[ P ] Too Close for Comfort

The sun was about to rise above the horizon, and soon, more wolves would begin to wake. This was one of Kestrel's favourite times of day. Some chose to start the day early, allowing him to do as he wished whilst avoiding many witnesses. The hardest part was finding a suitable victim, but this had been one of the lucky days. Now on the outskirts of Yorkshire, he was searching for a nice secluded area to settle down and enjoy the large chunk of fresh meat he had acquired.

It had been a long time since Kestrel had last visited Yorkshire, but he thought he could remember the rough whereabouts of the Imperial Barracks. He was not very comfortable with the idea of getting too close, but the area he was passing through seemed to be a good distance away. It was nice and quiet here, but he was yet to find the perfect spot. Somewhere with lots of birdsong would be ideal.


(@Lorcan)

The peach glow at the horizon is almost a relief, a tell the restless night is finally coming to its end. The behemoth gave up trying to catch more than an hour's worth of rest a long time ago and takes to patrolling, though he is not exactly on duty. His flank brushes past sturdy tree trunks, the sensation of rough bark against his fur a grounding one, and he steps over exposed roots, trying to watch his step as to not announce his presence.

The smell of wolf and fresh meat reaches him before long, presenting an opportunity to fill the tedium. Naturally, the beast begins to close in on it, feeling the itch for a little action, something to get his blood flowing... not much does these days. He spots movement amidst the copse — an agouti adolescent, trim and lean, carrying a generous portion of meat between his jaws. He is a long way from the carcass it came from and is still on the move, not seeming to be in a hurry but not exactly on a leisurely stroll either.

Lorcan shadows the boy, trailing a fair enough distance behind as to not draw too much attention... but not for long before he makes his approach. As he does, he cuts to the chase and asks, "Where are you headed?"

@Kestrel

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume

there is fire in his eyes and ice in his veins

he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns

The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze was somewhat comforting, and Kestrel thought he could hear the faint twittering of birds in the distance. Turning his head to the sound, he tried to follow it. 'Song thrush,' he thought to himself as the birdsong became clearer. His tail swayed lightly. He and his sister had always enjoyed listening to the song thrushes. As he continued to pad along in the hopes of getting a bit closer, the rustling of foliage caught his attention once more, causing him to pause and double check his surroundings to make sure he was alone. He turned his head to see an unnervingly large wolf approaching him. Panicked, he wasn't sure whether to run or stand his ground. When the wolf asked a question, Kestrel took a couple of steps back before placing the meat he was carrying between his paws.

"I am looking for somewhere quiet and peaceful to enjoy my meal," he responded. "But why does it matter?" The last part came out sounding a little more cocky than he had intended. He really wasn't in the mood for company, yet alone being stuck in the forest with a wolf that could clearly overpower him with great ease. Unable to predict the stranger, he took another step back, prepared to grab the meat and run if things took a turn for the worse.


(@Lorcan )

The second the dark brute makes his presence known, the whole forest comes to a pause — the birds twitter no more and the young man stops dead in his tracks. Even the breeze seems to halt. Slowly, the umber-furred wolf turns to face the beast. Lorcan's eyes flicker down at the fresh haunch of meat that had fallen between the boy's pale, ashen paws, before they meet a half-blind stare.

The wolf's response is curt and to the point — he's looking to enjoy his breakfast somewhere quiet, but what does it matter? Lorcan remains stone-faced at the bold tone. "What a harsh reply. Perhaps I was merely curious," he says, eying the boy up and down — he looks defensive, anxious, all over a simple approach. Perhaps he is up to something, or perhaps some part of it is simply a reaction to Lorcan's titanic presence.

Either way, it is the behemoth's duty to get to the bottom of it. Orange eyes narrow. "Now I have grounds to suspect there is a reason you're on edge." He steps closer, to retake the space the boy had created. "And there is a chance this reason is something illegal."

@Kestrel

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume

there is fire in his eyes and ice in his veins

he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns

As the stranger took a step closer, Kestrel took another step back. He did not yet feel the need to run, but his ears dropped back in unease, realising the hastiness of his response hadn't helped one bit. By the way the dark wolf spoke, it sounded like he was a member of the Imperial Army. This was far from ideal; in fact, this was exactly what Kestrel had been trying to avoid, but at least he had a few excuses lined up already. If the meat's original owner's scent remained, it would be difficult to tell whether it was stolen or traded for without further inspection, after all. Though, firstly, he decided to try and clear himself of suspicion.

"Why wouldn't I be on edge? It's not every day I run into a stranger this early in the morning." His voice was slightly shaky as he began, but he quickly recovered it, refusing to let the other's size intimidate him as he mustered up a bit of courage. "For all I know, you could be a thief posing as someone else in an attempt to fool your victims." Kestrel picked up the chunk of meat, carrying it back a little further before placing it between his paws once more.

"If you believe you have the authority to question me, then how about an introduction first?"


(@Lorcan)

The boy's excuses are initially shaky, but he's quick to start speaking with more confidence — he is even so bold as to accuse Lorcan of being the thief. The gruff man's lip twitches with a sneer. The very idea disgusts him to his core. "Your words reek of projection," says Lorcan with another step closer. Are his words truly a simple projection? It's only a guess to pressure the young wolf further, but it is odd, the boy's excuse (it's far from unusual to run into one's fellow wolf at dawn here in Yorkshire) and just how quick he is to point fingers.

The guard's suspicions are far from quelled. The wolf makes an insolent little demand for an introduction, which Lorcan gives: "You speak with Lorcan Blackthorn of the Imperial Guard. You would do well to mind that lashing tongue of yours." Lest his patience runs thin. His attention lowers back down to the goods in the stranger's possession, his nostrils subtly flaring as he takes in the scent of it. Lorcan calmly observes, "Too fresh to be scavenged. I have my doubts a rotten whelp like yourself would have managed to kill a mature deer alone."

And if a young wolf was so lucky, it wouldn't make off with only a small piece of the prize. It would guard its hard-earned kill. Lorcan watches the boy's eyes, searching for his reaction.

@Kestrel

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume

there is fire in his eyes and ice in his veins

he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns

Kestrel took another step back, hesitating as he watched the stranger's reaction, realising he may have gone a little too far. He hardly knew what had come over him; confronting others was not in his nature, but it seemed the intimidation and fear of his actions catching up to him had driven him to a somewhat aggressively defensive state. Though, as unusual as this was, it was not entirely unfamiliar. The same kind of instinctive reaction was the whole reason he had ended up in this mess in the first place; if he hadn't acted so rashly on that fateful day, perhaps he never would have had to stoop so low as to join the Thieves' Guild. Yet, he knew it was his fault all the same.

As the dark wolf continued to speak, Kestrel remained quiet, lowering his gaze as he was met with a sudden feeling of guilt. Despite their differences in size and appearance, he was surprised to find that the stranger's name didn't seem all that foreign to him. Lorcan... He couldn't help but wonder if he had heard the name before in the many stories he had heard as a pup.

It wasn't long before Lorcan chose to investigate the chunk of meat, commenting that it was too fresh to have been scavenged. Kestrel found himself holding back a growl at the comment that followed. Whilst it was true he wasn't a very good hunter, he did not appreciate the way the sentence was worded. Still, picking fights wasn't going to get him anywhere.

"That's because I traded for it." The displeasure could be heard in his tone of voice, but otherwise, he tried not to let his feelings get to him. "I'm sorry if I offended you earlier, but sometimes it's hard to know who you can trust." His voice finally returned to its usual calm tone as he began to regain his composure. He still felt quite tense about the whole situation, but he wasn't looking for a fight. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance.


(@Lorcan)

The whelp drops his gaze in such a sorry way — perhaps there is a chance he is innocent after all and Lorcan has no reason to be hassling him, but there remains just as much of a chance he's up to something he shouldn't be. The earthen whelp explains himself, his agitation barely disguised. Amber eyes narrow into slits at the apology that follows — an attempt to smooth things over after getting off on the wrong foot, Lorcan is willing to wager.

But the whelp isn't wrong. Trust is difficult to gain and give — all his life, it eluded Lorcan just as love had. Born to a family that was locked together in hatred... brought up by barbarians who loved power more than their own sons and brothers and daughters and mothers, who stabbed each other in the back until they were all dead... then left alone in a world not made for men like him, who'd only ever known ruthlessness, whose hearts are buried deep by their misgivings and desolation. Never belonging, even to the packs he'd sworn his loyalty. Trusted as much as a feral beast, eyes were always on him; but it didn't matter because he couldn't trust any of them either, fearing one day they'd all turn on him, gathering together to bring him his ruin.

In all his years, he'd only known a very small handful of wolves that had any faith in him and he put his in them in return, but they are all gone now.

Now as Lorcan tries to build a new life for himself and start once again from scratch, one truth stays the same: he can only truly rely on himself. Skeptical of even his fellow soldiers, how could he simply take this stranger at his word? After addressing him so snappishly, no less?

"Is that so?" the dark brute muses, expression unchanged. In the case this is the truth, it still doesn't rule out illegal activity necessarily. "What did you trade?" Narcotics, perhaps, or some other contraband.

@Kestrel

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume
there is fire in his eyes and ice in his veins
he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns

Kestrel had a feeling this question was coming. He had tried to think of something in advance, but his next excuse was only half finished by the time Lorcan asked what it was he had traded. It seemed he would have to make up the rest on the spot.

"I... traded marigold." He tried his best not to let his words falter, knowing that uncertainty would only make the excuse less convincing. "The wolf I traded with was from the College of Eòlas and was looking for some herbs to bring back." 'Marigold has healing properties, right...?' he thought to himself, only knowing of the plant from hearsay. He had hoped to mention another plant or two, but he simply couldn't think of enough within such a short timeframe. However, the excuse wasn't a total disaster. He thought it sounded plausible enough, and with a little luck, perhaps Lorcan would believe it.

Although everything seemed to be going a little bit better now, Kestrel couldn't shake the feeling that this was far from over, and he wasn't about to let his guard down. One unexpected question could be the difference between being found guilty or innocent. He decided to sit with the chunk of meat just in front of him, curling his tail round to meet his paws as he tried to predict where the conversation would go next. If he could stay one step ahead, then it was bound to make things a lot easier.

Yet, he couldn't ignore the nearby twittering of birds...


(@Lorcan)

At first, the whelp's explanation comes off hesitant, though it's quickly composed. He says he's traded marigold with an unnamed wolf of the College. Lorcan knows too little about these flowers and the College to really delve further into the subject, at least not in a way that would uncover anything meaningful. By the skeptical look in those amber eyes, he is far from wholly convinced but this... knowing all the perfect questions to ask, the right buttons to push, sniffing out all the holes in someone else's argument... this was never his speciality.

He understands how to break a body and a spirit, but the mind is more elusive, to one with such a forthright nature. All he knows is that his suspicion hasn't been quelled, but there are others who can do a much finer job of digging out the truth.

"I ought to take you into custody for a proper interrogation," says Lorcan, marching closer to the sitting wolf, until near enough that if the boy took off, all it would take is one good pounce to seize him. With a swish of his ruddy tail and a downwards glance upon the meat, he says, "Give me half of what you've got and I'll change my mind."

@Kestrel

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume
there is fire in his eyes and ice in his veins
he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns