You said that we would always be.

Maybe @Flynn?

---

There was something soothing about the sound of rainfall. Katavra, pausing between the exposed roots of a proud oak, settled herself against its bark to listen as the droplets fell heavy on the canopy above. It was a downpour out there, and she was glad for the shelter of the forest.

Her time among the wolves of Elkshire was just beginning, though she was yet to meet anyone beyond Célnes and the brute from before. The young Mayfair didn't go out of her way to track them down, either, for her priority was to discover the lay of land. Pack-mates were not important, not right now.

She lifted her tall ears to the sound of rustling foliage close, but dismissed it as one of the "sacred" deer rummaging nearby. Shifting, Tavra chose to ignore it. She set about preening the silken white furs of her chest instead, plucking free a couple of knots and thorns, before she smoothed the worried strands with a careful tongue.


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---

She'd been lounging, eyes sunken in crisply falling waters, back turned from him. Her very being seeming to drip with tears wept by the fisheye moon, illuminating her snowy bosom in damp crystals. Although she appeared ravishing in her might, she'd faltered in hearing his approach, an action that brought a small, charming grin to his battered lips.

The deer-legged prince was tired, yet held not a second of worry upon his nimble structure. No malice or ill-intent would be detected behind those boyish optics of his, but the fact she hadn't heard his exaggerated limp... He was merely... tickled by her. Though it hadn't been her looks, be she was still a fair maiden, or even the way she lurked on the way she did. No, no, what sent his muzzle open in snorts and laughter was the fact he'd been standing there for god knows how long and she hadn't even batted a lash.

Had she been so caught up in the rain that his presence went unnoticed?

Perhaps, perhaps she simply didn't care.

“Pardon me, but I don't believe we've met.” He'd slowly, painfully sit closer, a gruff sound exiting his muzzle as he tried his best to remain as professional as possible. He'd nearly tipped over, truthfully, but mostly tripping at the fact she was such a tiny little thing. He oftentimes wondered what it would be like to fit in the palm of another's hand, but the good God had blessed him with grand tree limbs and the power to stride evenly over green grasses. If only he could still use them properly... With time, Flynnigan... With time.

“Sorry if I disturbed you, couldn't sleep, decided to go for a bit of a stroll.” What even was sleep to him nowadays?

—

 

---

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 What even was going on lately?

 From the chaos that was the Nightwalkers-Flynn situation, to the promotion into Royal Guard in the queen's late pregnancy, to ... yeah, ok, the first one was the one that got her the most confused. Her friend who always seemed pretty put-together, except when he was falling asleep on top of his house and was having a hard time training, had gone and done what exactly? She really didn't know the specifics except that Celnes wasn't too happy and she hadn't had the chance to actually sit down and talk with him. Figure out what had happened, really.

 So when, on her roamings, she caught his smell - she followed it.

 Saw him standing in the rain, watching a stranger. Her brow creased, a familiar and unwanted sensation causing cold within her stomach - she shoved it aside. Again. She had no right, no claim to those she had met and felt close to, no claim to him. Still, she approached, smiling at the handsome prince and the stranger. Another wiggling reminder came to mind.

 “Flynn, aren't you supposed to be in bed?” she said as she approached the two, trying to come at an angle where she wouldn't catch them unaware though she also felt a very clear desire to make sure they were both well aware of her presence. She also casually didn't mention that his bed wasn't also hers, though they had shared it and all. “Hey, I'm Meissa,” she said then, looking at the newcomer and waving her tails in greeting.

 She realized with a soft laugh that the girl's red hues and whites were all too familiar, recognizable in the mirror of water even though the girl was far too tiny to be actual kin.

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The sound of laughter rose above the heavy pitter-patter of rainfall on the leaves above and Tavra, with her back still to whatever guy thought she was so hilarious, gave a very dramatic roll of copper eyes. Only afterward did she lift her crown to regard him over a narrow shoulder, expression neutral despite the churning of anxiety in her stomach that was guaranteed to manifest as frustration. She blinked at him, this long-legged and rugged creature, and stared coolly from beneath dark lashes.

He's laughed at the wrong wolf before, the young Mayfair mused, as her copper gaze swept with silent judgement over his battered body. Did he not learn?

Tavra did not answer him, not at once, though she slackened a little with his apology. She parted her jaws to say something sharp, something to make clear to him that she didn't appreciate his mockery of her, but the approach of another distracted her.

This one was a giant, with a solid build. Fuck, Tavra thought in the safety of her own mind as she sought her new pack-mate's face, that is the ugliest bitch I have ever seen.

The newest arrival berated the fawn male first, and Tavra acknowledged the comment about him being in bed with an amused flick of a damp ear. An introduction followed and the young dragoness responded smoothly with her own, “Tavra.” Too new, and not knowing what these wolves were like, she deliberately bit back the question that sat dangerously on the tip of her tongue: who are you supposed to be, Meissa, this guy's mommy?

More laughter came, then, and her irritation with it returned. Tavra felt her gut churn with paranoia, and with a vain lift of her pallid chin she calmly and boldly questioned, “something funny?”


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---

As the rain poured on, coating his Bambi lashes and staining his bandages, budding eyes of moss and spring refused to leave her. She was hard not to look at, the countess of autumn and October fright. Her snickering tongue pressed so firmly to her teeth at the arrival of his royalty that even he couldn't stand but to crack yet another smile.

She was firey, much like the fleece that covered her.

He liked it.

Mayhaps he would have attempted to soothe her nerves, as he thought he recognized her wit as insecurity, but there was a sudden shift in the thunder that brought a newfound peace to him. Although water typically made scents wither and fade, a single lift of his nose confirmed who was approaching.

“I'm quite alright, promise.” He'd reassure her almost as quickly as she parted her mouth. It wasn't out of distaste for her that his words came so hurriedly, he simply... Didn't enjoy the attention of it all. The Prince knew how he looked. He was bruised from head to tail, the sheath between his thighs swollen with infection, shoulders sore yet still they rolled onward. He'd fallen into a coma for a few days as well, and while he wasn't entirely sure for how long, he knew that Meissa had been there. He'd felt her. Just as she was now.

“It's nice to meet you, Tavra. I'm Flynnigan, Royal Gaurd.” He would have introduced himself as a Prince, but with new... More official royals on the way, he held his breath. “I do hope you've been nestling in nicely, it's been raining a great deal recently, and while I enjoy it I know many who get stuffy about this kind of weather.” Softly grinning, ears folding back slightly at the notion of her upset. He could have told her why he laughed, but he had a feeling she was more concerned with his colleague than he. “No, not really. I... I merely thought you looked ravishing earlier, with how you were poised like a little doll in the storm... Sorry for bothering you.”

Now, what was Meissa's reason?

—

 

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 This stranger had all the atmosphere of a high school military brat but Meissa pushed it aside. You met one yearling, you met them all. But hey, at least what they all had in common was a splash of white that the devout hated.

 Flynn's reassurance was received with a sharp exhale of her nose.

 The man had been in a coma for three days, did he expect to just get to run around before his head, his legs, and what was between them healed? She didn't want to know the specifics of why that was so swollen (though honestly, she was desperately curious in a painful sort of way.) After all, it had been the stinky leader of their ally and - if her nose was correct - the father of the queen's kids who had dragged him back home. If their best and only scout was to break his legs because he still wasn't healed up, they would lose something valuable.

 If he went and died, she'd never forgive him.

 So the soldier, ugliness and all, watched somberly as her friend chattered about greeting the stranger whose fur only newly smelled like them. She approached, paws taking her close to the yearling with head lowered to sniff at the child. For, yes, she was a child. A teenager, but a child. She held back rolling her eyes at Flynn calling the girl ravishing, instead deciding to investigate the damp girl herself.

 Meissa, the soldier, fought back her sullen desire to be vindictive, instead exhaled soft steam into the rainy evening. “We three match, despite the Déorwine dislike for white.” She knew Flynn was in some way related and of the three, he had the least white and she the most - so this girl fell right in the middle. “Did they give you a rank yet?” Or was she, like it seemed so many of the pack, jobless? “I'm also Royal Guard.” As tentative a role as Flynn's title of the same, but she figured it would be necessary at least until the royal offspring were old enough to care for themselves.

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Oh, so this was the "Royal Guard"? Glorified royal ass-kissers, more like. Tavra's metallic gaze drifted between the pair, both very different, and she vaguely recalled the gravid Alphess having provided her with their names. Again, she failed to understand how these wolves could hold such a title. Surely Célnes' personal watch ought to be close to her at all times, not stalking newcomers in the rain.

The first of them, Flynn, wished her well in his attempt to... welcome her? Ah, such boyish charm. She wondered if that ever truly worked on winning the favour or affections of young she-wolves and if it did, the girls were damn fools. It would take far more than flattery and sweet nothings for Tavra to blush and bat her lashes.

Still, much to her annoyance and despite him resembling an actual bag of shit, he was handsome.

The big, brutish bitch made the first move toward her. Katavra's eyes locked to the odd thing that dangled from Meissa's nose now that she could stare at her better up close, caught the glisten of its metal as she lumbered forward. What the fuck was that for? An amused huff of breath rushed through flared nostrils, and her furs bristled as her newest acquaintance invited herself right into her personal space to stick her big ugly muzzle toward her russet shoulder.

Her head, too, seemed solid. With a snout that arched in the wrong direction, she was far more hideous up close than at a distance. A mutant, clearly, and Tavra decided this as she shrugged herself to the side and out of reach - enough to stal a glance along the length of Meissa and catch sight of her double tail.

They were all alike, apparently? Tavra's turn to bark a laugh then, and she dismissed the observation at once - until she spoke of how undesirable the alabaster of their furs were to Her Highness. “Is that so?” Tavra questioned, unconvinced, with a twitch of a ginger lobe as she looked pointedly toward Flynn, “if they hate white so much, then why regard you with such esteem?”

The question of her own title was one she wanted to dismiss, for she very much doubted either of them would take her seriously. This tiny, fiery thing, a warrior? She wasn't quite prepared for the giant one to test her ability yet, but she answered with confidence: “she did. I'm a Bearbuck.”


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---

The conversation bleed on much like that of a funeral. Flynn was deceased, being dressed in dapper attire with weightless eyes and limp body, while Meissa and Tavra were acting much like greedy ex-wives waiting to hear their name in his nonexistent will. His interest was peaked despite his placid expression, behind glass optics did he take them both in, and a show began to waltz into his mind.

First, a figure skater appeared. A weapon of elegance laced in an up-tight bow, her delicate body filled with a tender muscle only those of his kind could appreciate. Fast, yet not too hasty, heavy, but just light enough to not shatter the ice beneath her feet. It took great skill to perform such a wonderful act, and she was doing it very well. That was right. Tavra was an actor, actress if you will. Flynn had come and gone through great lands a'many times before, her type wasn't far in between. The male wondered exactly how much longer her dainty paws could tightrope the brittle waters until a fatal slip would break her false reality and swallow her alive.

“if they hate white so much, then why regard you with such esteem?”

“I suppose you could ask yourself the same thing.”

He spoke calmly to her, blinked, then turned, as the next star had taken the stage.

A kickboxer. Every fight lost but the one that got her here. She had deserved many medals and received none, yet her valor kept her afloat more than her body did. As the days of a fighter were a hard one. Throwing yourself into battle after battle, knowing you'd lose but doing it simply because you had a chance. Her skin, while damaged and marked from the struggle of life, was beautiful in its own right. The pain had made her stronger, but strength could not help the mentally weak. He, too, wondered exactly who would land the last punch that would send her rampaging.

He sighed, shuffled his paws into a more comfortable position, and winced in pain.

The lad supposed he was an odd mix of the two. An acrobat, maybe, but by the time he'd gotten to that conclusion, he was already asleep on the cold summer ground. 

—

 

---

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 Hideous as she might be, Meissa contained power within her bones, her limbs, her jaws that this little miss could never hope to achieve. Sure, she could zip in and tear throats out, but when faced with an enemy as strong as some of the wolves she'd seen? No, Speedy little things couldn't be the only line of defense. Celnes knew that and could see the training behind her stance, her keen eye and confidence that had nothing tied to foreign concepts such as "beauty."

 Satisfied with memorizing the scent of the fox, she stepped back and surveyed the two, noting that Flynn was... falling asleep?

 Dammit, man.

 She flicked an ear, frustrated. “Not out here, dolbaeb, — idiot” she said with a sigh and a shake of her head. She looked back at the girl, ignoring the clear insolence. It was clear the girl had small-dog syndrome. She wanted to show she was stronger than the big kids so she had to make herself look big and tough. “He'll be better soon, recovering from some injuries on the job.” Better be, if he wanted Celnes's trust. How were they supposed to watch the new litter if she had to be babysitting him all the time? Not that she didn't want to make sure he was safe...

 Anyway. “To answer your question - it's because they see use in us.” Simple as that. Ignoring her jealousy, she spoke on. “If Celnes made you a Bearbuck, clearly she sees talent in you too. Remus, Flynn, and I train daily except for half, full, and new moons. Early morning - if you want to join in, we meet near the Grotto.” She glanced back at the sleeping Flynn for a moment before looking back at Tavra, “He'll join in again once he's healed enough to not open his wounds again.”

 He pushed himself too hard, exhausted himself. If Remus thought he'd drag Flynn along through the mud in the state he was in, he'd be a damn fool, which she knew he was not.

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He crumbled, and the brute called him something - something insulting, perhaps? Tavra twitched a raindrop from a whisker and her copper gaze swept from the brute to the battered fool, wondering what the word meant for only a moment before she reminded herself that she didn't care.

She lashed her fox tail, and said nothing in response to Meissa's offer of information regarding Flynn's injuries, of which she felt dismissive. Having just met these two, the cynic in Tavra had already decided that the main reason behind Flynn's injuries was probably Flynn himself. Despite all his boyish charm, she thought him rather odd to have been staring at her for fuck-knows-how-long; there was not an ounce of sympathy in her.

Ring-nose carried on, and it was to her that Tavra turned her resting bitch face. She listened in silence, noting the name of the third guard - Remus. Célnes had shared that one with her too and, now, having met Meissa and Flynn, she felt it safe to assume that Remus was the big asshole who'd tried to intimidate her when first her path had crossed with that of the Queen.

“Okay,” she answered simply at the giant's offering of opportunity to train alongside them, though knew already that the odds were stacked against her. Each of these wolves were older than her, bigger than her and likely more seasoned. Immediately she decided she would not give them the satisfaction of bulldozing her, though she was content to let them think she might make an appearance.

Tavra hummed softly to herself, ready for this encounter to be over. She dipped her muzzle toward the battered Flynn and suggested: “guess he really should be in bed. Want help moving him?” Her gaze turned to Meissa then, hopeful that she would decline her offer of assistance.


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---

Baby curls caught the brisk breeze, tender toes twitched with each droplet of rain that drizzled upon their sore patches. There wasn't much to do considering he was asleep, and if it wasn't already easy to tell, he'd become a bit of a heavy sleeper since his injuries. He woke up tired, went to bed exhausted. But what was he to do? He couldn't lose his job due to falling behind.

But for now, he slept, eyes darting under soft lids as a signal that whatever he was dreaming about, the prince wasn't enjoying.

short post because he's asleep, lol. might be my exit depending on the responses. :)

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—

 

---

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 Tavra continued to be a bit of a bitch and Flynn continued to slumber, being far too cute for his own good.

 And Meissa was left with anguish pooling in her gut.

 She shook her head at Tavra, not letting anything show, and sighed. “No thanks, I got him.” She doubted the tiny thing would be any good at doing anything besides maybe lifting his tail, like she had mere days prior when they'd dragged him in from the Nightwalker brutality. She moved to him, ducking under the man and turning, hefting him atop her shoulders with as much ease as you could when you were lifting dead weight. As she maneuvered his forelegs so they were on either side of her shoulders, she realized that he had to have lost weight recently. She held back a soft whine at the thought, instead standing and shifting so he was on wrapped about her back securely.

 “I'll see you around,” she said, an almost-peace-offering to the Bearcuck, if she even would accept it. She hadn't seemed to care too much about the offers of training so frankly, Meissa doubted she'd care too much about what little friendliness she could offer, as tired as she was.

 So, Flynn and all, she headed off - ready to toss him into bed and shake him awake just to make sure he would wake up again this time.

 He'd had one coma and she didn't want to risk another.

---

Exit!

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