The female is overly confident to raise her tail in the presence of four males superior to her in size, but Neirin was true to what he had said, sure of his role amongst this group and needing no recognition outside of it. At least not immediately and certainly not from someone who had as much right as they to walk the ground on which they all three now stood as the two others tore at each other in the brush. His blue eyes are evaluatory, but not at all in the sense of Ifrit, and not the cold indifferent preparation to attack like Fenrir - He and Seamus were the ones best suited to solving the greeting mishaps presented by the other two.
Neirin admires her, the white of her coat and the intelligence bright in her eyes. She is sure and she seemed capable enough at least without four aggressive males gunning for her right off like some wolves he himself had known would have done. He tilts his head at her with her new assertion of her name (one that he had not caught in light of what had transpired with Fenrir’s curtness against Neirin’s desire for peaceability for now.
“Then it is a surprise he abides the other to live,” she comments to the pair, brown and gold, in acute suspiciousness and what he wonders if might be disgust. “We might not be blood, but we have lived sixteen years in each other’s company and Ifrit has never put us into a fight we could not win - so his benefit and status as pseudo brother trumps what his manners might have made us do otherwise, yea?” His maw is parted, those pink eyes cuttingly intelligent and yet bright with pinpricks of knowing she couldn’t very well argue about the lifestyle chosen by complete strangers. “I am Natu, of Spirane,” she replies then to Neirin’s question and when the golden male’s face brightens, the whole of the clearing seems to do the same as clouds clear from over the sun and sunlight pours through the breaks in the canopy to the little opening in the forest floor.
“Ah! Ifrit will be so sore that he didn’t make his courting kinder to a sister countryman!” Seamus, laughing in a quiet way at Neirin’s delight seems to inch a little more forward, tail still level in comparison to the almost painfully high one of his golden contrast beside him. “Quite a pack you have, yet you do not seem ill at ease here so I suspect you are from these parts?” she comments, and it is just then that two wolves emerge from the silence of the hidden ring they had made nearby to rejoin their companions.
Ifrit, large and yet defeated, stands with his head just a little lowered from before with a still lecherous grin pulling up the corners of his long mouth as his tongue lolls with a little more red than pink -- he had gotten at least one bite in, or maybe bit his tongue in the tussle. “She’s from Spirane! She’s your mountainside sister!” he exclaims, as if it is naturally enough to tie them together in some way or another. “Perhaps she has climbed to your birthing den!” The red wolf lifts his head at that, eyes squinted and terribly keen on the lesser male of their pack, clearly not above taking his loss out on the male who was in their pack as beneath him.
“It is gone, Seamus, you idiot. The meteor left no place marked or unmarked free of that blast. It is what made their cave systems,” he snorts, ambling in his words and tilting his head with a mite of arrogance and boredom - not at all perturbed by his loss to a wolf that had bested him for almost two decades. “The mountain fell and created a connection between Mirovis and Solevion. She is not my mountain-sister, but she’d make a fine moun---”
A deep growl interrupts from the side and the fixation of pale green eyes was enough to churn the belly of anyone with a lick of sense or instinct about them. He was not safe, he was not tame, and yet when he wanted to attack -- there was no doubt he had meant to do precisely that. Intelligent Violence. Cunning Massacre. He had been that once and he had receded back into it again. “My son was of Spirane.” But it is all he says, his eyes locked on hers and his tail held only just below Neirin’s.
“Ah! Perhaps you know of Talesian and Leonidas?” the golden wolf interjects into the silence that the sickly green eyed wolf leaves in the wake of his weighted statement filled with a thousand “tell me he lives” and “do not speak of him” whirling in and out of his deadpan eyes.
WE ALWAYS FIND OUR WAY BACK HOME
the first children of the original moladion packs
of trenus | of scotavia | of solevion | of ferrine
shining prince | dragonborn | red barron | shadow-grin
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