Fantasy New Dawn, New Troubles

[Autumn_Leaf]

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  The New Tides grounds.
  

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code by opaline

Yeva Petryk

❛ The Legacy Bearer ❜

The air was crisp, sharp, and biting, but Yeva welcomed the chill. It settled against her skin like an old friend—cold, tempting, a reminder that she was still here. Still breathing. Steam curled from the mug of black coffee in her hands, rising into the early morning light. The dark liquid was bitter, grounding, a quiet comfort against the storm in her chest. 8 AM. The sun was finally cresting over the mountains that cradled the land, golden light spilling across the snow-draped clearing. It caught the edge of her face, forcing her to wince. She exhaled slowly, watching her breath fade into the frozen morning. From the porch, she took in everything. The house. The forest beyond it. The world that had changed in a matter of days.
Grieving time was over.

Today, she would address the pack. Today, she would decide what came next.

And that meant justice.

---

The snow gave under her boots as she stepped down from the porch, her frame wrapped in a heavy, dark shawl, the fabric draped over her head like a veil. Each step felt weighted, dragging with it the full weight of what she was walking toward. Her father’s grave.

The lone tree in the field stood tall, its bare branches swaying against the pale sky. Beneath it, half-buried in fresh snow, stood the wooden grave marker. A crude thing. Temporary.
She crouched down, brushing the snow away with careful fingers, revealing the engraved wood beneath.

"What would you have done… Father?" The words came out softer than she meant, barely above a whisper. There was no answer. Only the soft sigh of wind through the trees.
Her fingers tightened around the mug in her hands, swirling the coffee, watching the liquid spin in slow, lazy circles. "I’m not even sure they’ll listen to me."

A leader who no one chose. A pack divided. A father left in the dirt.

Her jaw clenched. Her teeth ground together as a deep, festering anger coiled its way up her spine. Then, her face twisted. "You fucking asshole…" Her voice broke, sharp with frustration, raw with something deeper. "Leaving this all to me." Yeva shot up to her feet, one hand digging into her pocket, fingers finding the familiar carton of cigarettes. The motion was automatic—pull, flick, inhale. Smoke curled between her lips, filling her lungs, the rush of nicotine burning away the tension for a fleeting moment.

She exhaled through her nose, smoke ghosting into the morning air. The cabin loomed in the distance—her pack inside, still sleeping, unaware of the storm brewing in her chest.
For now, she was alone. But not for long. They’d wake soon. And when they did—they would be expecting answers.

 

[Lycanious]

Arthur Miligan.

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  Mournful, pensive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Warm, simple clothes, a few layers
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Outside the cabin
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Yeva
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Making a slow shuffle through the trees of the forest a lone figure, Arthur, left the imprint of heavy boots along the snow as he ventured forward. His walk was aimless. A lost sort of shamble through the snow as Arthur skimmed the perimeter of where field met forest, unwilling to venture deeper into the heart of the latter while the rest of their pack still slumbered within the cabin. Every decision already felt so much more heavily weighted without Viktor around. Arthur had wanted nothing more than to run deep into the forest last night, snarling and howling at the moon who, as usual, would be his only witness to such vulnerability. But no longer did it feel safe. No longer did it feel like he could get up and wander an entire night from the cabin and then return to it without the threat of more disappearances or bloodshed.

It wasn't just protectiveness. Some of it was, certainly, in as much as anyone his age would naturally care for a gaggle of young adults looking for guidance in the world and a roof over their heads. Hell, some of them Arthur had practically raised as his own, and in some ways he regarded them as such even if he held his doubts on whether the concept was a mutual one. He worried. A lot. All the time. But to the same token, he knew their pack to be full of strong and steel-minded voices. If push came to shove, and Skjoldr were to suddenly swarm out from the forest tree line and make for the cabin, Arthur held little doubt that they would all rush out to meet them head on and go down fighting.

"Bloody hell, Vicky."

It was a tired sort of sigh, pointed at nowhere in particular. A single green eye glazed as Arthur starred out from the cluster of trees he was shuffling through to regard the cabin across the field. His stance shifted, coming to a stop, as instead he leaned against the trunk of the nearest tree and crossed his arms in a pensive manner. "I don't think I'm going to be able to hold them back this time." He continued, voicing his thoughts to this unseen entity in a dejected mumble. "If Skjoldr is on their way..." Arthur let the thought trail off, not daring yet to complete it. Not knowing whether he could still hope to maintain the truce they had respected for all these years or if it was but a fool's errand to think that the rival pack wouldn't take immediate advantage of the loss of their leader to finally finish them off.

Movement caught his attention before he could continue to monologue. Arthur tilted his head, tracing the walking path of a silhouette he could now recognise as Yeva leaving the cabin. He watched her path for a moment, curious as to where she was heading this early in the morning, until he registered her intended destination. Oh. Of course. Arthur lowered his head once more upon the realisation, eyes now trailing to the ground with a grimace. For several minutes he stood there, silent, and tried to offer the other werewolf some semblance of a private conversation with the gravestone. It was only when he glanced upwards, and spotted her smoking, did Arthur finally ease away from the tree he'd been leaning on and start to make a slow amble over to her direction.

"I see one of you found the coffee beans I brought back from the store." Hummed Arthur as he approached the shorter werewolf, a curious eye peering into the contents of the coffee cup. A light tone, testing the waters. Trying to gauge whether she was in the mood for idle chatter or if he was about to be snapped at for such an inane comment to start the day with. "....Did I get the right ones?" He then added, more pensive, as his eyes flickered from Yeva, to the crude grave, then back to Yeva. The additional line of 'because Viktor usually picked up the coffee everyone wanted' went unvoiced, but Arthur had little doubt that it was still heard between them all the same.

He sighed, audibly, and rolled his bad shoulder to distract from the thought with a series of sharp clicks. "Do you feel ready to talk to them all?" He enquired, head tilting aside in a curious manner. "Dare I ask for the early draft?"

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[First Rose]

Zon

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  Dirtied and tattered apparel w/ Ushanka on top
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Approaching Yeva from the forest line/Opposing end of Arthur
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Yeva
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Worn muscles lugged forward the bag of flesh, leaden by chopped lumber and dead game. Her hoarse, panting breath mingled with profanity disrupted the sanguine hymn of the overhead birdsong. Labored by the timber’s weight digging raw trenches into her ebony skin. The side of her face weaved a corkscrew at the scent of blood meshed with dead cervid, hogs, and her own. Her knees ached; legs throbbed, betraying her ankles with staggered footfalls through tangled underbrush. Yet it left her stride undeterred, despite each ragged inhale piercing her throat, despite her cold-freezing sweat and blood painting her shirt in damp strokes; her pace may have slowed in increments, but never ceased. Not when her gaze, frayed at its edges, burning inside their sockets with strain and insomnia, made out the old oak of the cabin’s rooftop.

Her eyes dipped, glazing over to the ripped cargos stripped of dignity and allure..
She scowled.
As if her disappointment would fade the drumming soreness clutching her bones. After making these trips every dusk and dawn for the past two weeks, battled alongside her classes and work schedule in the city..
One would think this got easier.

Once upon a time she believed this body was no greater tool to adapt and overcome, needing all but a determined push past its threshold. No, it took a cruel week and a half to snip such faith in two. Feeling a struggle not unlike that rabbit she’d caught limping back to its hole, leg mangled.
Poor thing.

Poor her. Tossing some vodka on an open wound like the moron she was. Tired, hungry, slightly nauseous, and moody.. Shaming no one but her damn self.

A blink tore her focus from the tight webbings of her subconscious, rolling her shoulders against the ache gnawing at them. The pack needed food, water, wood— routine. Zon wasn’t about to let that all fall away just because ‘ol daddy decided to take a dirt nap for no good reason. Grief was just another feeling, consuming only what one allows it to consume. Sure, she’d allow the rest of them, their time to mourn, hell she’d hardly spoken much of a word to anyone as of late in respect of their space. But drag her to depths of hell should anyone find her moping.

If she stopped, if she stalled for even a second…
Well—Zon feared what she’d devolve into, quite frankly.

She told that bastard…
Now look at them..
Damned fools.

And set to supposedly lead them all into fame and glory — her figure awkwardly broke through the snow peppered pines to lay sight upon the familiar female hunched before his mound — was the rock-faced, daughter of a bitch, herself. Practiced restraint merely allowed the line of her lips to thin as she made her way through the clearing. Sparing neither of them a glance, not him, not her, nor their general direction; much alike any other exchange they’d had in the past month. A non-existent one.

“Shit.”

The violent rip of fabric and torn flesh marked her foot, splitting through a wayward log biting into her leg. Jostling her step just enough to topple one of the dead boars from her back. A sharp exhale pursed the edge of Zon’s cheek, and for the first time in about a dozen years, it felt, her voice regarded the woman just a few yards away.

“Bring that back with you whenever, if you’d please..”

Her stare held forward.

“—maybe make something productive of yourself.”

She then trudged on, slumping forward to re-adjust her cargo.

“..or don’t. Wouldn’t make much difference.”

Not too long after, the fire pit made its approach, finally allowing her to drop the weight from her shoulders in an unceremonious heap. With a fit of theater, she too slumped to the side, lazily tossing soft patches of snow over her blistered shoulder. The cold bit deep, prompting her teeth to grit, but she welcomed it. For a moment, she allowed the cold to reach through her, kneading her aching muscles with a blanketing numbness. The young lycan flared her nostrils, flexed her fingers, itching for the flask in her pocket, but she didn’t move. Not yet.

Two weeks..
It felt like a day.

Zon blinked, aching honey-shot hues tracing the faint wisps flaking off the clouds above. If she closed them, she might see him. Hear him. Her jaw tightened.
The rim of her flask was pressed against her bottom lip before she had time to further entertain her dreading headspace. A few deep gulps of whiskey was all it took to replace any blazing furnace.

She only let herself lie helplessly for 2 minutes, maybe less, before she threw herself over her knees. Back on the move. Stoking up the beginnings of a fire to make breakfast for the early risers, albeit, she left an elk or two for the more feral mother-effers among them. Humoring the thought with a scoff as she tossed the set of logs back over her shoulder to stow away behind the cabin, only to catch in peripheral the sight of Arthur’s mass enshrouding Yeva’s own. Her brows met at her nose, despite herself, the image tethering the full shift of her head.

Surely, he’d take up the mantle, wouldn’t he? At least until the brunette could prove reliable.. The tight constriction of muscle beneath her open wound pried her vision back to priority.

Who. Cared—her stride resumed with purpose —at the end of the day, some of them had work to do, things to prepare. It’d be preferable that the lot of them not forget the tide of war was only rising. And no one's going to follow behind a coward unable to get over themselves.

Fire

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[cuzn]

mood :

Apprehensive, Restless

location :

Near the cabin, near the grave

outfit :

Transformed; A large, black-furred wolf with pale yellow eyes and a gray undercoat.

mentions :

Lycanious
First Rose
Autumn_Leaf

interactions :

None

Bethany Brown Jr.

;; bunny

Bunny hadn't slept much. Not that she was expecting any different—the past two weeks had been nothing but restless nights and early morning birdsong, dull-eyed lethargy. Her activities were evidenced in the snow, freshly fallen from the night before and yet covered in wolf tracks. She'd been pacing in circles around the cabin for much of it, carving tracks and trails in the snow in a well-trodden ring, and occasionally she'd ventured further. Into the territory, the woods, the mountains, stalking along the edge of their territory's borders with adrenalized fervor. The scent posts marking the edge of their territory, where the land of New Tides and the dark, looming, treacherous pine woods of the Skjodr met, had never been stronger.

Part of this was busywork for her, when she had nothing better to do, but mostly, it was done to upkeep the appearances of strength. A subtle sign of a pack unfettered by the death of their leader, who stared into the parted jaws of their enemy with teeth bared, stating loudly, if you come here, we'll be ready for you.

There was no concept of deception in the language of wolves. There were no lies, no omitted truths, only candid, blatant, upfront honesty.

It was the human in her that felt the need to bury her tears around her packmates. Only humans lied about how they felt.

That night hadn't been as severe as the others. For most of it, Bunny was caught in a trance, a haze disconnected from the boiling fury that had haunted her ever since his death. She had visited his grave, though her pawprints stopped at the forest's edge, and multiple times it was apparent that she'd approached, hesitated, and then turned and walked away. She visited the frozen waterfall near by where last year's goslings had been born. She chased a cougar away from an old deer carcass. She killed a rabbit.

Still, she hadn't had the nerve to face Father's headstone, until now.

The birds had just begun. The faint, slanted beginnings of sunlight brushing against the treetops cast the world in an odd blue haze, somewhere in-between darkness and light. Bunny could pick out the robins that nested near the cabin, and the distant chittering of a bald eagle—soon, the dawn chorus would begin, and the world that had once been silent would be lifted by a cheerful cacophony. Bunny's paws tingled with the beginnings of numbness, but she hardly minded, trotting at a leisurely pace between the trees, a shadow of a black pelt wandering in the forest. She wasn't too far from the cabin, nor from the grave, and she'd planned on watching the sun rise before returning to her bedroom to sleep, but a new set of foot-tracks caught her eye.

A single inhale and the scents of her pack filled her nostrils. Zon's scent, wood splinters, fresh game. She followed the trail a little ways, before finding herself at the clearing, where Zon hauled in her catch and Athur stood, tall and broad-shouldered above the Daughter.

Bunny's ears swiveled to the sides, but her tail didn't tuck. A mild apprehension prickled in her chest, rooting her to where she stood at the edge of the treeline.

coded by reveriee.

 

[animegirl20]

Eria had yet to wake up. She was still fast asleep dreaming away. Levi had already been up and was making breakfast in the kitchen. His mind drifted off thinking about what to Father, as they called him. It was definitely shocking even for Levi, and things didn't really shock him anymore. Like Erica he was quite curious as to what would happen now and who would take over. It seemed kind of obvious the daughter would. He suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a noise. He turned his head to see Erica walking into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. "Morning" Erica mumbled still half asleep. "I smell bacon," Erica said as she walked up to the kitchen table and sat down. Levi looked back at the stove and then turned it off. "Don't you want to change out of your pjs first?" Erica shook her head sleepily. "No" Erica was like a completely different person when she was tired. She started to nod off. Levi sat down a plate in front of her and then sat across from her. Levi wasn't a very emotional man it always looked like he was glaring at you even if he wasn't. His expressions were very subtle though around Erica he was a bit more expressive. Levi sighed and crossed his arms with an amused smirk on his face. "You were up all night on the computer again weren't you." Erica blinked sleepily and yawned. And stared at her plate blankly. "No" she lied. Levi's eyebrow went up. "Riiight" He said as he shook his head. "Come on wake up and eat don't you have work?" Erica nodded and started eating her eyes still half shut. A small laugh escaped Levi and he stood up. Erica was like that as a kid and well seemed like somethings never changed. He put on his boots and put on his coat then opened the door to head outside and start on the morning chores as he closed the door he purposely slammed it closed knowing that would jolt her awake.

Erica's eyes shot open when she heard the door slam. She shook her head trying to wake herself then let out a big yawn and stretched out her arms. "Man, I gotta stop going to bed late."

 

[Autumn_Leaf]

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  The New Tides grounds.
  

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  Lycanious cuzn First Rose animegirl20
  
  
  see?

code by opaline

Yeva Petryk

❛ The Legacy Bearer ❜

Yeva's gaze flicked to Zon, her sharp eyes scanning every detail—her stance, her breath, the tension in her muscles. The initial reaction was instinctive: What the fuck? The worst possibilities hit first. Another pack? An attack? Her grip tightened around the coffee cup, fingers flexing, ready to drop both it and the cigarette if needed. But as her focus settled, the scene sharpened. Blood, yes, but wild blood mixed with hers. The boar hit the snow with a dull thud, and just like that, fear and worry burned out into cold apathy.

She took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around her lips before exhaling through her nose. Zon threw a jab her way—typical. Yeva barely glanced at her before replying, her voice edged with reluctant gratitude. “Thank you... but.” The weight of her next words pressed against her ribs, making it damn near impossible to meet those Auburn, knowing eyes. “None of this lone wolf shit. If we hunt, we hunt as a pack. We don’t need to lose two morons in the same month.” She held her ground, tension bleeding from her shoulders, but not her stance.

Zon hobbled away, and Yeva watched, cigarette resting between her lips, more ash than tobacco at this point. Father’s death hung heavy on all of them—she could see it in Zon’s every move. But the way they handled it? That was another matter entirely. They didn’t see eye to eye, that much was obvious. Zon didn’t like her leading. And truth be told, Yeva didn’t want to lead either. Not after everything. Not after leaving in the first place.

She let the smoke settle those thoughts for a moment longer, until Arthur’s voice cut through.
Her posture shifted, the weight on her shoulders rolling off just a little. “Yeah, it’s… it’s good, Arthur. It’s good.” A lie, but an easy one. The smoke had long ruined her ability to taste anything properly, and besides, coffee was a utility, not a luxury. Still, the bitterness cut through the haze, and in that, there was comfort. Nostalgia. She appreciated Arthur’s effort more than the drink itself.

His tired eyes met hers as he asked the question, tilting his head, expectant.“Fuck no.” The answer came quick, hushed for the sake of prying ears. “I don’t even know where to start.” A sharper inhale of smoke, the kind that burned on the way down, before she put the cigarette out against her boot and tucked the butt away—a habit formed from hiding the evidence from her father in the first few weeks of being back.

“But we need to do something. I need to do something.” The words settled heavy in her chest. “I wanna bring up the fact that we need to start retracing what happened. No more grieving—we have to find out the truth. And if it was Skjoldr… how do we act? I know most of the pack wants revenge, me included, but Skjoldr has numbers.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Art… I don’t know what to do.” Her gaze dropped, landing on the dead boar. It felt like an omen. A warning.

She exhaled sharply, brushing past him and crouching to lift the boar. It was heavier than she expected. “Arthur—check on Zon. Miss Lone Wolf got herself a little torn up.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice, but the concern was real. Then, something out in the distance caught her eye. A figure—a wolf. The sun caught the edge of its fur, revealing the warm amber glow. Bunny. Yeva locked eyes with her for a moment, nodding once. A simple, unspoken acknowledgment. I see you.

And then, she shifted. It was seamless, instantaneous—like a ripple through reality itself. One moment, she was standing; the next, the air seemed to bend around her, a silent detonation of movement. Bone and sinew snapped into place with eerie fluidity, limbs elongating, fur rushing over her skin like shadow spilling over snow. Her clothes didn’t tear or fall away; they simply became a part of her, swallowed into the change as if they had never been separate.

A heartbeat later, she landed on all fours. Claws dug deep into the frozen earth, muscles flexing beneath her thick coat. Her golden eyes flicked toward the tree line, every sense dialed to its peak.

Gripping the boar in her jaws, she lifted it with ease, carrying it over to the firepit, where Zon sat. She dropped it with a heavy thud, exhaling through her nose in a huff.
Then, her gaze lifted toward the deck—Levi and Erica were waking up.
The anxiety of expectation was creeping in.

 

[Lycanious]

Arthur Miligan.

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  Mournful, pensive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Warm, simple clothes, a few layers
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Outside the cabin
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Yeva
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Truth be told, Arthur didn't really know where to begin either. Only that any action, any sense of purpose, felt like it was a better response than simply lying about in the cabin collectively mourning.

To the same token, despite the tales that surrounded old Arthur, he was far from being a violent man. He abhorred it in fact. Unfettered rage reminded him far too strongly of a past he held no desire to ever return to, and he intended to keep it that way in as much was possible. Arthur would snap and snarl for show. Howl at the moon, gnash his teeth and, yes, defend himself and others whenever he felt it was needed. But Arthur avoided being the aggressor. It was a basic principle of his. One that he'd thought, up until now, would be something that he could forge a mutual respect and understanding for from others over time.

A sickening, worrisome feeling had been churning in his gut ever since Viktor had been brought to the cabin. That the faith Arthur held in others had rubbed off too well on Viktor. That he'd taken a page from Arthur's book, and tried to make peace with his assailant, only to be mauled the second he'd turned his back to them.

It was, perhaps, the biggest reason why Arthur refused to take charge of the pack now, despite knowing that there were at least one or two members that would happily defer to him and probably more that could be swayed. He feared that he was too soft. He feared that he would get them killed, too. And that was the reason he likewise faltered, and hesitated, when Yeva hissed out to him that she was utterly unprepared.

Arthur looked skyward and took a deep breath. He held it, pondering, then slowly released it with a weighted sigh. It was something he did often when trying to collect his thoughts, and stay levelheaded during times of chaos. A green, tired eye drifted back over to Yeva, the milky film of the other briefly visible as his head turned before it was hidden behind long strands of silver hair once more. "Well," he rumbled. "I reckon that's a good start. Find our reason, or at least the cause. I still hold my doubts that Skjoldr would bring him to us were they the culprits."

He watched as she brushed past him, mouth opening to continue, only for the thought to hang in the air as she diverted the conversation instead towards Zon. Arthur then watched as Yeva effortlessly melted into her lupine form, before making a grab for the boar. Perhaps he had said enough already. Or too much, even. He didn't want to end up overwhelming her any more than she already was after all. So instead he nodded in vague recognition of her request and turned to head for the firepit.

"Yeva tells me you need a bit of a patch-up, lass?" Hummed Arthur as he lumbered over to Zon by the firepit. The tone however was more inquisitive than concerned, beyond the faint wrinkle in his brow to accompany it. Arthur already half suspected that she would tell him that Yeva was sorely mistaken. But as usual, Arthur always liked to offer the chance for fellow members of his pack to vent their frustrations or admit to a problem all the same. "Should I ask Levi to grab us a first aid kit?" Arthur then added, raising his voice by just a smidgen in the hopes that Levi's ears would catch the suggestion and he'd bring over said kit regardless.

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[First Rose]

Zon

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  Dirtied and tattered apparel w/ Ushanka on top
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Firepit
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Direct: Lycanious || Mention: animegirl20 Autumn_Leaf
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

She always hated this part of her morning, skinning.
Typically, she left this up to Bunny, Father even; or frankly, anyone besides her. But times of martial law required martial duty; especially if no one else was going to take the stance to do it. Order was in ruin, peace was in tatters, and the only solution was a proven defector. It made her ill how quickly everything she knew could turn on its head; how seamlessly survival became an obligation.

A lush thud hits her flank. Drawing an irksome glance past her shoulder toward the towering canine. A scoff aired from her, with no caution made to hide the disgusted mirth curling in her sneer as she turned her back. Can't even carry a damn pig without shifting.. fucking useless. The ungraceful filleting of skin and tendon inside the stubborn elk continued, the practice boiling over with heated aggravation. By now, Zon had managed to clean the wound just above her collarbone, as much as a handful of snow could tidy a gash. Nonetheless, she didn't let such deter her. Again...
Who else was going to do it?

The blade sunk unsteadily into the resisting hide of the carcass, slipping awkwardly between tendon and tissue with all but reckless abandon. Frustration movements jagged, and a ligament caught the blade's edge, twisting it from grasp. A yank, a rip, and a wet splotch of blood left half her face soiled in cold blood, and her blade deposited unceremoniously in the snow. Zon sat there, still, hands clasped around her knees, fingers twitching, her heart pulsing. Thoughts blurred and the rock in her throat fell into her lungs. And then—

His voice.
Like hands taking her shoulders, steadying her, grounding her, she allowed them to cut through. Clinging to each syllable to keep from slipping away in the thicket of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. A breath. Another. Her still-shaking hands wiped the crimson from her cheek. But no breath posit forgiveness.

Zon barely offered him a greeting before snapping,

"You've got a really weird way of taking charge, Arthur."

The words left her quietly, but even they could freeze flowing water. There was no regard for his concern, no gratitude in her tone. Usually, Zon held the patience for his heedfulness, appreciated it, respected it; but there was simply no time for it. She didn't allow him time to respond, didn't care if Yeva was in earshot, if Levi was nearby watching, if the weight of her words hurt. Good, they should hurt, something should be slapping some sense into each and every one of them; some more than others. As is, they were as good as game; no more dangerous than a pound of sheep who lost their shepard.

"You're one of our wisest. Our strongest. Our more capable. And you're just going to let this happen?"

The blade she'd retrieved stuck crudely in the young Alpha's direction, knuckles white at the hilt.

"Even before his ragged dirt bath, Father's been a lost cause, and you're here to tell me at face value, you've lost your goddamn mind just the same?"

Fire

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[cuzn]

mood :

Somber, but controlled

location :

Firepit

outfit :

Well-worn, oversized Alice In Chains t-shirt over a pair of baggy, ripped dark navy jeans. Scuffed black Converse shoes.

mentions :

First Rose
Lycanious

interactions :

First Rose

Bethany Brown Jr.

;; bunny

Bunny made no effort to hide the fact that she'd been listening in. Wolves could hear the slightest twitch of noise for over ten miles away, and when it came to conversation, expecting privacy from a group of lycans was just plain stupid. Still, she made no comment on any of what was said, and only gave a passing glance to Zon—who sat in a pathetic pile of anguish and elk-blood—before trotting over to stand in front of Father's makeshift, decrepit headstone.

There was a faint tugging in her chest, as if a single string had been attached to something behind her ribcage, and someone was pulling on the other end of it. This sensation, which she knew well enough to call grief, was dampened somehow, by the nearness of those around her, or by a newfound sense of clarity.

It's strange. The wolf sat, then laid, in the fluffy cloudlike snow, its breath misting in puffs of white warmth with every exhausted sigh. I can't imagine this as being you. It doesn't look like you at all. Even when we'd found you... You hadn't looked like yourself back then, either.

For a moment, Bunny was there again, standing at the edge of the border and staring down at what had once been their Father. No matter how she tried to sharpen her concentration and redraw that memory, she could never remember what his face looked like, she could never remember what sound came out of her mouth—all she could see, all she could think, was that she'd never seen a wound so deep in someone's neck that the white bone of their spinal cord was clearly visible at the other end of it. It didn't look like Father at all. Not like how he was when she'd last seen him, when she thought to herself that he'd gotten a new patch of grey hair, and when she'd kept quiet about it just to avoid embarrassing him. Bunny had never kept her mouth shut for someone else's sake until she met him, but then, she'd never had a father before she met him, either.

You're getting older, dad. You should take better care of yourself. Look at you. You've only just left and you've got us worrying ourselves sick. When she touched her wet nose to the wooden headstone, all she felt was the ice-cold pang of something that hadn't been alive in a very long time. The white slivers of frost still clung in-between the splinters. I haven't seen Zon drink this much. Arthur's not doing good, either. There's been talk that those Skjodr wolves are the ones that killed you. That they mean to start a war. If you were here... What would you have done about this? What would you have said to them?

The aching in her chest only deepened as this one-sided conversation went on, and yet it left her feeling more at peace with herself than she had all night. The muscles in her shoulders were finally beginning to loosen. Her jaw loosened, too, then her neck, and with each deep breath she felt herself lightening, her form shifting, fur slipping back into her skin, until the snow underneath her pierced her legs with cold and she realized that she'd become human, again. Her forehead pressed against the headstone for a moment longer before she stood, turned, and that nagging thread of sentimentality snapped as she walked towards Zon.

She'd been feral all night, again. When she transformed, she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday.

"Gimme your knife." Bunny's voice was sharpened by a sandpaper rasp, a slight hoarseness that she always seemed to carry with her. Not from smoking, but (as her long-time packmates could attest to) from the hours she spent screaming into her pillow at night. "If you keep butchering it like that, there won't be any skin left in one piece for good leather. Did you at least leave the brain intact?"

Sitting in the snow beside the elk, Bunny examined the fallen beast, gazing into its wide black eyes for a moment before looking over its skull. She preferred doing the skinning herself, partly because she liked to use tanning as an excuse to avoid socialization (most people found a reason to leave her alone when they realized that she kept the brain of an ungulate to use in tanning its hide), but mostly because it bothered her to see someone else do a bad job at butchering a kill. It had died for them, after all. The least it could be given was the respect of being used to its fullest potential.

coded by reveriee.

 

[Autumn_Leaf]

• 1
• 2

• .
• location

  The New Tides grounds.
  

  outfit

  
  

  tags

  Lycanious cuzn First Rose
  
  
  see?

code by opaline

Yeva Petryk

❛ The Legacy Bearer ❜

The wolf’s ears flicked at the sound of metal gliding through sinew, a sickening slide that cut through the quiet as Zon worked on skinning the animal. Yeva’s gaze lingered on her, each movement laced with visible disdain. It dripped from her fingers like the blood staining them, and yet—despite the sharpness in Zon’s voice, the venom woven into every word from earlier—Yeva couldn’t shake the sympathy that clung to her bones. Maybe it was their history, the shared ghosts of a simpler time that tethered her to those feelings. Childhood fears, once so suffocating, now seemed laughably small. She would’ve given anything to return to that kind of fear.


The brown wolf’s golden eyes tracked Arthur as he moved toward Zon, his approach calm, disarming in a way that could lull anyone into ease. Zon’s jab about Arthur being the “real” pack leader didn’t come as a surprise; others had said it before, and they’d say it again, until Yeva proved them wrong. Truth was, she agreed. Arthur was the obvious choice. But that was the thing about Arthur, he never reached for power, never wanted it. And the weight of the title alone made Yeva's shoulders tense. Just thinking about being pack leader made her jaw tighten.


She turned her head toward the tree line, eyes combing the clearing, searching for anything to anchor her spinning thoughts. But it was Zon who answered first.

“Ragged dirt bath.”

Her head snapped toward the voice. The sight of the bloodied girl set off a primal tremor. The wolf's lips curled back, twitching at the corners, a silent snarl threatening to break through. She rose onto all fours, instincts roaring.

Threat.
The thought hissed.
THREAT. ACT NOW.

Her muscles coiled, ready to pounce.... but then Bunny appeared. A tether back to reality. A reminder of what mattered. Who she was. Where she needed to be. The wolf grunted, lips licking back over sharp teeth in frustration before it all began to peel away, fur giving to flesh, growl giving to breath. Until there stood Yeva once more, clothed in dark fabric, hand perched firmly on her hip.

“Zon. Enough.” She didn’t need to raise her voice. She never did. Her words were flint, sharp, direct, ready to strike. “Do you think I wanted this? Fuck no. But I’m not running again. Not after his wishes.” Her tone stayed calm, composed, but steel bled through every word.

“If you’ve got a problem with me, do something about it. But if I hear you spit on Father’s name one more time—after everything he did for you, for all of us—” Her hand swept across the others, voice dropping colder than before. "Then you can leave. Because I swear, if you choose to stay and keep testing me, you'll find out exactly how thin my mercy runs... and how cleanly I can cut someone out of this pack."

 

[Lycanious]

Arthur Miligan.

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• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  
  

  Mournful, pensive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  Warm, simple clothes, a few layers
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  location

  
  
  
  

  Outside the cabin
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  interactions

  
  
  
  

  Yeva, Zon, Bunny
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Though the sudden burst of anger had been expected, Arthur still found his expression grave as Zon’s words cut through to him. The look he gave her in return was one of forced neutrality. Deep in his heart, an ember of anger flickered in response. A primal reaction, one that urged him to snarl and snap back in response to anyone that dared to suggest that he was no longer an asset to the pack he had come to think of as the closest thing he’d ever had to a family.

Arthur’s expression hardened. He had made a vow to himself to set an example to the rest. He intended to keep it. “My value was never in leadership, Zon.” Rumbled Arthur, eventually. “And quite frankly, I think if I tried to take it you’d be threatening me with that knife of yours instead of Yeva.”

A mud-caked boot then stepped forward, Arthur easing himself into a position that placed him between the brewing argument between the two. Towards Zon he issued a weary grimace, then tilted his head to the side to regard Yeva with the same expression. Clearing his throat, Arthur then raised his hand in silent indication for the two of them to remain at the distance they stood instead of giving into what was undoubtedly a growing urge to tear each other into pieces. “Please, you two. Don’t spill any more blood than we need to. Not now.” He declared, voice remaining low but hardened with the unspoken promise that he would force the two of them apart if he needed to.

“We don’t know who killed Viktor.” Arthur then announced, voice cracking ever so slightly at the man’s name. Still he barrelled forward with the statement, motioning with his hand now towards the crudely-made marker for the man’s grave a short distance from where they all stood. “We all have our theories, I’m sure. And I know some of us want nothing more than to run riot with them and seek revenge on the matter.” Continued the man, keeping his gaze focused on the marker in favour of trying to keep the statement neutral regardless of how well the pack knew of which individuals he was referring to. “But. If we want to honour the memory of Viktor, and the core beliefs he strived for…I think he would want us to not charge so blindly into the situation.”

A pause followed. The thought that Skjoldr was the culprit was by no means an unfounded one. Arthur knew that, as much as it pained him to admit it after all the hard work Viktor poured into the belief they could coexist with the pack on mutual respect. Briefly his eyes clenched shut. From somewhere in his skull, his thoughts started to ache. Sifting through the differences between hopes, wants, and the reality of a situation had always felt so much easier when Arthur could bounce his theories and discoveries off of Viktor. Again, Arthur inhaled, then released the breath in a long, contemplative tone as he surveyed those of the pack who were present.

On instinct, and perhaps lack of any other certain way to deal with the situation, Arthur found himself falling back into the familiarity of an advisor role. “If we want to take action, I say we take it. But we use that anger, and that drive, to find the true culprit before we strike.” Arthur began, sweeping his hand now to the side to indicate the vague direction of where he knew the Skjoldr pack’s territory to lie. “I’m still of the firm belief that if Skjoldr as a whole wanted us all dead, they would not have brought his corpse back to us. Why prepare us otherwise? Why bring us our former leader, and give us time to grieve and rally behind his successor, when they could have attempted to slaughter us the second he took his last breath?”

Finally, he turned to Yeva, dipping his head in acknowledgement for her final word on the matter. It was something Arthur did often with their former leader, as indication that whatever spiel he had conjured up for him was now over and it was time to either approve of the suggestions or challenge them. “We can let our rage consume us and go for the first Skjoldr throat we see, or we can hunt down the culprit like the wolves we are. You are all free to make your choices. But mine is tied to Viktor’s wishes, and by extension, Yeva’s decision on the matter.”

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡