love is a loyalty sworn

He had risen in the predawn hour, the moment where the sun had not quite fully risen above the horizon but existed just enough to bleed color into the fading night sky; faintly, stars and galaxies alike still shone through to add their own parting splashes of color. It was a sight to behold, though he did not pay it much mind along the low foothills close to the river. It had been where he and @Hydra had tuckered out for the night, and already on that morning he sought to unearth something from a cache to share with her.

Sifting among ferns and stones, it did not take him long to find where he had stashed away a stoat from the day before. Luckily for him, no one had taken off with it though even that would have been a short list of candidates. His siblings, his children, perhaps even one of his nieces or nephew—he could have easily seen the youngest of their pack finding it to be more entertaining to cart off a short snack for giggles.

But today did not favor such behavior and as he gathered it up from the soft soil, his eyes were drawn to the pastel sky that heralded in the new day. The birds had begun to sing their morning songs and it hastened his return to where he hoped Hydra would still be, thinking perhaps this time she would not be so enticed to wander off on him just yet in another rousing game of keep away.
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This time, the matriarch idled. She had awoken feeling rather nauseous, and so determined to rest a little while longer; it was only her need to relieve her bladder that caused her to rise as to take care of this. On the fourth bout of this, as Hydra settled on her side beneath the shade of a conifer tree, Hydra realized it was not for the first time she had felt such a way. The nausea was a newer symptom, but the need to relieve herself with such frequency... that was not too uncommon for her when... 

Another wave of nausea caused the thought to not reach its end, though she was able to quell it. Despite the discomfort she endured, the matriarch felt primarily rather pleased—and if it were neither of those things that revealed to her the present state she was in, then it would have surely been the way she pined for the scent on the wind. 

Was that stoat? She had never craved the critter before a day in her life, but now the scent of it was tantalizing to her. Hoisting herself onto her stomach, Hydra's ears pricked forward as she heard the sound of her mate returning to her with precisely what she craved in tow. Continuing to laze (she feared moving to a stand might cause her to need to relieve herself again for the umpteenth time), her tail beat against the earth; she was quite sure her mate would be as thrilled as she to hear the news she had to share.

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Closer to their resting place, he shook some of the dirt loose from the stoat. It may not have been the same had it been fresh, but the taste of it in his jaws didn’t seem to bare anything ill about it. He could tolerate the taste of dirt at least, but he wanted it to seem a bit more presentable for his wife. Perhaps like there was a little more effort put into it than just him being a bit on the prepared side to try and tempt her into allocating more of her own free time into his favor… which as of late hadn’t been too terribly difficult to do.

He had hoped to come upon her still resting, but leave it to the songbirds to have stirred her awake long before he could. Her keen gaze met his own as he crested a hillock, his tail swung gently in a mimicry of her own as he curtailed the distance between them promptly. It was at that point he was torn between sacrificing his own share of the meal to gift her completely, or being coy, though honesty was it even a question of which to be? The gentleman in him had long vacated his seat, leaving behind the knave that started his own tomfoolery immediately.

Dirge offered her the stoat with a rumble low in his chest, but his jaws would not relent.

She would soon discover this, if not from the look in his eyes alone.
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There he was, and her tail seemed to increase momentum; it was only then she pushed herself into a stand, still dexterous as ever as there was no change in her body to reveal what was transpiring within just yet. He bridged the gap, and her craving was so fierce that she did not yet see the look in his eye as when he offered it, there was no hesitation on her part to take hold. 

But he did not release.

It was then her own eyes turned upward and noted the mischief there, and she answered his low rumble with one of her own as she took a backward step with a sharp turn of her head in an effort to begin their own tugging match. She had tasted the stoat, and now she was hellbent on winning this game—...which, well, that remained true to her nature in any event, so there was no knowing the difference between craving and simply wanting to achieve victory then even for her—and so she made an active effort to step away again, tugging the critter stuck between them in the opposite way. As of yet, she had not gotten very far, but she was optimistic he would move with her if she kept at it.

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She took the bait. His eyes narrowed, heels digging in as he felt her tug and turn away; the stoat went taut between their jaws, the subtle beginnings of joints and sinew long set to weak rigor to crackle and pop at the twisting and pulling. He only let himself be led about a little, just enough to further whet her appetite for a rousing ritual that was oft their own form of gentle play.

So when she turned more sharp to guide him further, he dug those heels in again to halt her. Dirge knew exactly how he wanted this to play out, but the pieces of the scene had to be set up just right, all the players in their parts—he issued another deep rumble to get some point across, though any he could have been making at that point was folly and nothing more.

He would wait for her to give yet another great heave to steer him, and then he would let go. It had nothing to do about winning or losing a meal, just the satisfaction of his own entertainment.
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It felt like she had the upper hand, here, and she thrilled at it as she guided him. She would goad even in her own stillness, rumbling and shaking her head mightily—but not so much as to tear the thing in two. Hydra, hungry and having as terrible a hankering as she did for this creature, wanted it all if she could help it. Dirge's own tactics were not so much as considered so ferocious was her desire for this thing they two quarreled over (with no sense of seriousness behind it at all).

So, she did of course heave (though without any might, considering she did not want to rip the thing apart). Her surprise when, as she tugged once again, there was no sense of resistance caused her to reel backward rather quickly. Stumbling to a near fall, Hydra was not slow to recover... but nor was she very quick.

How dare!

Hydra was vexed for only a beat as she realized this meant that she had all of the prize, when she was then very pleased. Dropping the thing and beginning to tear into it, her gaze lingered upon him in case he decided to make any sudden moves... if he wanted his nose to be an appetizer, he could try it. But if this wasn't the best stoat she had ever had, even if it was not fresh, she did not know what could even come close as she scarfed it down.

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It was truly, immensely satisfying to send her reeling. It wasn’t something that happened very often, as Hydra was generally very sturdy and swift on her feet, but Dirge took great pleasure in the rare occasion that he could send her teetering. There was always the consideration of pushing his luck a little further, but with that lingering gaze set upon him with a fire that burned very hotly for his transgressions against her already, he opted not to push it any further.

For now.

Instead he settled close by, reclining to his haunches to take in their surroundings. The rising sun had yet to burn off the fog that coiled high in the forest above them and as his gaze climbed skyward, he took in the sight of the clouds that streamed in around the grand, jagged peaks above them. The unreachable heights—he was curious of them, but knew that not even the strongest of them could reach such an altitude.

“I met quite the character the other day,” he said then, attention shifting back to her, “from a place called Vanderfell Woods. Have you heard of them? He seemed interested in a meet and greet with us, lad by the name of Hieronymous.”
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She was quick to consume, eyes still upon her mate who seemed to know better than to attempt to take the thing from her today. But she was still able to listen, and as she made quick work of the snack Hydra thought of Vanderfell Woods. Had she... yes, she had. Though when she had, Woods had not been a part of the moniker, and nor had it been founded in full. Lifting her head and licking her chops (removing gristle from her muzzle in the process), Hydra's paw pressed over what little was left of the stoat. 

She fully intended to finish it. 

“I have heard of Vanderfell, though not Vanderfell Woods. I imagine they are one and the same,” she deduced, nostrils flaring. The scent of the stoat still called to her, even if she had curbed most of the craving. “They were not yet founded when I and your sister, Nyx, met their Queen-to-be, Ira...” beyond their interaction, much had transpired that she had not thought to even tell him. “Ira, do you remember her? She did not remember me,” Hydra frowned at that, though reminded him, “she was prepared to ally alongside us in an effort to eliminate our once-enemies,” in case the name alone was not sufficient enough. To be fair, Hydra was better with scents than names... though her memory was sharper than most, in any event. 

But she also understood that even for the sharpest minded being... well, this place was no match for them. It had wiped many clean, and even left some rifts within her own memory she puzzled after.

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“Ira…” he trailed, as though he could taste the name on his tongue.

His head shook dismissively—he did not remember, but there were plenty of things that Dirge found he could not quite recall. The fact furrowed his brow ever so slightly, for these little things were troublesome when they arose, but there was naught he could do to remedy it. There were plenty of things that could not be answered, gaps that could not be filled.

“But I suppose you would not be wrong to presume that they are one in the same… perhaps they would consider allying themselves with us once again,” he went on, ever thinking, “unless your meeting with their queen was ill-favored.”

They had been fortunate thus far, but how long would that last? It seemed by the day things altered themselves, whether it was natural change or simply the introduction and appearance of more of their ilk. He hadn’t been blind to such things even if he didn’t venture much. Word traveled all the same.
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Once she had finished speaking, she resumed her work on the stoat, withdrawing the paw that had lain possessively over it. He did not remember Ira himself, it seemed, though Hydra could not feel burdened by the memory that told her the sort of woman Ira was. It was perhaps why the meeting went well, which Dirge thought to ask. Swallowing the last bite, Hydra looked at what remained. Bones and fur for the crows. Stepping over it, and toward her mate, Hydra paused to stretch and answer, “no, it went well, even despite her forgetting,” in her low voice. The latter point was disappointing and of course displeased her, but it changed nothing. 

“Tell me of Hieronymous and this meet and greet,” she hummed, thinking of his words, “and your own thoughts on Vanderfell.” Did he think them a worthy ally? Hydra rose from her stretch then, circling and them sidling alongside him. She was awake enough now to begin the day, and thought a patrol with him would be quite nice at this hour. If she could vent her frustrations on the matter of being forgotten by disposing of any sort of trespasser in the process, all the better.  

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“He seemed friendly enough,” he murmured to her ear as she brushed alongside him, only pausing to preen at the soft patch behind her ear. “I think meeting them formally could have its perks for us. Couldn’t hurt to make the trip out there, at least.” A chance to steal her away and see the sights of the north a bit more in depth, a chance for him to have the adventure that his heart still occasionally ached for.

He could have voiced those things too, but there was little room for doubt in his mind that she already knew his thoughts. Talk of heading out together very rarely did not exclude such banter from him, nor would it this time even if he saved those words for later.

“If the rest of Vanderfell is anything like him, I think they would be worthy allies to have, especially for as far north as I believe them to be. We know little of what lies there at the present,” he went on, “and perhaps in time they may come across our own wandering.”
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The matriarch's ear twitched as he minded it, and she seemed to consider for a moment. Before she could even speak, a wave of nausea gave her tongue pause. Not so strong as before, but enough to be a nuisance. It was then she drawled, “it will need to be soon,” her gaze flit from the path before them to a nearby tree, “before traveling becomes... difficult, for me,” and then she looked up toward him, gaze shifting finally toward where she knew the future rest within her womb. It was no visible thing, yet, but her urine might reveal as much to those with as keen a nose as she. 

Still, she imagined she had another adventure in her before that point so long as they both minded the key word soon. 

Looking back to him, she left plenty of time for him to react to the news she shared—watchful, too, for a beat, before her bladder once again demanded she relieve herself. With a huff, the matriarch moved to do just that, sniffing at a fern before satisfying that baser need. When she returned to his side, she added, “It would be good to see them, and learn more,” she agreed wholeheartedly. No real ambassador herself, the matriarch far preferred home. But it was important to know of the places—and wolves—beyond them. One, for expansion that was sure to come... two, well, to see the merit of any alliance that might be found in another. “@Alya could act as me,” she drawled with a grin—it would not be for the first time such had happened.

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Her revelation certainly did change things, though it was not of particular surprise that their encounters together would not be productive; only a fool would have been caught off guard by the season and certain inclinations, and he was far from one. It did soften his features a little as she returned to him, though her proposition of letting her sister stand in unsettled him some.

“Well, we could leave for there soon,” he reasoned, “and Alya or Lyra could stand in here with Jarilo. I’d much rather have you accompany me to see the sights at least once last time before things change, be it capacity for travel or the weather. I don’t imagine they would be hard to find either.” He was sure their noses were just as keen as Empyrean’s own and one way or another, they would suss each other out.

“And not to mention the game trails I spotted along the way too… wouldn’t hurt you to pick what you fancy now would it? We could give some more for Altair to do since the boy desires to venture more and more,” he went on as though he needed to pitch more to the idea of keeping her close; he didn’t fancy leaving her behind and as much as noted in the gaze he held on her.
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fader for this one <3

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He wanted her to join him, and Hydra was pleased to hear as much although she already knew this; still, keeping her ego fed would ever work in his own favor (and any who might). And as for his suggestion in reference for game... well, she could get behind this as well. “Let us find my sisters then,” she drawled, accepting their quest without fuss. Nipping his shoulder, Hydra made to lead the way... pausing every so often to relieve herself.

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