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</style>Silvano, set around 9PM~
It had been a long day and any progress, however impressive, promised more to come. Barrett felt like he'd been going for weeks now, and this sentiment wasn't without reason. His excursion to Freetown in late August had solved a handful of problems while creating a mountain of others--literally. And, contrary to popular experience, time would only bolster this mountain further, not diminish it. He was in a race against the clock... or more specifically, the season. On top any physical demands, all the knowledge and experience he had was being put to the test. Knowing what to do, how to do it, and when to do it was important.
Here was the thing: he had to shovel an appreciable amount of earth before the frosts rendered such work impossible. The loner had long abandoned any fantasies of completing both the stable and a milling pavilion--the latter would simply have to wait until the following spring. Not that it was a major setback; in the week following his return to Nova Scotia, he'd earnestly sought and harvested enough crops for emergency rations for Jøren, seed for the following year, and only a couple trial run batches of vodka. Mass liquor production wasn't on the horizon one way or the other, so a mill to process all of the grain wasn't especially important. Heck, he doubted he would even have enough to trade any customers. He would keep a modest amount for personal enjoyment, but most was promised to Axle and Grit--consequentially, setting up a functional distillery took priority over digging. The mocha hybrid knew he'd be up the creek without a paddle if not for the dogs' bought-over loyalty and assistance. Thus, making good on his promise of a wet winter seemed prudent.
In any case, Barrett knew they'd pull through. With the three of them busting their butts and the draught horse carting away excess dirt, they had managed to knock out just over a third of the excavation today alone. Even now the scent of exposed earth hung heavy in the air, but Barry paid it no mind. Always a fan of the motto "Work hard, play harder," he and the boys had retired early to feast and relax, lest their minds or bodies grow tired of their antics and protest. (How much easier, he rejoiced, it was taking down larger prey as a unit!) But now, the food was done and the other males had gone home to rest. Only Barry sat out behind the garage, tending to a dying fire and watching the soft glow of his Dyakia snails and Jack o'Lantern mushrooms. He was tired, too, but he wanted another smoke before bed. He lit one and the smouldering ember joined the other unnatural lights emanating from the property.
He should have stayed in his pack, with his family and the friends closest to his family. He should have stayed around with Giselle, whom he found himself hopelessly drawn to. Hopefully that infatuation would stop or else he would find himself in misery. But everything was so tense at the manor now that they were missing several of the people from his family. Anu was captured as well. It was as though all were in mourning, but none of them were dead. Yet. It was too much for the young adult to handle. So, he escaped to Halifax early that morning as a distraction from the war and from. His excuse had been to look for materials for the war effort, as well as to go looking for something to help.
Instead, he spent most of the day walking absentmindedly. Silvano merely glanced at the shops, and occasionally peered into them if it was something of interest. It usually wasn't. Once he walked past another luperci heading in the opposite direction; neither one looked at each other nor made a motion of acknowledgement. But it was still mostly just a walk for the Sadira; there was nothing to really attract his attention. Most of the day was spent this way. But as the sun began to set, he started to head for home, knowing he would be back in the territory long after dark. The darkness came fully and Silvano cursed himself for not leaving sooner. It had been a fruitless endeavor and he smacked himself for it.
Though, he had to admit, his goal had been fulfilled; he had been distracted from the war. Well, almost. Silvano still thought about how the AniWayans had invaded them and took Anu from them. Savina was torn and the stress on her was so evident that the boy himself felt her pain and agony. She was tired, and they were all getting tired. Waking up was not as refreshing as it was. There was so little they could do short of a counter raid on AniWaya that they did not know what to do. But Silvano was sure that things would fall into place. Eventually.
The erratic flickering light of a fire and the telltale smell of smoke stopped the young man as the smokey scent filled the air. He inhaled it, enjoying the smell of burning wood. He headed to the source of the fire, going by scent and by the increasing brightness of the dancing light on the walls. Silvano saw a man sitting beside the fire and smoking something. It made a little pinprick of light, especially compared to the dying fire. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't sure if there was anyone here..," he said tiredly, giving a strained smile.
It was getting cool enough at night that the fire's warmth was welcome. The boy stretched slowly as he gazed into the crackling flames—first his back, legs, and arms in one smooth motion; then he rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen the tense muscles. He shuffled closer to the blaze and poked absently at it with a stick, which renewed its intensity, if only for awhile. Then, above the charred timbre, damp earth, and piney marijuana, he smelt another wolf. Not a moment later, the perpetrator addressed him, and Barry swung his head to regard the yearling.
Hey, he said simply. Then the charcoal and chestnut rogue waved him over with an amicable flop of his tail. Have a seat if you wanna. You smokin' tonight? Much as Alphas assumed random loners seeking audience at their borders were prospective joiners, Barry assumed most of the strangers turning up on his little plot of paradise were interested in one thing: drugs. And judging by this guy's weary manner, he could use 'em. And so, he held out the joint automatically—free samples were customary, after all.
But Barrett—however business-minded he was—wasn't the sort to delve into the Terms and Conditions of a trade outright. He liked to know his customers; he preferred to be on friendly terms. (Although, admittedly, he sometimes questioned how often certain “chums” of his would stop by if he weren't hooking them up. Such was life.) So how's life around the lake, eh? he wondered idly, conversationally. Having lived there for several months (in sum), he recognised the Crimson Dreams aroma when he smelt it. He didn't necessarily expect this Dreamer to remember him, however—even when he had stood in their ranks as little as two months ago, most of his time was spent elsewhere. Like here.
It was strange—back then, he wouldn't dreamed of mixing pack life and business. Now things were different; it mattered less if Savina learnt he was up to no good. (Hell, he often wondered how she hadn't caught wind of his shenanigans sooner.) Mostly, he was curious and hoped she was well. Little did he know that she now had much bigger fish to fry.
The young man took a seat by the older male, close enough to the fire to be warm, but far enough away from the stranger to not seem as though he were invading his space. Silvano eyed the joint briefly, knowing it was some kind of drug. Savina would not approve of him doing anything like that. But she was not really here now, was she? He took it, though held it as the other man spoke more to him. His scent was vaguely familiar, as though it was once one he would have recognized. He was mildly surprised to hear that the other recognized his own scent. For what other pack focused on life around a lake? Silvano was sure no one.
"Not good," he said simply, eying the joint between his fingers. It was smoking slightly, the strange smell of it wafting in his nose. It was funny, but he felt something come from the smoke in his head. Taking it to his lips, he inhaled as he had seen the man do, and found himself coughing out belches of the stuff. Hand out, he tried to give it back to the stranger. The fit subsided fast. And he felt stranger than he had before. But more relaxed. The panic had subsided from his chest and he felt a bit foggier. But in a good way. "There is war in Crimson Dreams. Something's happening with the AniWayans." He was not sure. But from what Claudius had told him, it was not good.
"A prisoner I caught told me that the old chief was displaced and a stranger, a tyrant I guess, ordered the attack. They wanted some AniWayans we sheltered after one of them was exiled." Sighing, the mottled male ran a hand through his rough curls. He was not looking forward to fearing going on the borders. Granted, they had not returned to attack again. But one never knew. The parley did not go well. Silvano sent his green eyes in the direction of the dark male. "I'm Silvano. Who are you?" he asked, extending a hand.
Poor Savina; Barry was rather fond of the onyx female and considered her nothing less than family. And yet, as Silvano accepted the smouldering cigarette, the loner unwittingly betrayed her a third time: the first was by bedding with her sister; the second with her enemy; and now he supplied her youngest son with drugs. Once again, if confronted, he would claim ignorance. He hadn't known Ghita was betrothed or that Naniko was her nemesis... just like he didn't know this boy was hers. Perhaps he was simply doomed to charge with reckless abandon from one fiasco to the next; it wasn't a new pattern. It frustrated Maserati endlessly, since she knew her son could think tactically and intuitively when pressed. He could plan out an entire construction project and food stores for winter, but he couldn't help himself when it came to drugs and sex. At least, she'd reasoned, he wasn't very destructive. No--he abhorred violence; the Dreamers' pacifism was one thing he always enjoyed. That made him all the more surprised when his guest spoke of war.
War. How could one simple, three-letter, monosyllabic word conjure up such grotesque images? He'd heard Anselm's war stories. Bloodshed; rape; slaughter of the innocents. It wasn't a pretty picture, and he cringed sympathetically. He wasn't familiar with AniWaya or her Culture, but he listened carefully as Silvano elaborated further. Apparently this was pretty off-the-wall behaviour from their neighbours, which Barrett reckoned made the whole thing that much more frustrating and confusing. His gaze was downcast as he shook his head forlornly--his past connections to Crimson Dreams and the wolves that lived there made it easy to empathise. Wow, he croaked out at last, taking the joint back and watching the smoke curl away. Unbelievable! he exclaimed, though another solemn shake showed he did believe it--it just hadn't fully sunk in yet. Things were always so peaceful there... he trailed off, exhaling slowly into the still night air.
The yearling's introduction seemed to snap him out of his reverie. Oh, he said, popping the joint back in his mouth so he could exchange a handshake. I'm Barrett. My mum was good friends with Savina; I lived down there for a little, but I had more going on up here, he explained. And while he did, it seemed sort of silly now. Not when the pack was in a time of need. How long has this been going on? he wondered. I... hope no major casualties? he asked, passing the joint back so the poor boy could have another go.
Silvano rubbed at his tired eyes, resting his elbows on his knees. It was tiring to think of, and the smoke from the joint and the dying fire were making his eyes tear up. He didn't want to think that he was tearing because he was afraid for his family. But he nodded slightly at the other man's description of AniWaya. It was always peaceful there, every time he had visited. All of the people he had met had been kind, polite, and nice to him. Why would they ever start a war? He knew plenty of them had run from the pack. The woman who had helped birth his colt had run with her mate and his sister to the Dreamers. Heritage was living in his stables and he visited the colt often. But still, he could not imagine being them, exiled from home by the leaders who were out for their blood.
"Oh?" he said in surprise. He had not been aware that the stranger lived in Crimson Dreams, especially considering the fact Silvano had never met him there. Even stranger that their mothers had been friends and still Silvano did not know him. Odd enough, but it was common nowadays wasn't it? "Huh, I wonder why I never saw you around," he asked quietly, staring at the glowing embers before him. He leaned down on his elbows and rubbed at his face again, tiredness etched into his young features. He had not fought yet, but he could tell he would have to one day. And he hoped he would not become something he truly was not. Savina had her rage, but the youth knew he himself did not. Or, at least Silvano prayed.
Taking the joint from the man's hand, Silvano took another inhale of it, prepared for it. It started tasting better, especially when it rushed to his head. It was nice, calming. Soothing even. He took another puff unintentionally, and returned it Barrett, aware he was hogging it. "No casualties that we know of," he said as he shook his head quickly. "But Anu was captured. And my older brother, Gotham, was as well."
Mmm, he murmured quietly. I was in and out a lot, he explained. Spent two weeks here, two weeks there. Never bunked in the Manor with everyone else when I was 'round, either. Stayed around McNamara at first, then under an old covered bridge. Barrett wasn't terribly surprised they didn't meet sooner; while the mocha hybrid considered a handful of Dreamers friends--and at least several others pleasant acquaintances--it would be a stretch to say he met even half of the pack's membership base. He supposed it might seem queer on the surface, his voluntary self-isolation, but at the time it made perfect sense. Barry liked to keep those of authority at arm's length for a reason; since most of the members were Marinos by blood or marriage, it followed any given wolf was just a hair's width away from someone who was in charge (namely Savina). Hypothetically, even if the Alpha was willing to look past his drug use and sexual indulgence, she would undoubtedly disapprove of him dealing (probably the prostitution and bastard children, too).
Nevertheless, leading a dual lifestyle quickly became cumbersome; to top it all off, he found himself unable to relate to most of his packmates. Those he met were older, more mature. (Even as Silvano puffed away on the intoxicating substance, he seemed grave, adult.) It wasn't any wonder he didn't last there for very long. Still, he held no resentment or malice toward the pack; he departed on good terms. And now he was wondering what he could do to help. Their second in command was captured? Not good. Whew, he breathed, taking the joint back for another hit. Hopefully her 'n your brother are alright.Hopefully they have enough sense to realise a healthy hostage holds more bargaining power than a dead one.
Though he was genuinely sympathetic, condolences weren't enough. Savina took him in twice without question, and now it was his turn to repay the favour. I... if anyone needs refuge, tell Savina they can hide out up here. Prob'ly out of the way 'nough the AniWayans wouldn't think to look for 'em round these parts, he explained. My buddies, Axle 'n Grit, they keep watch over this place constantly, so it's pretty secure. A pause. I can send back painkillers, too. Careful though; 's heavier stuff than this, he said, holding up the cig and passing it back in the same motion. Opium could be dangerously addictive if the user wasn't careful. Maybe some alcohol to clean wounds, too... let's go see what I can find, eh? he suggested, rising to his feet. Anything useful would be in the garage.
Silvano nodded at the man who used to be of his pack. "I hope so too, but I'm sure they won't do anything to them. It's.. not their way." But the Sadira's tone made it sound as though he didn't believe himself. AniWaya had always been friendly to all, and he was not sure about them anymore. Before, he never would have thought they would attack. So, maybe his brother and Anu were hurt. But he doubted it. No one hurt prisoners of war, not when they were so vital a bargaining chip. "I genuinely hope this strange new way of the Tribe doesn't mean I'll be burying an empty grave with my family," he added, voice cracking with the fear. He did not want his only brother to be killed for doing what anyone would do for their kin and pack. He was only guilty he had not tried to save the dark male himself.
Looking up with emerald eyes at Barrett, Silvano gave a meek little smile. "I will tell her where to send them. I'm sure they'll be safer off here where war doesn't follow." Silvano had not seen a single AniWayan here, and it seemed as though they had never left the tribe's lands at all. But if that were the case, maybe they were amassing for something big. Silvano hoped to God that it was not the case. The warriors would fight, and there was no way to assure no one would die now. The gloves were off and the fangs were bared against the enemy, on both sides.
"Painkillers? I'm sure Cambria would be glad for anything to use the next time a fight comes out." There was little to be fixing now, but Silvano could almost feel the coming bloodshed like an oncoming storm, an electric force. Nodding, Silvano rose from his seat, looking to the building behind Barrett. "If you don't mind, I know I don't want to impose having just met you," he answered humbly, touching the back of his neck in a mindless habit. "And do you think we can get a trade for whatever this stuff is?" he asked, pointing at the joint in Barretts hand. It seemed like he was asking a lot of the former Dreamer. But he would gladly trade some of his own books to get what he wanted for the pack, and for himself.
The Patrician's words, while reassuring, weren't spoken with great conviction. Barry simply grimaced--it wasn't his way to offer false confidence. Still, the yearling's next statement was too miserable to bear. Your family's strong, he replied. And from what I understand, they've made more friends than enemies. I'm sure you'd find allies before it got that bad... he trailed off. It was mere conjecture, yes, but he had to believe it. After all, if these tyrants were such loose cannons, they threatened to disrupt the stability of the region at large. Attacking to recover exiles didn't even make sense! Someone had to put their foot down eventually, right? What about the old chief? The boy shook his head; the more he thought of it, the less he knew, and the more his imagination filled in the gaps. Any other day, he'd want to hear the other side of the story before passing judgement, but he felt a kinship with the Dreamers yet. It wasn't so much prejudice as loyalty.
The wolf mirrored Silvano's smile and nodded. They got to their feet and the ex-Aedile shook his head. No, he said quietly. It's the least I can do. Don't worry about it, he stated with firm resolution. He couldn't accept payment for these supplies. The vodka wouldn't be a hooha in a bottle; it would be antiseptic. The opium wasn't for a mental vacation; it was for sedation and relief. And even the weed, he reasoned, was more for soothing frayed nerves than fucking around. Were he nobler, bolder, or maybe just stupid, he might have rushed back to join them on the front lines. Somewhere in the back of his head, he felt guilty knowing he wouldn't. Deep down, he knew this wasn't a charitable act, but a half-assed attempt to mollify his own consciousness. Even if he didn't live there now, he had no doubts Savina would take him back a third time if he asked. In that sense, Crimson Dreams would always be a 'home' of sorts, if not in the way it was Silvano's or Ghita's or Ehno's. And in that very way, he felt some obligation to defend it. But alas--he was not some selfless hero Just the same, he was not some treacherous ruffian looking to profit from others' misfortunes. He really did care and wish them all the best luck in settling this dispute with minimal suffering, so he would help the best he could: in spirit, if not in body.
Let's see, he said, lighting a couple candles once they were inside. He yanked a canvas bag from a pile of others and beat the dust off it, then began to stuff it with the promised goods. His largest bottle of vodka, leaving only two smaller ones in his possession; a generous bundle of opium (Enough, he said, to treat the whole pack twice over.); a matching supply of marijuana; and finally, a half-filled lighter. Once everything was packed carefully inside, he flipped over the top flap. That oughta do it. Not sure you'll have time to see me 'gain any time soon, so I tried to put in plenty to hold y'all over. But please--if you need anything later, find me. With that, he handed it off. Someday we'll smoke when all this crap is done, yeah? Then we can talk about a trade if you're interested in more weed. A grin; a promise.
