Surreal

Surreal paced along the border of Valhalla, pausing occasionally to check the scents on the breeze, the sounds and sights around her for danger. Her uncle still had not come home, and she wondered, at times, if he had tried to fight free and been killed, or had died up there? Then she would force the thoughts away with a mental image of how strong he was. How good and kind. He wasn?t dead. No. He was just waiting. He would be smart like that. She knew he was injured in the fighting. He wouldn?t be a fool to try and fight with an injury. No. He would wait until he was healed. She started off again, snowflakes drifting down around her, brushing over her silver and black fur, stark against her black timber markings, pale silver paws leaving paw prints in the snow. Her wounds were well on the way to recovery, the scabs on her muzzle already falling away to reveal tender skin below. The cold against those strips of skin sometimes made her nose want to wrinkle, and made her feel like sneezing, but she was getting used to it. Her mother said the feeling would go away eventually, as she got used to it. She was rather proud of her muzzle scars. They looked just like her Uncle?s; Four slashes from her opponent?s hind claws going diagonally down across her muzzle from right down to the left. Just like him. She even had his eyes. Gold and Blue. It made her head raise a little higher to know how alike she and her uncle Cormalin were. Proud to serve Valhalla, but never, ever vain about it. She knew she was beautiful, but she didn?t care. Beauty wouldn?t win a battle. True, she wanted children someday, but not now. She wanted the pack to be strong again, and have faith in themselves. It was their first war in a long time for Valhalla, according to her mother. They were out of practice. ?First thing when Uncle Cormalin gets home, we are training. The next war we see will see Valhalla ready for anything. Including big cats.? The words were voiced under her breath, a vow to Valhalla. She would be strong, and train hard. Fun wouldn?t be forgotten, however. Life wasn?t all work and no play. There were pups coming, in fact, her mother had just left carrying the plants Surreal recognized as birthing plants. Azalea was in labor, it seemed; She wasn?t aware of any other females being pregnant. Guinevere and Solaine had grown so fast! She sighed. Being a mother someday, and watching the children she would have grow that fast would probably be hard. Especially if they all wandered off like her own siblings had. Even Arella had practically vanished. Speaking of siblings? She still needed to meet her adopted brother Taurig. And she wanted to see Falk again. Something about that male made her stomach flutter. Not in a bad way; it was actually very pleasant. And she liked it. Falk was wonderful for conversation, and so helpful. He?d made her feel so much better, so much stronger in the face of so much heartbreak. It didn?t occur to the Beta to be to even think of it as possibly falling in love? She was still young enough to be innocent to those feelings and emotions. Yes, she knew where pups came from, and how they were made. Her mother had taken her and her sisters aside long ago and told them all about it. Back then, it?d gotten a round of ?Ew?s and ?yuck!?s from the three little females. An hour later, Surreal recalled hearing the same utterances from Castiel, Gabriel having already vanished. She frowned, missing her siblings, missing all her lost family. Then she forced it all aside to be dealt with later. A scent was on the air, and her eyes narrowed warily. A rogue male. A complete stranger. She chose to investigate; Perhaps it was a wolf wishing to join Valhalla.

Aros' wanderings had taken him far and wide across this strange land. He had met a pawful of others, each so widely varied that it was hard to believe they were all wolves. Of course at the moment he had no idea at all where he was or what he should be doing, certainly not where he was going. And yet his paws continued to move, one in front of the other, plowing through the snow and grasses, over rolling hills. He was not a tall wolf, but his legs were powerful and made for traversing mountains, bringing down foes. Surely he could handle this, right? As if he had a choice. He was on a mission, the mission. Until he returned home with a worthy mate he was not truly a man, not truly a warrior. His two brothers had been able to set out a moon before him while he healed, surely they had returned long ago. Aros narrowed his eyes and ground his teeth in anger and frustration. It wasn't his fault! He didn't ask the damned stag to charge him, he hadn't asked his ribs to fracture. It had made a good meal, and the meat had tasted sweet, but not enough to mask his bitter envy. Was he shaming his family? Had they already cast his name from the Clan? Surely they wouldn't do something like that, surely they would give him a chance. It had hardly been a year after all, and he was certain no wolf of the Ysgarion Clan had ventured as far as he had. As abruptly as slamming into a wall he hit a patch of scent, and his head flew up, looking about. Fool! he thought to himself. Letting yourself be caught off guard. When his eyes lit upon the scent's source he relaxed a bit. A female, and a young one at that. He nodded cordially to her, wondering if she would be as strange and unusual as the others had been. "Greetings," was all he could be bothered to say, and he did not break his stride. "Speech," Thoughts,