Her assignment was clear: turn them into an army worthy of fighting a war. The lists had been made. The training plans had been set. Now all she had to do was act. Hazel was so close to the goal that she'd held for two entire years now. So close she could taste it. All she needed to do was train them. Turn them into something, turn them into something special. Turn them into something that could blow the pirates out of the water when it came time to exact vengeance. Sharp, keen, and ready.

Gabriel first, she decided. A new creature, somewhat shrouded in mystery. Seer had gotten a handle on what his fighting skills were for his own purposes, but Hazel needed to see hem herself. She'd only caught glimpses of the pale creature around the Armada, but she sorta figured he'd show up if she called. Moving to the beech and carefully setting up a large circle in the sand, the mid-morning sun at her back, a brisk chill in the air-- yeah, this was good enough. Hazel tipped her head back and called for the Armada's latest ghost. They didn't have all day.
"Speech"

Gabriel was still getting used to all this. Being with other wolves that weren't like him. Trying to communicate their way, with their voice, with their prose. Getting used to sleeping alone in a cold den, where he had been used to sleeping amongst dozens of his siblings in a cozy nest. There was no shield from the cold here; not so much physical, but the emotional husk that was left behind in his mind. The scars were a bitter, painful reminder of what he had endured. What the demon had taken away. His wings. His immortality.

How pitiful.

But Gabriel could do little about it; lamenting and moping would get him nowhere - such concepts were ties to strong mortal emotions he had yet to grasp while he was tethered to this plane. And he simply had to adapt to it. He was a born warrior after all, carved of flesh and blood and the feathers that once flew from his pale form. He would get them back..just not anytime soon.

The thin-legged creature happened to be skirting the coast, his cloak absorbing the brunt of the brisk winds and sword sheathed beneath it, when a call rang out into the air. Sharp, direct. Just for me. He was beginning to recognize when the authorities of this pack called him directly. He wondered if it was the norm for newcomer pack wolves to be scrutinized thoroughly for assessment's sake; but he didn't mind. In fact, he didn't really feel much at all. Perhaps emotion would come to him, in time. As he approached the figure who'd summoned him, paws barely indenting the sand as he got closer, he noticed she wasn't related to either of the wolves he'd initially met - she was of a rose hue, with patterning uniquely organized upon her frame. His salmon-hued eyes glanced at her with curiosity yet his expression remained blank as ever as he simply dipped his head politely and said monotonously, "Oh..I do not believe we have met. I am Gabriel."

"Speech!"

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The man seems to materialize before her, tall and rail thin. She watches him with interest, the way he moves, the way he approaches. Her scrutiny is open, but not nasty. She's simply observing the way he moves, the way he walks, the way he approaches. His tone of voice, too, was interesting. Monotone, nearly haunting. At once, she decides she doesn't quite understand what his deal is, but that's okay. She doesn't need to, it shouldn't impact their training today anyway.

"Hazel, I'm a lieutenant." She introduces, her tone businesslike and brief. Calm and confident as she takes one more long look before nodding. "It's my job to help train the Armada's fighters up." He was on the smaller side for the Armada's combatants-- so is she. Frankly it's probably best she'd taken this one on, instead of someone like Mort or Gossamer. Hazel knows what it's like, and she understands. "We're not going to spar today, but I want you to step into this circle with me."

She steps into the largest of the circles draw in the sand. It was an artificial boundary, but one that would suffice all the same. "Your job is to try to tag me without being tagged yourself." A children's game, yes, but one that would illustrate an important point. Already starting to jog in a light circle around the man, just out of reach, Hazel tossed her head as an invitation. Game on.

"Speech"

Gabriel watched as the girl introduces herself. Hazel. A simple, but beautiful name. He listened as she mentioned her job; training Armada's fighters from the bottom to the top. It was an impressive and noble role in the pack, he could tell very clearly. She matched him in terms of size and even build, something that made him wonder if he would have to spar her, as well. He'd already had to spar Sirius, the dire-sized man superiors in combat and rank. Was this another rite of passage? Packs were..quite peculiar. But considering this was a pack leaning heavily on combat training, he supposed. He'd do his best to assimilate. There was little else he could do on this mortal plane, anyways.

She went on to explain they wouldn't spar. They would play a game of tag. Gabriel tilted his head in interest and confusion. He was..a little familiar with the game. A vague memory of chasing his many siblings conjured up enough context for him to understand the game. She stepped into a large circle, offering for him to begin the game without getting tagged himself. Gabriel stood for a few seconds, as if processing her words - and as she jogs about the circle's boundaries, he pauses in the center of the circle, waiting for her to be closest to him. He suddenly lunges forward, aiming to tag her with a bump of his snout to her shoulder. Quick, fast, like a striking snake. It was a simple move, but one he'd suddenly realized was very familiar. Yes, he'd played tag before. In what felt like eons ago.

"Speech!"

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It's a light jog that she picks up. Hazel's eyes were bright. She's watching the boy carefully, watching the way he moves, the way he postures within the circle with her. Though he is quick, and the movement sudden, Hazel saw the movement where it started. Her gaze started at his shoulder, watching before it comes in. The man was smart enough to know that he needed to be quick, but quick wasn't everything. Hazel continued her high-headed jog, gaze never leaving the pale wolf as she did.

"Fast is good, but fast isn't everything. If you start when you're standing still, then your movements are a lot more telegraphed. Starting only when you're trying to strike means your opponent will know when you're coming. " Hazel continued to dance at the boundary of the circle, tipping her head as if to egg him on. Again, it's an invitation. While it looks like a child's game, there was a method to her madness.
"Speech"

He's fascinated by her methods. Though Gabriel is quick to the punch, without his sword and a proper sparring environment, it's a little awkward. He watched quizzically as Hazel slips away, explaining how his movements are incredibly predictable if he starts from a standing position. The angelic male tilts his head as if taking in the words seriously and in earnest. Is this how wolves of this mortal plane practiced the art of strategy? The skills of stealth and surprise to give them the upper hand in combat?

How..interesting.

There was no complaint on his end, of course. Gabriel had yet to fully grasp the customs of this pack, much less the widespread customs of wolves upon this continent he found himself upon. If this is how Hazel wished to train him, he'd follow along. Even if he didn't quite comprehend the way she was going about it with a child's game. He'd shift his methods, then, as she wished. The pallid creature picked up a steady trot behind Hazel's bouncy jog, engaging her egging demeanor with his own brisk pace -- he then aimed to leap, front end forward, to suddenly block her path. Of course, if she tried to turn around, he'd spin on his heel and shift to block the other direction too. Towards the middle? He'd shift to block her there as well. If she slipped past, he'd continue to pursue with a pace matching hers. He wasn't used to this type of training, not without his sword or cloak and a traditional battle-like spar.

"Speech!"

Art & Code © Skelle 2023