyond his own body and the ram. Though his back was still turned toward her, he found himself subconsciously shifting downward as the adrenaline rush subsided. He paused the shift halfway, as usual, and shook the dust off his coat as he returned to four legs. Turning now to face the girl, he was struck at once by her similarity to her mother.
#$%@Her muzzle had the same dark band as Ryan's, and her slim, feminine form belied her heavy coyote blood. Anselm (thankfully) saw very little of her father's influence in her--though a good part of that could be attributed to him seeing what he wanted to see, and ignoring what he didn't. Their eyes met briefly and they stood out as the only feature he could not place--even Hybrid's had been a similar shade to the de le Poer crimson, as had Asphyxia's. Perhaps she'd inherited the shining gold colour from Lené--genes were funny, and those that laid dormant sometimes inexplicably rose again in further removed generations. Her ears were almost unnecessarily large, but he thought they simply highlighted her delicate features more and made her appear more expressive... something that again reminded him strongly of Ryan, who was far less stoic than he was.
#$%@He shook his head softly at her question and stepped forward, gingerly licking the blood from her face--a wolf's saliva held strange healing properties, and she couldn't very well access the wound herself. Besides, they were family. Careful not to greatly disturb the clot that had already begun to form, he nudged her chin gently as he took a step back, his own silent promise that he wouldn't be bringing this up with anyone--not even Ryan. If the girl wished to mention the incident to her mother, it was her own choice: Anselm didn't want to potentially embarrass the youth, nor did he wish to trouble the matron with worry. Valkyrie was practically an adult now anyway, he wistfully mused--he just couldn't get this whole parent/grandparent thing down right, could he?
#$%@"I'm glad you're alright," he offered softly, his deep voice now steadier and deliberate, as usual. Even though he'd failed at this task ten times over, he could always try--he just wouldn't make any promises.
