Audi, Vide, Tace [Thistle]

[Thirteenth]

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[atrb=background,http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x30/Silehnce/Valley%20Howls/redwatersmiddle.jpg] When redirecting someone you'd normally kill on sight, you might try a less sudden method. Shrugging slightly, the soldier shifted away from her and stepped ahead, “You certainly are opinionated,” he grumbled, ears pinning back against his skull as he forged ahead through the scattered boulders. If he normally would have killed her on sight, then he would have done it already, blizzard or no. She was a threat, yes, but she was not an enemy…yet. Not until the war began. Or until she decided to become the aggressor; off the battlefield, Dagonet was never one to incite a death match. He had never slain a wolf that had not first tried to do the same to him. Layers of ice hidden beneath the snow made the way treacherous, and Dagonet moved with tenuous steps, testing the earth and ice beneath his paws with each step before bearing his weight upon his limbs. Even so, he was forced to fight to maintain his footing on several occasions, slipping precariously down the sloped ground. Long dormant memories began to rouse themselves as Dagonet struggled to sustain his footing. Namely, a forced, starved march through the treacherous winter peaks of the Transylvanian Alps in the Carpathian mountains. A long, miserable journey haunted by the fearsome legends of the land, comprised of endless nights in which the young, inexperienced soldiers had spent huddling together on the edge of mass hysteria, listening to phantom howls undulating behind a curtain of darkness. Watching shadows flicker within shadows beneath the moonlight, imperceptible figures weaving among trees, snaking over boulders… A flurry of motion disturbed his memories and the soldier turned his head in time to see Idris slip past him, careening down the icy slope. Her progression was halted quite suddenly by a large boulder, and Dagonet flinched at what he knew must have been a painful impact. Stepping gingerly, he began to move forward again, painstakingly making his way down the slick slope. Judging by the way she paused before moving again, Dagonet noted that she must have injured herself at least to some extent; but she was soon back on her feet, and he fell in behind to follow her around the monolithic stone. Rounding the face just in time to hear her bark something at him, Dagonet hovered back for a moment to take in the scene. His gaze followed her motions as she approached the hardy, twisted pine tree growing. Watching as her legs coiled powerfully beneath her body, Dagonet realized her aim and moved forwards. As her weight carried her back to the ground with a branch clenched in her jaws, the soldier moved in beside her, rearing back onto his hind legs. Upon having found purchase with his teeth, the wolf dropped his paws to the ground and tugged powerfully, helping her to wrench the groaning pine’s roots free of their purchase. Frozen chunks of dirt began to cascade downward, bouncing to the ground, and then with a final creaking protest the roots gave way and the pine tumbled downward. Dagonet kept his hold on the tree for as long as he could do so safely, guiding it down as best he could before being forced to leap away to allow the tree to settle over the rock.

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/dxdcg7.jpg] Idris only hung from the tree for a brief time, but the stretch on her ribs was somewhat painful. She still didn't think she'd broken anything, but some deep bruising was likely, and it twinged something fierce. Fortunately, it was not long before the tree gave another heavy creak, and she felt it shudder as the Order male added his weight and strength. The tree was hardy to have lasted this long in this unfriendly territory, but the storm had weakened it, and it was no match for two wolves of their size. She felt her lower limbs growing closer to the ground, then just barely touching, and she began shaking her head and neck as if she was shaking a rabbit to snap its spine. Finally, with snapping and low groans that were almost covered by the wind, the tree came down. Idris let go, hoping the unsupported end wouldn't dip further, and ducked as it bounced against the rock, pine needles raining down. She noticed that the brute had hung on until the last, guiding it into place, and was surprised to find herself giving a quick nod of approval. With the tree settled, the chaos in their tiny pocket seemed at least slightly abated. The last few crumbs of soil and pebble had stopped rolling, the branches were moved only by the wind, and that wind was no longer blasting them directly; it still flickered in here and there, but by and large it howled around the big boulder. The snow seemed to be mostly going with it, a few flakes still working their way under, around, or through the tree, but nothing near the crawling, writhing masses of blinding white that had been their main worry. Idris edged closer to the large boulder, close to where it nearly touched the smaller one, and settled herself down, moving slowly so as not to disturb her side, but steadily so as not to show weakness. When her body hit the ground, she twitched one ear--her only physical sign of pain--and then let out a sigh, looking at the male. "Well, it looks like we'll have a long, cozy time here." A few stray snowflakes landed on her slowly thawing pelt. Her skin twitched, fur shuddering with it, and some more of the built up ice cracked and fell away. "You might as well tell me your name."

[Thirteenth]

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[atrb=background,http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x30/Silehnce/Valley%20Howls/redwatersmiddle.jpg] As the last of the debris finally settled Dagonet shook himself, slinging snow and shards of ice from his thick pelt, uncovering the array of browns, grays, and cinnamon hues intertwining beneath an over coat of black. A little more comfortable after shedding some of the freezing layer clinging to his powerful form, Dagonet followed Idris into the shelter. He was careful to give her as much space as was possible in the cramped shelter, and took up on the opposite side against the stone face. It was not a luxurious space, but that did not matter much to the soldier; any place that offered at least a slight break from the elements was good enough for him. His past had not allowed for any form fastidiousness. Hardship and discomfort were life long companions that had always seemed to nip on his heels wherever the warpaths led. Dagonet had learned to adjust to whatever happened to come along and to take everything in stride. So he did not complain, inwardly or outwardly, as they settled in. He simply made himself as comfortable as possible, and lolled luxuriously against the stone wall at his back before beginning to lick away the snow and ice clinging to his long forelegs. "Well, it looks like we'll have a long, cozy time here. You might as well tell me your name." His ear twitched, twisting towards the sound of her voice before he lifted his head to glance towards her, "Dagonet", he answered, "of Sarmacja"� he finished with a slight, barely noticeable shrug. His origins did not seem to matter anymore; the proud tribe from which he hailed was barely even a shadow of its former glory, crushed beneath the heel of oppression. A great war had been fought and lost; and the borders of his home had shifted beneath his paws, invisible lines drawn by gray-muzzles congregating in distant fields, deciding the fate of a conquered land, dividing their spoils, enslaving each new generation. Spirits crushed and pride all but shattered, the tribes of his homelands had begun to fail; and for all Dagonet knew anymore, he was the last of his own. Reports from his homelands had been few and far between during his time of servitude, but with each delivery the tidings had grown bleaker and bleaker. Then they had ceased altogether. Shortly after, though his freedom from the blood debt had finally been earned, the soldier had relinquished all hope of returning him; he held no illusions about what might be waiting there... Shaking away memories, Dagonet shifted his bulk and crossed his great paws. A noble, regal visage for several fleeting moments before he rested his head on the cold earth and gazed out into the pristine, icy chaos swirling beyond the edges of shelter.

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/dxdcg7.jpg] It looked at first as if the Order wolf was going to ignore her, but then he twitched one ear and lifted his head, glancing at her. "Dagonet," he said, shortly. "of Sarmacja." His eyes seemed to grow distant for a moment, and he turned, staring out of the significant cracks in their makeshift shelter. Then he placed his head on the ground, eyes still facing outwards, and settled into silence. Just as well, probably. Idris kept her head up, but otherwise did the same, turning her eyes to the chaos outside. Now that she wasn't in immediate physical danger, the scene was hypnotic, even poetic. The landscape around them shimmered and faded in and out of visibility, stones, trees, whole mountains seeming to very slowly, gracefully dance and twist. When the bare mountainside came into sight, lighter veils of snowflakes shimmered and rushed along it, slipping over the ridges and dips endlessly, a misty white rush. Idris thought of Gwyn ap Nudd, king of the underworld, king of winter, that misty horned figure whose face was never seen, but who all wolves followed eventually, baying in the pack with the Cŵn Annwn, all white as snow, with ears and eyes as red as blood. Perhaps eventually those dead became the same as the hounds, and did not know it, or know themselves, only followed the hunter and harried the dying off to their final fate. Time passed, how long she could not say. Frost still decorated her fur, but it was melting more steadily, her body steaming slightly in the enclosure. The winds howled outside. She could imagine those white hounds now, flowing over the stones effortlessly, like the snow, surging towards their hiding place and howling with the wind. She wondered if Olwen would be among them. She wondered if she would know her if she appeared. In the indiscriminate blurring of the blizzard, it seemed unlikely that any one, individual soul could exist beyond death--they would all be pushed along together, like the snow. Mesmerized by the scene, an old song came to Idris's mind. The tune took hold of her, reaching out of the recesses of memory, flowing in her still-warm veins, the long history of song of her people. In a low, quiet voice, she began; her song was eerie, rhythmic, with a floating quality, an air of something ancient, beautiful, and long lost. "Ar lan y môr mae carreg wastad Lle bum yn siarad gair âm cariad Oddeutu hon fe dyf y lili Ac ambell sbrigyn o rosmari. Cold is the frost and cold the snowfall Cold the house without fire in winter..." A build-up of icy snow on top of their fallen tree shifted, making a loud rustling sound, and Idris stopped, snapping her head up towards their roof to take a look. A small amount of snow filtered in, but then stopped, and the structure seemed to hold. She watched it for a while more, then glanced at Dagonet, then returned her stare to the outside world. "Dagonet," she said, still looking out, "of Sarmacja." The word was strange in her mouth, but the syllables were not utterly unfamiliar. "You said you weren't a murderer. How long have you been with Dragunov?"

[Thirteenth]

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[atrb=background,http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x30/Silehnce/Valley%20Howls/redwatersmiddle.jpg] You said you weren't a murderer. How long have you been with Dragunov? Dagonet glanced down at the scar on his chest, mulling the question over silently for a moment as he tried to backtrack through the days. It had taken the gashes Dragunov had inflicted several weeks to heal over smoothly, and a few more before the last of the discomfort beneath the surface had faded away, “Two moons now, maybe a week or two less. I’ve only been on the island for three months at the most.” He would be the first to admit that he had failed to properly survey the situation upon having arrived on Traum. For almost his entire life, Dagonet had thirsted for freedom; all he ever wanted, from the moment he had been forced to leave, was go home. Years had passed with agonizing sluggishness, blood had been shed, friends had died before his eyes…his younger brother had died at his paws, writhing, pleading for help, drowning in his own blood. Time went on, until, finally, broken and bleeding, Dagonet had earned his freedom; and there had been nothing left to return to. The crows had ceased to bring word from home, which meant only one of two things: there was either no one who remembered them left; or there was no one left at all. His older brother departed with his large family to start a new life; but Dagonet had chosen not to follow, determined to return to the lands that had born him. But one thing always seemed to lead to another and another year passed, lonely, harsh, demoralizing. The warrior could not seem to make it back, could not adjust himself to civilian life when all he could remember was the army. So when the ocean had spit him out on the shores of Traum not far from the outskirts of The Order, a rare military state, Dagonet had scouted out the borders, watched from a distance. He’d learned their movements, their structure. Learned everything but the way the pack was perceived by the rest of the island. It had been a failure and a mistake on his own part, but it was far, far too late to turn back now. For better or for worse, Dagonet was an officer of The Order of the Black Stag; and he would see his oath through to the end. If nothing else, he could make some attempt to temper the aims that Dragunov sought to fulfill; attempt to bring reason to the cause. Not all of the wolves there were cruel, bloodthirsty creatures; some of them had never taken the life of another. Most of them were like himself, just looking for a place to call home, a place where they would be useful. Unfortunately, nothing about it was clear cut. Dagonet cast a lingering glance towards Idris, looking her over again. She seemed to see the world in black and white, to believe with conviction that The Order was evil, composed of murderers and malefactors to the last wolf. It must be nice, Dagonet remarked as he turned his gaze back to the world outside their shelter, to see the world so simply. Idris seemed to know exactly where she stood according to her view of the world, seemed sure of her cause. The only thing Dagonet was sure of was that he didn’t know anything.

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/dxdcg7.jpg] Dagonet turned his head downwards, musing, his gaze focused on the triskel on his chest, carved so deeply the lines were bare of fur, stark flesh visible. Idris considered what that practice meant about the Order. The Realm marked their members, too, of course, but the feather was a graciously accepted adornment, worn proudly and usually for life, but something that could, with a slight twinge and the loss of a few hairs, be removed. The triskel was something different. The permanence was interesting, almost admirable, but the fact that it disfigured the bearer seemed representative of the Order's ways in general. Once you stepped into their beliefs, you could never quite step out; they changed you. “Two moons now, maybe a week or two less. I’ve only been on the island for three months at the most.” He looked at her, now, a more lingering, considering look, which she returned calmly. Something inside her had loosened at those words, or at least relaxed its furious, iron grip. He was still Order. He had still been marked, cut, and defiled by their sign and their cause. But there was no way he could have been involved in the deaths of Olwen, Rhonwen, and Yorath. He probably didn't even know about them. It wasn't likely that their names were tallied high in the long lists of casualties, even they were remembered by anyone but her at all. Just a few rogue wolves who had strayed across the lines one day. An innocent mistake. A routine execution. Idris shifted where she lay to bring some life back into her limbs. She drew herself up from her side, resting square on her center, forelegs stretched out in front of her. She leaned slightly to stretch the muscles around her ribs, trying to stop them from getting too stiff in the cold. Resting them might feel good now, but if she let the injury freeze up and the blood clot too much in that one spot, she'd have hell to pay in a few hours. Her strong jaws clenched, once, twice, small lines of muscle shifting beneath the fur and skin, but she kept her eyes on his, refusing to allow herself to look away. "Then I apologize, for calling you a murderer, at least," she said, halting, gruffly, a fierce look still on her face. "The murders in question happened long before that. I don't expect they advertise them to new members. If they remember them at all." Her tone turned somewhat bitter on the last words, but still she didn't look away, and now that she had changed her position, she kept it, returning to a stolid kind of stillness.

[Thirteenth]

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[atrb=background,http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x30/Silehnce/Valley%20Howls/redwatersmiddle.jpg] Outside of their small shelter the world shifted. A thin fog of white drifted lucidly between lashing gales and flakes of snow. The landscape fluctuated, snow drifts forming, then fading, flattened, molded into new shapes by the wind. Only the mountain, with its deep roots, remained constant; though even the ancient bones of the earth changed through time, rising, falling. As quickly as the snow drifts in comparison to the ageless depths of their universe. From the corner of his eye Dagonet saw the female shifting, centering herself and stretching. Her jaw clenched, muscles shifting beneath her skin, Then I apologize, for calling you a murderer, at least, The murders in question happened long before that. I don't expect they advertise them to new members. If they remember them at all. Her tone was astringent, forced, the words unexpected. Dagonet nodded slowly, accepting the words for what they were worth, “I`m not subservient to all of Dragunov`s beliefs,” he gazed out into the storm as he spoke, “we all have a right to our beliefs and customs…but not to impose them outside our borders. I would as soon let the rest of the world go about its business; if all of Traum chose to assimilate to our lifestyles, fine. If not…it`s just as well,” he finished with a flippant twitch of his ear. Dagonet knew that Dragunov believed in the cause; but he was also power hungry, and that drove the General just as equally if not more. Dagonet understood the principles with which Dragunov worked; he supported them, felt they were sound. Attempting to force them on the rest of Traum…well the warrior did not exactly feel that it was their place. All the same, his pack was on the war path and as an officer, Dagonet would lead them despite his personal views on the matter. It didn’t matter, in the end. The world would go on in spite of the carnage; it would not share the grief of those involved. Dragunov`s war would mean nothing when his bones one day turned to dust in the forest; the lost lives fueling Idris` bitterness would be forgotten when she fell, as meaningless to the world as any other dead wolf. When his own violent, war tangled lifestyle finally caught up with him, Dagonet knew that he would be forgotten as well. Even the harshest of atrocities and the greatest of minds were eventually met with complacency, then forgotten; they would be no different.

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/dxdcg7.jpg] “I`m not subservient to all of Dragunov`s beliefs.” It was clear that Dagonet had more to say, but those words alone caused Idris to focus more sharply, tipping her ears forward. If her eyebrows also raised somewhat in surprise and skepticism, who could blame her? She had seen the worst the Order had to offer--she had seen it in her past, in the struggles of those like Lakiya and Sascha just to survive, in the flocks of the angry and dispossessed surging towards Serena's banner--but she had not seen its best. “We all have a right to our beliefs and customs…but not to impose them outside our borders. I would as soon let the rest of the world go about its business; if all of Traum chose to assimilate to our lifestyles, fine. If not…it`s just as well.” Idris's eyebrows, if possible, crept even higher on her tawny mask, meeting the dark mahogany frame around her face. She tilted her head to the side slightly, a thoughtful expression slowly and hesitantly taking the place of thunderstruck surprise, cynical skepticism, and tense frustration. As her thoughts stilled into a quieter pace of musing, the storm outside, seemingly in tune, slowed. Idris spared a quick glance outside to see that what had been blinding walls of white was tapering into thin, weak gusts of air, peppered with remnant flakes. There was little to be seen of the landscape around them but white forms, but at least they were visible again. She tore her gaze away from the window of sorts, and looked back to Dagonet, flexing her toes experimentally as she did so. "That's news to me," she finally began, scratching one forepaw along the ground slightly to dislodge a loose chunk of ice. It fell lightly off her claw. "Dragunov sends out his most blood-thirsty followers to be heralds of his new order. I've seen them. I've spoken with them, if you can call some of their ramblings speech. They're here to eliminate all those they see unfit, and that's a wide margin." With a quiet grunt, Idris rose to her feet and shook herself off. She politely kept to her side of the enclosure to limit the spray, a grayish shower of ice, dirt, and melt water that left her coat denser and drier than it had been, but still dark and striated into small spikes. She stood there with her head at shoulder level, looking askance at Dagonet, but not in an unfriendly way. "Then why fight for them? If your beliefs don't include their mission of spreading this 'life style' to the rest of Traum, why lay your life on the line?" Her tone was not antagonistic. If anything, it was quiet and curious, with a hint of concern. She remained where she was, waiting for an answer.

[Thirteenth]

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[atrb=background,http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x30/Silehnce/Valley%20Howls/redwatersmiddle.jpg] That's news to me, Dragunov sends out his most blood-thirsty followers to be heralds of his new order. I've seen them. I've spoken with them, if you can call some of their ramblings speech. They're here to eliminate all those they see unfit, and that's a wide margin “I realize that,” Dagonet watched the storm’s strength fade, observed the way the foggy alabaster landscape ceased to alter further, finally settling to stillness. The soldier’s ears twisted backwards, flattening against his skull for a moment as he reflected on her words. Dragunov was power-hungry and a cunning politician. One who recognized that fear and propaganda were excellent control mechanisms; who molded his manifesto into a perverted religion of sorts. The white devil knew exactly how to lure in malleable pawns which could be then wrapped around his paw, used to wage his war while they worshipped him like a god. It only made sense that he would send out such followers to drawn in new recruits. They used the promise of power to lure in some, used fear to impress others, and if that did not work, they struck terror into the hearts of their enemies. Dagonet respected that; recognized it and kept his distance. He was loyal to The Order without being absorbed in their agenda. And he would remain so until his death; unless his pack turned on him first. Loyalty was a two way path, after all. Then why fight for them? If your beliefs don't include their mission of spreading this 'life style' to the rest of Traum, why lay your life on the line? “By the time I realized the true extent of Dragunov’s intent I had already pledged my loyalty to him and accepted the mark,” he made a vague motion to the scar on his chest as he answered. A stigma that would forever set him apart from the rest of the island. When he had allowed the scar to be gouged into his chest, Dagonet had known the implications; and while he had not expected them to become so dire, he accepted them, “I’ve cast my dice with The Order’s lot and now I have no choice. It‘s far too late to renege.” The last thing that Dagonet expected was for Idris to understand. He imagined that she would rather have died than fight for the same cause were their positions reversed; but if he turned on Dragunov, the soldier would not just lose the weight of his word and his good name. He would also lose the only allies he had on all of Traum, and he would face unhindered persecution for his brand. As an officer of The Order, no less, his sins-as perceived by the rest of the island-would not be easily forgiven. He was much too involved to extract himself even if he held any desire to do so.

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i55.tinypic.com/dxdcg7.jpg] Idris was amazed at how swiftly the storm was winding itself to a close. How long it had lasted, she still couldn't say; that initial confrontation on the barren hilltop seemed ages ago, part of another lifetime. The scene was nearly foreign to her now, and seemed dreamlike, in shades of white, gray, and black, chaotic and full of angry tension. If it weren't for the prodigious amounts of snow heaped outside and the large male quietly sitting in the makeshift shelter of a few rocks and a tree, she'd doubt it had happened at all. Perhaps the most dramatic change was in her views. As the weak, clouded sun shone through newly clear air on gleaming sheets of silvery white, Idris felt shifting pangs of regret and turmoil. She would never turn away from her fight with the Order. Dragunov and his rabid followers were still her enemies, she still had revenge to take, and she still knew the land could not survive under their grip. Still, when she looked at Dagonet, as she did now, she saw...a normal wolf. One that had made different choices than she had, of course--no matter how convenient or how much it mattered to her personal honor, she couldn't imagine staying with the Order after learning about their cause--but a normal wolf nevertheless, whose path had taken him, through accident and mishaps, into their hands. “By the time I realized the true extent of Dragunov’s intent I had already pledged my loyalty to him and accepted the mark." Idris nodded once, slowly, gazing again at the strange, obscene tear in his flesh. "For sheer insidiousness, that may be one of the worst of Dragunov's crimes," she said. “I’ve cast my dice with The Order’s lot and now I have no choice. It‘s far too late to renege.” He said it with a bland, disengaged kind of resolve, as if it didn't matter too much to him what the outcome was, of the war or of his own life. She watched him with some sadness, a sigh escaping her nostrils over a closed muzzle. It drifted off in the nearly still air, flickering every now and then in a slight breeze. She shifted, finally, lifting her head to a more comfortable position, turning to face him fully instead of looking over her shoulder. "That's one thing that I suppose will always be different between us. I could never stay, even if I had to live as an outcast." Partially melted by the still milder temperatures of early winter, a few larger chunks of snow crumbled and fell through the tree branches, scattering once they hit the ground. Idris looked up and blinked at the bright light filtering down through the gaps, hitting the ground in beams. "What do you say we get out of this death trap?"