To Come Undone

The chilling sea breezes of Aberdeen were a comfort that Savard rarely enjoyed. It had been too long since he had ventured this north, not since his previous job, one that, well, ended up in a rather unexpected way. After all, dealing with Imperial defectors were always curious, especially ones that despite their size, could not cope with their impending death. Well, at least that was what the contract was asking for. A shame, that for Rychdir, things would not turn out quite that way. What he had done (or rather not done), would surely have earned him no Renown, but perhaps among those who were informed of his deeds, some renown nevertheless. Or perhaps it had all gone away quietly. He always preferred that it did, for to have his name attached to the things he had done, or had not done, was a way to encountered wolves he would rather not. He enjoyed to have stayed out of this war as he had, and preferred the luxury of picking sides so much more than the sides picking him.

Savard’s tri-toned snout found itself sniffing amongst a series of inconspicuous rocks along the shore. It was perhaps an odd behavior for such a wolf to be doing, but he had had his reasons. Then again, with how long it had been, there was always a chance that what he was after was long gone. He kicked over rock after rock, trying to remember which one it had been. The grey flattish one? The black and grey one shaped roughly like a tavern table smashed in half? Or the yellow-brown one covered in moss. On and on the search went, until it clicked. The red one, soft, pliable, yet large. Confirming the scent of his possession, Savard pushed the rock over with a paw, exposing beneath a weathered satchel, long abandoned, beaten up by time and relegation. At last, he thought to himself, as he went to open it.

Empty. Of course it was. With a sigh, Savard put the rock back. What was he thinking, that there would be a chance his dead drop had been there, after so many years? It had been a large score, a particularly wealthy aristocrat who had lived in Aberdeen. And someone, perhaps it was a rival, a political anarchist, some wolf with means, he had asked Savard to rob him, deprive him of his fortunes, and allow him to relish in his enemy’s downfall. Of course, after being told he could keep what he stole, Savard obliged, and robbed the aristocrat. Well… his belongings, as well as his life. He hadn’t expected the miserable old wolf to put up such a fight. And given his connections, everyone would be on the lookout for the wolf’s coin. So, given that it hadn’t been safe, Savard deposited most of his haul underneath that red rock, hoping one day to return. It was tough to realize it had been almost four years since that had happened.

And now, having returned to the very spot, Savard couldn’t help but feel a different way. He felt… pity, for what he had done. The wolf was rich, yes, and yet… had he deserved to die? Had he deserved to have his death go unsolved? His pups, and perhaps their pups in turn, were left destitute, heartbroken, torn apart by grief at the loss of their family. And he did it… what, so someone else could benefit from it? It hadn’t even been about the money, it was about the thrill of the job. Was one such life worth Savard’s selfishness? He need not answer the question to know the truth. And yet, wolf killed wolf today over equally selfish reasons, and perhaps because of that... he felt no regrets for what he had done. Only what it had cost him both then, and now.

Nora trailed along the shoreline, relishing winter's chill upon the air. As the seasons changed, leaves began to fall with the blood of her brethren and Rionnach changed with it. She would not partake in anymore battles or bloodshed for she had a family to care for, loved ones that needed her, and while she was torn she knew it was the right decision. She had taken those girls from the only home they had known in the Mainlands and while she tried her best to be everything they needed she felt lacking many days. She often wondered if she had been right to take them from their father or if he could not give them a better life than she. She hated Leo for what he'd done and it had been that hatred that fueled her to get them back. Now she felt less like a mother more than ever but she could not think about that now...

Her ocean blue eyes scanned the beach until she spotted the figure of another. Her tail swayed behind her as she approached the stranger slowly, a friendliness to her gaze that she hoped he would return in favor. She had never seen this man before and perhaps that was a good thing. "Hello," she uttered simply before offering a small and polite smile.

Savard had heard and observed certain things about the Highland wolves. Many of these things are well-known, unquestionable. Besides their superstitions, accents, and obsession with order and balance—ironic considering the state of their homeland—they were considered a rather insular folk. Rarely did they approach outsiders or even converse with them. Hell, Savard could count the number of times on one paw that a Highlander stranger greeted him, not counting bars and taverns. But then again, perhaps strange times were an excuse to break from tradition so to speak, that, or he had been quite lucky today. As Savard had spent the past moment coming to terms with his pecuniary loss, a voice called out to him from behind him. By the inflections in her voice, and her seashore scent, the male had made several assumptions about this wolf and her character before they even locked eyes.

But as his scarred form eyed hers, would she be so unkind as to return judgment on who he was, or at least seemed to be? She seemed so friendly-looking, surely much smaller than the average wolf, not the least intimidating looking as far as most would say. But then again, appearances were always deceiving. Wolves might pretend to be friendly, lure a wolf into a false sense of security, but more often than not, it was all a ruse. Every wolf, after all, is but a liar at their core. It just depends how convincing they are to their lie. And yet… despite Savard’s reservations, there might always be a chance that this wolf was honest in her attempt to address him in a friendly manner. Unfortunate for her, Savard wasn’t that kind of wolf.

“Yeah?” Savard responded with his Mainland accent, eyeing her in a rather judgmental fashion. It wasn’t anything personal, but rather, as he saw her, Savard’s eyes were drawn to her form, particularly her shoulder and scruff areas. There were some barely visible wounds beneath her fur, fresh enough and deep enough to have surely been from combat. Of course, it didn’t take a genius to infer a bit more now about this wolf, and perhaps what she was doing here talking to him. This world was not made for those who are innocently in search of friends. Every wolf has their reason, for every wolf lies.

"Yeah?" came his simple response, and Nora's ears twitched back slightly at his accent. It was not hard to pinpoint he was no Highlander and with that she became more wary than she initially was. "Are you an Imperial?" she said, her fur fluffing up around her neck slightly as her guard rose. She didn't smell the stench of the barracks on him but that didn't mean a thing to someone who could hide their scent well. Then again, if that were the case, he would likely lie when prompted by her direct question.

Nora's eyes gleamed as she looked at him, she was unsure of what to do now. If he responded 'yes' there might be a fight on her paws and if he responded 'no', well, she wasn't at all sure she could still relax before a Mainlander.

One word was all it took to change the newcomer’s demeanor for the worse… at least, that’s what most might say. It should have been no surprise to any wolf that with the way circumstances in Rionnach were, who you were and who you followed meant everything to many. Savard had no intention to deceive the wolf before him on either, even if he reserved the right to withhold as much as he wished from her. And yet… his accent, one that was blind to him after all the years he used it… it seemed to speak for himself, earning the distrust of the wolf before him. Her hackles raised, her body at the ready to strike, the only question on her mind was if he served who she did not. Most wolves would not have desired things to be this way… but for Savard, it made him feel alive. It was like a phantom familiarity, the dangers of a life he once lived, coming back to him all at once. He welcomed it, secretly so behind his stoic expression, to feel this way once again.

Of course, the Highlander still needed her answer. “Would you expect me to say ‘yes’ if I were,” retorted Savard, his expression showing no sign of the aggression she showed him, “you don’t strike me as the type to be new to this war of yours… so I have to wonder if you’ve had any success with asking such a question.” Savard’s cutting, sarcastic words perhaps underscored the annoyance he had to the bluntness of the question being asked. He found the question almost to be insulting, with the dealings with so-called Imperials had had in recent months. To be counted among them… perhaps it was what he deserved, perhaps it was accurate enough… but he was by no means like them. He was no Nicharion, no White Timber… not any of them. And neither was she, but that was perhaps his mistake in expecting a Highlander warrior to think in the same manner a Royalist soldier did.

And yet… what a wolf said was far less important than what a wolf didn’t. Wolves lie when they speak… but other things about them do not.

“Would you expect me to say ‘yes’ if I were, you don’t strike me as the type to be new to this war of yours… so I have to wonder if you’ve had any success with asking such a question.” he replied, as if reading her thoughts aloud. A single ear twitched atop her head and she shrugged her shoulders. "Not much," she said, though most Imperials were more than eager to reveal themselves for who they truly were -- at least that was her experience. "You don't stink like they do, anyway." she commented, relaxing ever so slightly. She was still on edge but here she felt safer, here she felt at home.

"And you don't smell like me," she added after a moment of silence. Her nose twitched and she continued to stare at him. Was he one of the many wolves in Rionnach who held no particular allegiance? The idea was foreign to her, she could not understand not picking a side. When it came down to it for her there was right and wrong and she was on the right side-- so why wouldn't anyone else want to be standing there with her? "So who do you call King?" she asked. She did not know if he would continue to talk with her or grow bored of her questions and leave but she wondered, if anything, if she could convince another soul that Jacob's side was the righteous one.

It appeared that his blunt sarcasm did wonders to lessen the tension between, though by no means was it quelled. Perhaps there was a twinge of embarrassment from her question, though Savard had to respect her honesty. She asked this question before… but it did not seem to help. Perhaps there were just that many wolves who wanted nothing to do with a war that did not affect them, perhaps there just that many liars among them. Maybe it was the Imperials who could not keep their voices down, and had to brag about the position they held. Of course, Savard couldn’t help but smirk at what she said next, about their scent. While barracks had a rather rank scent to them, one Adamh’s soldiers wore with pride it would seem… the smell of expensive alcohols and other… pleasures was surely also hard to miss. Thankfully Savard’s episodes of binge drinking must have made for a different scent.

But now the question came as to where his loyalties lay, a dangerous question to answer these days. The Highlander had surmised Savard to be from the Mainlands, and surely not one among her forces. And now, she endeavored to ascertain his political beliefs. While the Highlander was curt with her words, her questions simple enough, Savard found it difficult to give a straightforward answer. The way he saw it… Highlanders didn’t think the way wolves like Savard did about politics. The wolves of always, the wolves that had everything they ever wanted in their lives, supporting this house and that house was their activity. But what many wolves did not understand, was that most wolves in Rionnach, at least those with the luxury of not having the war be personal to them, wanted to live their lives, not die for a cause that would never serve them.

“Respectfully,” Savard said, “Who I call King is a different question than which of the two wolves sending others to die on their behalf I support.” His words dripped venom, his disdain for the pointlessness of it all apparent. They acted like what this was so different than the squabbles of Guilders, fights over territory, resources, influences. The wolves of always seemed to look down on those fighting in the sewers or in the shadows as monsters, criminals, when in fact they were part of the same hypocrisy. This war of theirs, it wasn’t for everybody. And yet… one had to ask why wolves fought? Jacobites, more or less, seemed to believe in something, a cause greater than themselves. It was almost admirable, what little Savard actually knew of their reasons. It seemed so much more substantive than the motivations of Imperials these days, who seemed to desire only Renown or renown. Some may have even jumped at the chance to kill alone.

But, perhaps this wolf required a bit more of an explanation from Savard, one he was more than happy to give. After all… as long as their intentions remained non-violent, what had they to fear from one another? And besides… despite how dismissive Savard felt of this wolf’s cause, and surely despite how disinterested he acted, part of him did desire to speak more with this stranger. “It’s not in my interests to choose sides in an affair that doesn’t affect me,” he continued, “…at this time. I know that may be difficult for you to understand, knowing what I do about how this war began, and how personal your ties must be to Jacob’s cause.” Adamh had been known to crack down on wolves such as himself for their doings, jailing, torturing, if not having them disappear. And yet, Guilders did not flock to Jacob’s cause either, in Savard’s estimation, especially after what happened to Rook. So when it came to what this war meant to wolves like Savard, the answer was always complicated… at least until it wasn’t.

Nora huffed at the words the other spoke and simply shook her head. It would seem he was not the type to like to answer questions and that irritated her. But he would eventually point out that she stood on Jacob's side of this war and she'd only nod in response. "He is the rightful King... and we will win this." she murmured, though the words were not wholly beneath her breath.

She sniffed quietly and looked the man up and down, her ocean eyes slightly narrowed. "This war, this conflict, it affects everyone in Rionnach. Don't stand there and pretend that it doesn't," she said in reference to his earlier comment. It was foolish to think otherwise. Whenever it was said and done, things would change and she hoped it would be for the better. That was why she was actively fighting her way through hoards of royalists, in hope for a better future.

The Jacobite seemed hardly pleased with Savard’s opinions on the current political climate. True to any zealous patriot, she stood by her cause, giving judgment onto those who were unaffiliated. She may not have hailed him as an enemy, but the vitriol in her voice on his indifference was hard to miss. She believed in this wolf, this Prince Jacob, so much so that one could not help but admire her dedication. And yet… she seemed poised to give everything for something, and receive nothing in return. The ex-guilder’s past life had perhaps muddled his thoughts on the subject, but wolves who gave themselves over to a cause they believed was just, and that being their only reason, were often disappointed. Fighting and dying based on hopes and dreams… they never made for a sound investment, never made the sense it ought to. But then again, such were the thoughts of a wolf who spent all his years among wolves that spoke only in Renown. But, there was something admirable to the wolf and her sense of loyalty, however naïve it might have seemed.

Of course… Savard was no fan of her taking issue with his neutrality. Perhaps it was too much to ask of a Highlander to understand, ever the sign of a side that was desperate for support against what seemed superior odds. And yet… she hid behind her shroud of righteousness, when in all likelihood, her Prince Jacob would change the lives of only some… and would perhaps delve back into the same vices she fought against. Now, Savard would never claimed to be a Voxi sympathizer (despite his connections), wolves who spoke in similar ways to this Jacobite, but with no less hubris. If he had had his way, he would ask that those wolves fight amongst themselves, provided that it stayed away from the wolves who simply wished to live their lives, who could not afford to indulge themselves in the luxury of dying for exotic and lofty ideals. Savard would have said more on that, but in such a place, and in such a case, it was best to keep one’s words to a minimum. After all…there was no saying what this wolf or her friends might do.

“Perhaps this conflict does affect all of us,” Savard responded, “but that is not the same as it concerning all of us. I can’t speak for Highlanders… but those that live in Rionna… those that are foreigners… they got more to deal with than dying for whatever’s right or just. They have pups that are starving, jobs they need to work… and quite frankly, no matter who’s calling the shots, their lives will change at all.” Some, such as university students, Guilders, and other bloodthirsty fools, their situations would fail to improve. But why bother arguing such a point, Savard thought to himself, especially given that this was never his intention. She had, after all, approached him. “And you know,” he continued, “those that fight for the Royalists, some of them had no choice. Conscripted, pressured, desperate for Renown, they fight because it’s all they have. Does your sense of righteousness distinguish between them, and those that fight because they are cruel and twisted in the head? They got something concrete they’re fighting for… but what about you? Are you fighting because it’s right, or do you want something out of this?”

Nora wasn't sure why she was still here, in all honestly. She should have just turned and left the moment he opened his mouth but here was was, starting an argument or debate or whatever it was with a complete stranger. “Perhaps this conflict does affect all of us, but that is not the same as it concerning all of us. I can’t speak for Highlanders… but those that live in Rionna… those that are foreigners… they got more to deal with than dying for whatever’s right or just. They have pups that are starving, jobs they need to work… and quite frankly, no matter who’s calling the shots, their lives will change at all.” Nora wanted to scoff, but she knew what he was saying was true. Still, she hoped that their lives would change should Jacob be reseated as King. Especially the lives of the Highlanders.

"We have it no better," she said. They had it worse in some ways, prosecuted simply for being Highlanders. It was what she was doing now to him, and others in return for being Mainlanders. “And you know, those that fight for the Royalists, some of them had no choice. Conscripted, pressured, desperate for Renown, they fight because it’s all they have. Does your sense of righteousness distinguish between them, and those that fight because they are cruel and twisted in the head? They got something concrete they’re fighting for… but what about you? Are you fighting because it’s right, or do you want something out of this?” he countered. "I fight for my family and for the families of all Highlanders that deserve better. I fight for my country. I want change, its what anyone should want when things have gotten as bad as they have."

"If none of this concerns you, what do you fight for? What is your purpose?" she asked. She felt she had purpose in this and being a mother and she would rather have that than be directionless in life. She shifted her paws in the sand and stared at him.