D O V E W H I T E

It was a bit passed Midday as Dove sought out large, leathery leaves for his purpose. He'd decided, after his Sirius' . . . interaction the other day that he would make Lover's Mangrove his home. It was as good a place as many (that he knew of), and he supposed if he became dissatisfied with it eventually, that he could always move. Briefly, fleetingly, Sirius' words came back to him, a claim veiled in an offer, that if Dove belonged to him, he would all but slay his enemies at the borders of his territory. A shiver paced the length of Dove's spine.

There was apart of him -- a very small, very quiet part of him -- that wanted to take Sirius up on the offer, if only to see if all packs would be as cruel as the kingdom had been. And then, there was the part of him that knew better, knew that nothing good could come of being beholden to another so easily. He'd had it once, he decided with a huff, and he would not suffer it again. Another collar for his throat, as he'd put it, not so long ago.

Dove studied the large leaves he'd gathered from the beach near the mangrove forest. He'd been working since the early morning to remove roots and foliage from beneath one of the largest trees he'd found, and by midday, he'd finally carved out a space big enough for three wolves of his size to lay side by side beneath the monstrous plant. He glanced behind, wondering if mangrove bark had any medicinal properties but ultimately decided that, for now, he would toss the remainders of his task back to nature for her to decide what to do with. His mouth ached from slowly and arduously ripping the roots apart, but still, he considered how next to continue, unwilling to let the hard work ahead deter him from his goal.

He set to placing the atop this new abode, weaving them under smaller roots to keep them in place. He was stretched up, perched on his hind legs as he used his mouth and paws as gently as possible to do so.

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

His father had taken him hunting a few days before, together they had taken down a buffalo, and harvested the hide. Tanning the coat had been a part of the overall lesson, and his head was still spinning from taking on so much. He didn’t think his father suspected the injury that knocked a few of his memories out, but Sirius had seemed more keen to spend time with him. Ever since his father had labelled him a coward, he had thought a relationship with the man was doomed. Eager to please, if still a little flummoxed as to the purpose of it all, the young wolf had jumped on every instruction his father had given him. Now the coat lay draped over his back, with his wings just slightly raised on either side to keep him from dumping his burden. His father had seen him off at the border, with instructions to find the bird-named wolf that was setting up in the woods, and offer him a gift of the coat Mortis and his father had made together. As was the rules, he knew Bast would be out there in the woods, silent, and unhelpful, unless he needed rescuing. His father hadn’t said it, but he had a feeling his father would be very disappointed in him if he failed in this quest - even if the young boy didn’t wholly understand it. He made his way through the mangroves, following the stale scent of his father, until it crossed with the path of a stranger. He carefully scented the stranger's path next, putting the scent in his memory. This was part of the challenge after all, to track the man and find him with only a vague explanation. The pup had to do all this with his back carefully arched, and wings cupped just so, to keep the buffalo coat on his back. He found the wolf setting up his den beneath a mangrove. He was stretched up on his hind legs, and Mortis had to give a double take at the size of the man. Perhaps it was the description of a bird-named man that had done it, but Mort had expected someone small, like many of his fathers people were. This one wasn’t much shorter than Sirius himself, and he was taller than the pup. It was possible that one day Mortis might be bigger, but there was no way to know yet. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm, hello there? Do you know my dad, Sirius?” "Speech"

D O V E W H I T E

He'd nearly completed his task when the sounds of shuffling underbrush caused an ear to swivel to catch it better. He decided, though, that it was likely prey that hadn't yet noticed him. He froze, though, at the voice that followed as the sounds of movement grew nearer. He dropped the leaf in his mouth, not fond that he'd been caught unawares by another wolf. He lowered himself to the ground and turned, gaze guarded as he studied the wolf before him.

His words made sense, Dove decided, as he noted the white slashes over his his eye and above his tail and the teeth that peeked out from beneath his lips, mostly similar to Sirius. That, however, was where the similarities ended. Dove studied the green the adorned the wolf before his eyes swept to the wings that graced his back. A frown fell on his visage. A wolf with wings. The longer he studied them, the more convinced he became that this land was more touched by the gods than the kingdom had ever been.

He realized, after a moment, that he'd left the pup's question unanswered and nodded. "I am Dove," he greeted, unsure of what else to say.

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

Mortis waited there, poised as he had stopped, and holding the stance, as he watched the wolf with worry. There was a long pause, and the wolf's eyes seemed to sweep over him, and Morit wondered if he was being judged, if he would be found wanting. He let out an explosive sigh of relief when the wolf finally spoke, and not only spoke, but gave his name. Dove. The name of a bird. Mortis was in the right place. “I’m Mortis” he said in introduction, and now that the initial awkwardness was over, he trotted closer. His large, puppy paws almost tripping over the roots, and his wings flared for balance as he got up and close to the wolf. The Buffalo coat, most importantly, stayed steady upon his back. He had to look up to the wolf before him, but not by much. Dove was taller, but Mort still had hope that he had growing left to do. He tilted his body, lowering a wing on one side, and letting the coat fall easily to the floor at Dove’s feet. It was a thick, large buffalo coat with a rich, warm fur intact across it. “My Da and I went hunting for the buffalo for you. Da said you needed something nice and warm for your new den, and that we were neighbors, and it was the neighborly thing to do.” he said conversationally. A hint of worry creeping into his tone. He really hoped Dove accepted the gift, it was really important that Mort succeeded in the tasks his father set him. “Yah know, it's weird he didn’t chase you off. Most times, he gets them to join, or chases them, why are you different?’” he asked, not displaying any tact, but a lot of curiosity. He was hoping Dove could fill some of the holes in this mystery. "Speech"

D O V E W H I T E

Dove studied the child, deciding that Mortis was, in fact, a puppy. From the gangly limbs to the paws too large, Mortis was clearly an adolescent. How young he was, though, Dove could not determine. The pup seemed to come to a decision with a sigh and paced forward, losing his balance and stumbling close. Children, though, were perhaps one of the only weaknesses not of Dove's, or his family's, making. He was, or had once been, a nurturing soul to the pups of the kingdom, gentle and patient where his father had been ruthless and irritable with he and his siblings. So it was without reserve that he lowered his body to provide assistance, should it be needed.

It seemed the pup could handle it himself, however, as his wings flared, like a bird diving through the sky, and he righted himself. Dove blinked as Mortis turned and dropped a . . . pelt on the ground before him. Dove listened to his words, even as he frowned in thought at the pelt. The neighborly thing to do, he'd said, and the dark man frowned deeper. Refusing a gift from a neighboring pack, in the kingdom at least, was an act of war. Or at the very least, made for strained dealings in the future. Dove recalled prying Sirius, his gleaming eyes, and his strange words. Not unkind, however dark the games he preferred were.

"Thank you," he muttered, a decision met. Dove picked up the pelt, frown still place, and folded it as best he could before turning and walking it into the den, setting it in the back corner, away from where it would be exposed to the elements. Regardless of where it came from, Dove had nothing to his name, besides the den, and he felt that refusing the gift of someone's who's territory he was so close to was unwise. He stepped back, stalling for time, because the answer to the question Mortis had asked was not something he could give.

He blinked at the child. "I--He's--" Dove snapped his mouth shut, consternation causing his tail to wag uneasily. He he'd spent plenty of time with pups before, but he still didn't know if they were actually perceptive or so godsdamned nosy that they couldn't help themselves.

Dove sighed, and the sound was heavy. Why had Sirius done anything he'd done? He'd given Dove the impression that the mangrove forest was claimed, had stalked the man when he'd admitted to wrongdoing, and then had offered Dove a place in his pack even though he barely knew him. Had it only been a few days since he'd found the mangrove forest? It felt like much longer. "I don't know," Dove responded, unhappily. "Perhaps because I did not run."

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

Mortis fidgeted, and waited quietly well the man picked up the large coat, and took it into the den with more ease than the pup had carried it. The pup dug his cat-like toes into the earth as he tilted his head forward, trying to peer into the den to see where the gift was going. His ears went back a little when he saw the beautiful buffalo coat tucked into a corner, out of the way, in a place where it could be forgotten. Maybe it was just out of the way well he was finishing his den…? the pup thought. After all, it was his first big kill, and the first time taking a pelt apart. He didn’t want it to gather dust in a corner. Dove returned, and Mortis took a step back, giving him more space outside the den. The stranger started to speak, stopped, and clamped his mouth shut. Mortis watched him in morbid curiosity. Was he having a stroke? Should he call mum? He didn’t have to worry, the man didn’t topple over gasping for breath, instead he found his words, and said something to the pup that made him think. “Huh.” he said, though his curiosity had only grown. So his father had chased him? But he hadn’t run? Did that mean Dove had beaten their dad in a fight? His eyes widened, and he looked up at the man with something akin to frightened respect. It would be then that he would see the scars that littered the man’s body. Mortis’s curiosity only continued to grow. “Wow.” so was the buffalo coat a peace offering? The pup puffed out his chest. He had helped with that. Dove became a secret that Mortis knew, and his other siblings did not. Mortis was loathe to share him. “Can I help with the den? I’m real good and snipping up vines!” he said, sitting back on his hunches, and waving a forepaw in the air, so one could see his razor-sharp claws. His wings flared even further behind him, keeping him balanced as he made the movement. "Speech"

D O V E W H I T E

Dove didn't see the look of concern in the pup's eyes because, if he had, he would've laid the pelt out in a proper manner to appease him, no matter the conflicted feeling he had about Sirius. Pups were small, wee, loud things that didn't know the world as well and as intimately as the rest of them; they didn't deserve the often cruel edge that greeted some of them.

He no idea of the pup's thoughts, so he couldn't stop the notion that wormed its way in Mortis' head, but when a gleam settled in the pup's eyes, Dove shifted on his feet, dancing nervously on midnight paws. He had no idea what wow'ed the pup, but seldom was something as amazing as the little ones thought. Mortis seemed to change his stance, and Dove hiked a brow as confidence seemed to fill the pup's entire being. He wondered, briefly, if it had anything to do with the buffalo pelt he'd just put away. What other reason for confidence was there? Dove listened to him continue with a mildly bemused expression, amusement evident in his half-smile. A paw waved in the air between them, and the light gleamed on the dangerous claws that sprouted from Mortis' paw.

"I'll just bet you are," Dove said, relaxing into the interaction with the pups. Not perceptive, Dove decided. Just nosy. Puppies were easy to deal with, from their cheery ways of dealing with others to their perception of the world around them. Much easier to be around than one wolf that came to mind.

He glanced behind him. "Unfortunately, the den is fully carved out," Dove continued. "But I do require grass for bedding," he offered.

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

Just like a roller coaster, he perked up at the praise. So seldom was it given by his father. I’ll just bet you are’ Dove said, and Mortis rewarded him with a beaming smile. Then the little wolf's shoulders would sag, and his wings would droop. Unfortunately.. and wasn’t there always a ‘but’ in life? And then up again! Because Dove had some use for him yet. Little Mort wanted to learn from this uncanny fighter that had beaten their father (Because he had decided that the man’s words had to mean exactly that). The more time he could spend with him, the more he could pick up! Maybe he could even learn enough to beat his siblings in a fight. He could finally shake loose any last shackles of the word ‘coward’ and be who he had decided he wanted to be. “Oh gee whizz, for sure! To padd under my Buffalo coat, right?” so that was why it had been rucked into a corner. This old warrior needed a super plush coat. Maybe it helped with all his battle wounds. “I ain't never taken down a buffalo before! We snuck up on him, and my Da distracted him, and then I pounced on him, and I got a paw, and almost got kicked in the face, but Da wrestled him to the ground and gave me the kill shot!” he started to demonstrate as he spoke, getting caught up in the excitement of his tale as he talked the poor wolf’s ear off. He jumped at a tree branch, viciously snapping it in two, one part still in his maw as he turned to look at Dove, beaming. Maybe, just maybe, if he impressed this warrior enough, he would teach Mort a thing or two. "Speech"

D O V E W H I T E

Dove watched in amusement as the litany of emotions scrolled across the young one's face, unhindered by age. His words cause the man the blink but otherwise show no other emotions. "Yes, of course," he appeased the pup a smile that was perhaps a smidgen tighter than it needed to be. "Grass to line the pelt ." He snorted when Mortis fell savagely upon a branch, snapping it into and turning to show Dove the beast he'd slain. "That sounds . . . daring," he said finally, searching for a word that wouldn't belittle the task he'd accomplish.

Truly, it was a noteworthy accomplishment. To bring down a buffalo with a child and only one adult was dangerous, foolhardy business, and the pup and his father had accomplished it with the former no worse for wear. Dove bent to grab the other half of the defeated branch and trotted off, towards the coast not far away, assuming Mort would take the invitation and lope after him. He broke the treeline, turning to face Mortis with the stick hanging low in his maw.

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

Mort didn’t notice any hesitancy in the wolfs demeanor, only that he thought it was daring. Which Mort took at face value, and beamed easily up at the wolf again. Happy as could be, both for being a part of something his father asked of him, and for the chance to learn from this wolf! The winged boy would eye Dove in curiosity when he grabbed the second half of the defeated stick, and march off with no explanation. With a shrug, since such a manner was one SiIrius picked up a lot - the doing of things with no explanation - that the pup fell into stride beside the older wolf with ease. He still held the second half of the stick in his mouth, anticipating it would have some use in the other wolfs designs. When they came out into the clearing near the beach, Mortis would come to a stop and look at Dove expectantly, part of a tree branch still hanging from his maw, and wings fluttering behind him as through with a mind of their own. "Speech"

D O V E W H I T E

Mort followed easily after Dove, and Dove hid his half-smile this time, feigning a glance around the perimeter to make sure they were safe. Once they were out of the forest, Dove felt the pup's gaze on him, and he sighed -- and spun quickly, attempting to bop the youngster lightly on the snout with the stick he held. Dove lowered himself into a shallow play bow, tail wagging behind as the sounds of the sea filtered into his perked ears. He'd been out here once, a few days ago before he settled in Lover's Mangrove, and he hadn't been back here since. It occurred to him, briefly, that a few water dwelling herbs might grow here, though.

Thoughts for another time, he decided as he away Mortis' response.

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

Mortis Fatalis

Mort looked up at the warrior expectantly, and squeaked in surprise when he was booped on the snout with the stick. He rubbed at his nose, almost losing his own stick in the process, and looked up at Dove. Lucky for Dove, he was accustomed to cryptic challenges, and assuming that Dove was a warrior, and fighting was the general direction of his father's challenges, he could assume there was only one response Dove was looking for…

Holding his stick tightly in his mouth, assuming this stick was for a reason, a new type of challenge, the young boy flared his wings, trying to look big and imposing, before leaping forward. Almost tripping over the stick in the process and braining himself. He managed not to do either, and dragged it up into the air with some effort ”Heeeeyha!” he cried through his clenched teeth, as he aimed to knock the stick against the other wolfs chest. He decided on slightly lower targets the the snout or head, since the man had the advantage of being taller then he was.

"Speech"

Mortis Fatalis vs (opponent) for (fight type)
Round 1/3
Age: Under one year
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Medium
Major Mutation 1: Wings Offensive
Mutation 2: Saber fangs - Offensive
Mutation 3: Feline claws - Offensive

Skills: Beginner Fighter & Beginner Hunter
Specialty: N/A

D O V E W H I T E

The youngster met the challenge that Dove gave -- though, not necessarily as he meant it. Dove blinked as the child's stick thumped his check and wondered if maybe, he should have picked a different way to endear the boy. Knowing what he knew of his father, no matter how little, Dove decided that, yes, that would have been a better choice.

The boy's wings reared above his head, and Dove noted with some amusement that he'd probably be as big as his father when he outgrew what Dove called the puppy fuglies. The wings would give him a massive silhouette, eventually, and he would be a sight to behold. For now, though, he was a gangly pup with kind and grandiose notions, if the way he'd fallen upon the branch when it was connected was anything to go by. To the boy, though, Dove gave him a slight grin and popped to his full height, diving to the side to aim a hit at one of his forelegs. The sea at his back and the wind in the tree was a relaxing backdrop as he settled comfortably into what he thought was play, but the boy thought was (unbeknownst to Dove) training.

Dove White vs Mortis Fatalis for Fun (Dove believes)
Round 1/3
Age: Over 1yr
Size: Extra Large
Build: Heavy
Offensive Accessory: N/A
Defensive Accessory: N/A
Companion 1: N/A
Companion 2: N/A
Mutation: N/A
Disability: N/A
Fight Skill Level: Beginner
Specialty: N/A

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

Mortis Fatalis

Dove grinned at him, sending a rush of pride through Sirius. This mysterious woodland warrior approved of him. It was a strange and pleasant notion. He soaked in the praise of the older wolf's smile and nod. He jumped into the battle with relish, certain that he was learning something from the old sage in this special form of training. Perhaps a young mind easily lets its imagine run havoc…

His opponent rose to his full height, towering over the pup, it was distraction enough that Mortis didn’t see the stick that came down on his foreleg, hitting him squarely. He yelped, but it was mostly noise, and he was grinning. dammit! by Morts reckoning the wolf had him two to one.

Mortis jumped up, running around the wolf, swirling his wings to distract and his his mouth, before darting forward, attempting to smack the man on the side of his shoulder.

"Speech"

Mortis Fatalis vs Dove for Spar
Round 2/3
Age: Under one year
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Medium
Major Mutation 1: Wings Offensive
Mutation 2: Saber fangs - Offensive
Mutation 3: Feline claws - Offensive

Skills: Beginner Fighter & Beginner Hunter
Specialty: N/A

D O V E W H I T E

The pup rose to meet the challenge Dove gave him, unaware that to Dove, the 'spar' was simple fun as he enjoyed watching the gleam in Mortis' eyes as the youngster concentrated. The yelp brought concern immediately, and Dove was shying away when Mortis struck, landing a blow close to his shoulder but mostly on his chest. He noted the pup's grin and returned a grin of his own, aiming to tuck the branch he held beneath Mortis' and shove it away from where the blow had landed.

Dove wouldn't be particularly torn up about this, even if he did lose this imaginary battle. If this had been Sirius rather than Mortis . . . he supposed this entire situation would have gone much, much differently. But there was a sort of relaxation with pups that Dove couldn't find with older wolves. Perhaps it that the pups had no expectation beyond feeling safe, and once you accomplished that, everything else fell into place. It was such a simpler world when regarded in such a manner.

Dove White vs Mortis Fatalis for Fun (Dove believes)
Round 2/3
Age: Over 1yr
Size: Extra Large
Build: Heavy
Offensive Accessory: N/A
Defensive Accessory: N/A
Companion 1: N/A
Companion 2: N/A
Mutation: N/A
Disability: N/A
Fight Skill Level: Beginner
Specialty: N/A

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

Mortis Fatalis

Dove used his own branch to leaver the pups away. A new and interesting tactic! The pups tail was wagging a mile a minute, and he didn’t seem to mind at all being nudged away. Things were looking a little brighter, now that he had gotten a hit of his own.

Mortis danced back, surveying his opponent with what he hoped looked like a tactical air. “Can I come train with you everyday? I’ll be super good, and do chores, and fetch and carry and hunt with you if you train with me!” it burst out of the pup all at once, in one big rush that was likely a little garbled. His tail still wiggles, and right at the end of his sentence, as though to prove himself, he rushed forward, trying to smack his stick against Dove’s legs. Changing tactics by going for a much lower attack.

"Speech"

Mortis Fatalis vs Dove for Spar
Round 2/3
Age: Under one year
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Medium
Major Mutation 1: Wings Offensive
Mutation 2: Saber fangs - Offensive
Mutation 3: Feline claws - Offensive

Skills: Beginner Fighter & Beginner Hunter
Specialty: N/A

D O V E W H I T E

The pup danced back quickly after he'd made his mark, and Dove chuckled to himself at the serious air that befell the youngster. At his words, though, Dove tilted his head, pondering if he should tell the youngster that this had all been in good fun rather than an actual training session, but with the gleam in the pup's eyes, Mortis had him wrapped around one of the minuscule digits on his paws. He'd let the pup believe it, he decided, if it meant causing such happiness so easily.

When Mortis rushed forward, Dove moved to back away a few steps, but the youth dove low and landed a hit on his raised paw. Dove winced slightly but brought head down automatically, aiming a swipe with his own branch at the peak of Mortis' dome. This, at least, he could teach him. He needed to be quick if he were going to get close to his quarry; this was true of both hunting and fighting.

Dove White vs Mortis Fatalis for Fun (Dove believes)
Round 3/3
Age: Over 1yr
Size: Extra Large
Build: Heavy
Offensive Accessory: N/A
Defensive Accessory: N/A
Companion 1: N/A
Companion 2: N/A
Mutation: N/A
Disability: N/A
Fight Skill Level: Beginner
Specialty: N/A

He walks. "He speaks." He thinks.

And the winner is...

MORTIS

DOVE must give up by submitting, fleeing or passing out. Totals: Adjusted rolls: 135 44 39 32 MORTIS' total is.. 212.50 Adjusted rolls: 53 72 30 43 DOVE'S total is.. 198