.deadly desolation.

[Blackie]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,460,true]

[bg=222222] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - It was clear that Fenrir didn’t think much of Sior’s – or was it Bison’s? – little fable. There was cynicism and scoffing. do not need your pity, Cassiopeian. Nor did I ask for it.” I believe you know what you’re doing, Bison, even if I do not.

[/i]

“No, not pity,” Sior rumbled, falling into step beside the Loner once more. “I do not pity you; you do not need it. That was not our…”[/b] And here he paused, because how was he to describe this?

He could say it was not ‘my’ intent, or it was not the spirit’s intent, or he could claim ownership for both. Sior’s spirit guide had temporarily hijacked the Shaman’s body, true enough. But it was only because Sior was open enough to the spirit realm, that he visited it so often, and then asked for the assistance of a spirit already inside him that the Spirit was able to do what he did. Sior could have fought it, he supposed, but he believed in the wisdom of the spirits and their duties from the Great One in the sky.

He decided, in the end, to stick with he had been going to say. “That was not our intent, nor will it ever be,”[/b] He murmured, allowing himself to be held responsible in addition to Bison. It would not be fair to heap blame upon the Spirit when Sior himself had allowed it, in a sense.

The problem between two may be 30/50, but each is 100% responsible for their part.[/i]

The first time he’d been controlled had been… terrifying, in the beginning. He couldn’t figure out how it was happening, and was afraid that he’d somehow faltered with his own abilities – that he’d been pulled back to his body after the meditation only to find it already occupied. Oh, the thoughts that had run through his mind. But once he’d calmed, settled in to watch through eyes temporarily not his (and, he realized later, was that the way Bison saw through Sior?), he’d come to the understanding that this… was not harmful. It could be disconcerting, yes. A little frightening, maybe.

But the good spirits – he could tell the good from the bad, now – always had the best intentions. He had yet to see one purposefully cause harm in the physical realm. And harm was, of course, separate from protection.

Despite what the other packs may think, Cassiopeia knew that there were times, dire times that they all hoped they’d never face, when violence was necessary. They did not run from battle, but they also did not pursue it. A pup caught in the grasp of an enemy, armies marching towards the dens… yes, even the First, the great Cassiopeia for whom the pack was named, had understood this. But it was a last resort, and should be pursued only when all other options have failed…

That was how Cassiopeia was different from the others.

“We do not pity you, and we do not run from you,”[/b] Sior said softly, towards Fenrir or maybe towards all the packs in the lands that surrounded them. He could be… vague, like that, addressing many or one. It did not matter. He was voicing his thoughts now. “We do not run from our battles, but we do not seek violence either. There is just as much strength in learning to withhold from violence as in the strongest warrior. We separate ourselves from instinct, that we might learn without the blindness of rage.” [/b]


[/size][/font]
[/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
count: 545.
to: Fenrir
Bio: Here
notes: Red is speech, white is text, grey is thought, green is Fenrir's speech even though you changed it (Sorry!) but since Sior's speech is still red, I just kept your speech green.

[/size][/center]
[/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[|| - NYTH - ||]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,502,true]

[bg=000000] The warrior looked ahead of him with a distracted sense of determination, wondering how many more acres of land this bone-dry, desolate forest claimed. He felt strangely at home in the grim, pale surroundings…albeit slightly cold. Sol’s rays were slowly becoming the cool, distant glow of Luna’s apathy, and Fenrir’s coat was perfect for the desert heat. It allowed the heat to escape…and unfortunately this characteristic resulted in there being very little heat trapped in the evenings. He shook his head and neck slightly to stimulate his circulation, ignoring the complaints from the scar tissue of his brand. The time is near, Fenrir…your preparation is so very nearly complete. We will see if you are worthy of Sol’s glory soon enough… The landscape ahead seemed to consist of thinning levels of branches, and Fenrir assumed from this observation that they must be reaching the outskirts of the dead forest. He was quite relieved, really…perhaps when they got to the borders the Cassiopeian would return to his pack and leave Fenrir to his final hours of training and preparation. “No, not pity…that was not our…” the alpha responded to Fenrir’s ignorant dismissal of his words, but paused as he said ‘our’…which confused the black wolf quite adequately. Our? What on earth could he mean by our? And to make matters even more confounding, he only repeated this sentence with the same article. Slightly unnerved by the connotations of the word ‘our’, Fenrir remained silent as Cepheus-bound and Cassiopeian walked side by side, the animosity from one half very obvious. “We do not pity you, and we do not run from you. We do not run from our battles, but we do not seek violence either. There is just as much strength in learning to withhold from violence as in the strongest warrior. We separate ourselves from instinct, that we might learn without the blindness of rage.” Although the alpha spoke from a dignified position of pacifism and his beliefs, Fenrir couldn’t help but smile slightly at the implication of his desire to say these words. It seemed that of all things, Fenrir’s apathy towards Sior’s spiritual teachings was the thing to prompt a defensive response. Throughout the entire encounter, the Cassiopeian had been infuriatingly cordial, sympathetic and tolerant of Fenrir’s irrational mistrust, anger and fire. Naturally, despite his unexpected glimmer of respect for the alpha, Fenrir had wanted nothing more than to rile him, and from this comment, he felt he’d achieved that somewhat. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to leave the encounter feeling like he’d been made a fool, the warrior simply smirked to himself with a raised eyebrow. No need to engage the alpha any further, at this point, and risk the situation being diffused again and Fenrir looking a fool. He was pleased, actually, that Sior HAD become defensive…demonstrated a little backbone which all Cepheans believed the Cassiopeians lacked. Yes, this was certainly a satisfying moment. “Skoll,” Fenrir muttered, glancing backwards very briefly to make sure the bird was watching, as he always was, “how much more of this forest and its branches must we endure?” The raven spread his jet-black wings immediately and navigated his way upwards through the scrags, leaving Fenrir and Sior walking in silence for a few moments before returning with a triumphant, gravelly caw. The warrior waited for the telltale touch of the bird’s talons near the scruff of his neck, and tilted his head slightly so the raven could speak into his ear. “Not far…the forest gives way to a barren riverbed in about 400 metres, and beyond that is Orion territory. We are parallel to Cassiopeia on our right as we are…should we not turn around? The walk will be long back to the borders of Cepheus.” Fenrir nodded gently at these words, turning his head briefly to look behind him. He would need to learn the wastelands well before joining Cepheus…it was a valuable neutral link between the packs. “In good time. Let’s see everything, first. Besides, the walk back will be good for my stamina.” He glanced at the Cassiopeian alpha briefly. “I suppose you are perfectly aware that we are near Orion’s borders.”

[/font][/blockquote]

word count. 695
bio. here
notes. sior's speech is gold, cuz he's precious. also because i needed a different colour. x)

[/size]
[/center]
[/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[Blackie]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,460,true]

[bg=222222] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Sior saw the raised eyebrow, chose to ignore it. Internally he sighed. Some might think that you make fewer mistakes as you grow older, but the marked wolf knew that was not the truth. You just made different mistakes than before. Just when he thought there was nothing that would bother him… Learn from your mistakes.

[/i]

He would have to ponder this conversation later, perhaps examine why he’d been bothered so. Cassiopeian’s were just as capable of emotion as any other. But Sior believed full-heartedly that while negative emotions did need to be ‘felt’, they also needed to be examined: why were you angry, who caused your sadness, what prompted your spite.

He shook his pelt out, letting the long, heavy fur settle where it would; kept in step with Fenrir. This wolf was… not what Sior would have expected. Despite the distaste shown, Sior had also been given respect – even an offer of safe passage should this wolf become Admiral. Bison obviously found Fenrir important enough, as well, that it had made an ‘appearance’, so to speak.

What is this wolf destined for, Bison? What do you see that I do not?[/i]

There was no response, but Sior hadn’t really expected one. The ways of the spirits were mysteries to those on the physical plane – their motives were their own. But maybe the Shaman had been given a clue or two? If his visions truly included Thunderbirds, then those were omens of storms to come. And Fenrir’s presence and some of his words confirmed another of Sior’s suspicions: rumours were one thing, but confirmation of the empty Admiral position in the Cepheus pack was another. There would be a power vacuum now, as wolves fought and drew blood to prove their worth. That was all Sior knew – he’d never seen the battles for leadership himself, even if he and past Shamans had gleaned bits and pieces about the Cepheus pack’s beliefs and rituals.

Sior didn’t mind the silence that fell as Skoll took off from his master’s shoulders to scout. The Shaman wasn’t sure what Fenrir had asked the raven, but it returned a few moments later to whisper in the soon-to-be-Cepheus’s ear.

“I suppose you are perfectly aware that we are near Orion’s borders.”[/b]

Sior nodded. He’d almost completed his circle as well, then. This journey through the wastelands had proved… interesting. Soon, the Shaman would be scaling the cliffs and rocks of his mountain home once more, hiking back up to where his pack was denning. He’d need to update the Chieftain and the new Fire-Heart, and maybe see if there had been any other changes noticed by the patrols and the scouts.

Affect one pack and you affect us all.[/i]

“Near Orion’s and next to my own.”[/b] Soft grey eyes regarded Fenrir. “The sun will soon set on my foray outside of pack territory.”[/b]
His gaze flicked up towards the mountains in the distance, their craggy peaks wreathed in mantles of cloud and mist. And somewhere, hidden away safe, was his pack: the fleet-runners carrying messages, the brave-fangs training and patrolling, little ones learning to leap from rock to rock. At this time of year, there would still be elk and deer down in the valley, though not plentiful. They most likely had a couple weeks left before they switched their diet from deer to mountain-goat – and that would cue the celebration of the arrival of winter, dancing and singing as Mother Earth continued her journey. The change of their food-source meant far more to them than just a different meal.

“May I also assume that you will soon turn back towards the desert, and Cepheus? You will have a long journey back.”[/b]


[/size][/font]
[/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
count: 617.
to: Fenrir
Bio: Here
notes: Red is speech, white is text, grey is thought, green is Fenrir's speech. I get the feeling they're getting ready to MOVE ALONG NOW LOL.

[/size][/center]
[/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[|| - NYTH - ||]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,502,true]

[bg=000000] As Fenrir asked what seemed instantly to be a redundant and obvious question, the Cassiopeian alpha cast his eyes to the mountains in the distance, his gaze softening with affection and longing. The warrior was unsurprised at the emotion that Sior was expressing…he could only imagine the attachment that an alpha had to his packlands and the wolves within them. He remained quiet for the most part, growling gently every time a branch scraped along his scythe. Skoll fidgeted on the onyx wolf’s withers impatiently, and Fenrir knew their journey was only moments from being complete. “Near Orion’s and next to my own. The sun will soon set on my foray outside of pack territory.” The Cassiopeian spoke with sheltered words, but Fenrir was slowly becoming used to the idea that nothing bad was going to happen to the pacifist. This time. He nodded to acknowledge the alpha’s words, following his attentive gaze to the mountainside and thanking Sol that his rays and warmth were focused extensively on the deserts of Cepheus territory. Although Fenrir was not one to succumb to the elements and his external surroundings, he couldn’t hide his preference for the warm weather over the cold. Skoll seemed about to speak to him, when Sior opened his mouth once again to beat the raven in the race for Fenrir’s conversational attention. “May I also assume that you will soon turn back towards the desert, and Cepheus? You will have a long journey back.” Fenrir cast his gaze behind him once more, ignoring the impatient, angry stare of the raven on his shoulders as he did so. Smirking at the knowledge that his journey would last long into the cold of the desert night, the warrior shrugged his huge shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “That’s right. I’ll be heading back now, as a matter of fact. The length of the journey is of no consequence to me, but I have matters to attend to.” The great wolf halted his steps, turning to make himself perpendicular to the Cassiopeian alpha and focusing his emerald gaze on the horizon to the east. Cepheus awaited him…there was no question about that. He glanced breezily back at the Cassiopeian, a strange pang of curiosity surging through him briefly. Dismissing it, Fenrir spoke with a strong, level voice as his attention faced the lithe royal wolf who had been his unlikely company until now. “I hope we do not meet again, Sior. For your sake more than mine.” The words were threatening…but that sliver of unexpected respect that Fenrir had given the Cassiopeian for his courage was reflected in his address of him by name. Feeling his messages (both of them) had been conveyed effectively, he simply gave the higher-ranking yet pacifist wolf a curt, respectful nod, and then promptly turned on his heels, heading east. The raven on his back turned to stare with his deep scarlet eyes at the shrinking figure of the Cassiopeian leader, disgust filling the chasm of his little avian body.

[/font][/blockquote]

word count. 503
bio. here
notes. sior's speech is gold

[/size]
[/center]
[/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[Blackie]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,460,true]

[bg=222222] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [;;ooc: I’m not sure if we were both supposed to write up a ‘finisher’ so to speak, so I typed one up just in case. XD] “I hope we do not meet again, Sior. For your sake more than mine.”

[/b]

He was a little surprised that Fenrir thought enough of him to use his name… Indeed, it did not have the sarcastic undertones he might have expected. A good sign, of things that had changed – not greatly, but it was something.

And the loner was right: if they met again, it would most likely be Sior paying the price. It was expected, of course, that the leaders of each pack had… some small amount of communication, at least enough to exchange verbal reprimands and threats. Boundaries needed to be marked and remarked, wolves needed to ban together to journey into the Holy land. What worried Sior most was that the tensions had gotten stronger as the treaty came closer and closer to its end. Sometimes, he was sure that was the only thing preventing all-out war.

And if the packs could no longer communicate, no warnings could be given. It had been tricky enough for Sior to warn the other packs of the plague that swept through the prey herds some time ago, it was another to try and relay such a message during times of conflict. It made them vulnerable. No one noticed an outside threat when they were busy staring and shouting at their neighbor.

Stop worrying about what has not yet come. You have enough to think on now; everything in its time. [/i]

If the leaves did not worry about changing when it was spring, Sior did not need to worry – yet – about this: one step at a time. He would just concentrate on getting back to Cassiopeian territory for now.

And Fenrir was doing the same. The Shaman watched him go, a quiet “Spirit guide you,”[/b] hovering on his lips, but he waited until Fenrir was out of earshot. It would not do to cause trouble when, by all appearances, they were both going to leave this encounter healthy and thoughtful. The last Sior saw of the pair, the raven was glaring with blazing eyes at him. The wolf allowed himself a small smile, shaking his head just a little. He supposed each had their own taste in companionship.

What say you, Bison? Back to the mountains with us![/i]

And for a moment, just a moment, Sior could almost see the spirit, standing tall and powerful in the corner of his vision; the bulky head twisting to stare back in the direction of Fenrir, snorting ethereal smoke into the crisp air. Sior spared one glance back, as well.

“I hope the same, Fenrir. May the spirits keep us apart…”[/b] And with that, he turned toward his own path, and the pack that awaited him.


[/size][/font]
[/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
count: 465.
to: Fenrir
Bio: Here
notes: Red is speech, white is text, grey is thought, green is Fenrir's speech.

I'm not quite sure whether or not I should post an official 'This Thread Is Now Closed' that we're done? Just want people to know it's concluded, and what a lovely one it was!

[/size][/center]
[/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]