For all of his sour stomach and worry, Erik still needed to eat. The scent of his mother hung on the wind up here, and he doesn't know exactly how to feel. Is it a trick of the light, a trick of his worried brain? Is it something else? Was she really back? And what of his father, in all of this?

But then. Here he is. The bastard prince still needs to eat, however that looked. Without the patience to attempt a real hunt, he settles for sharpening sticks. A pit trap would do, and a mountain goat would make for a fine meal. With a shard of shale, Erik begins to carve the ends of a few gathered branches into points, wearing and working away at the bark and flesh until it's sharp enough. Yeah, this'll do. This will do fine.

"Erik"

Citadel didn’t fully appreciate how much the pack stores complimented his own hunting. He was a passable hunter, but he didn’t always catch his prey. Now, on the days he failed to bring something down, he went hungry. He was hungry now, and he was trying to ignore the growling in his stomach as he stalked along the snowy territory. Looking for trails and scents.

He came upon an unexpected scene as he moved through the territory. Another wolf, a hunter perhaps who was far better equipped than Citadel. Older, too. Citadel hadn’t reached trap making in his lessons, and there was something stirring in him these days. Usually, he wasn’t unpleasant to strangers. But now the desire to be surly sat in his gut. He took a breath and pushed it down, and that in itself was a lesson he needed to learn. “Hello, are you crafting traps? If you have the time to show me what you're doing, I can trade…’ he thought of his measly possessions with a frown. “...A coat…” it was all he really had to trade. He’d packed light on his way out the door. His stomach growled.

"Citadel Fatalis"

Erik's gaze is careful, as it's drawn to the boy. A grim sigh pulled at his ribs. Younger than his own siblings, it's too early for a boy like this to be out on his own. Winter was coming, frost already gripping the north. It's more grim a situation than he'd like, but this isn't his responsibility. Not that he'd lived up to his responsibilities lately, either, with his father still missing.

"If you help, I'll show you." Erik rose to his feet, marking out a square in the earth. It's still soft enough to dig, thank the gods. "Here. We dig out this to make a pit, and then use the spikes to line the bottom." He'd run more than a few lessons, having as many siblings as he did. While gruff, he's not the unkind sort. Showing the boy one of the spikes already made, Erik returned to his whittling. At least he wouldn't have to do all this digging on his own.

"Erik"

Right! The payment of work was far preferable than giving up his coat before winter. He jumped to, his father had made sure he could do what was asked, when asked, like a soldier. He could be a troublesome boy, but he knew his training. The unnamed stranger rose to his paws, and marked out a section in the dirt.


This was where their trap would lie, they just needed to prepare it. His attention was then turned to the spikes, where his teacher had already begun the job of whittling. Seeing there were still sticks to work, he grabbed one and began to whittle it down to roughly the size and shape of the one he had been shown. Holding it down in a massive bear paw, And extending claws to shape it, occasionally biting at it with his sharp teeth until it looked right. He added it silently to the pile, but his eyes subtly moved back to his teacher, craving approval. He missed working with his father, though he wouldn't say It outloud.

The boy is quick to get to work. Erik thinks of his own younger brothers with an unsettling pang, a troubled feeling in his chest. With Delphi's fall and everyone scattering, Erik hadn't given the support they needed or deserved. All of his energy focused on his father... right. Can't let too many things catch up to him at once, it's a downright death sentence up here. Instead he channels the shitty feelings into the sticks.

At least until he's satisfied with the pile. "That's enough of those. The hole needs to be deep enough to put the sticks in upright. They'll stab our prey, when we drive it to the hole." Erik gives a nod of approval, assessing the skewering sticks before setting them aside. Right. They have a hole to dig. He'd get to it, occasionally looking up to ensure the child was helping as well.

"speech"

coded by NachoMumma

Citadel pushed down the homesickness that came with the lesson. It felt shockingly like home, having the guidance of an older wolf. Erik could just as easily be Spider, an older sibling imparting their wisdom. Or Basilisk, when his dad had time to spare for lessons. He thought of his hunger, and let that take over. It was easier to think of his immediate needs.

The older wolf confirmed enough sticks had been whittled, which left the job of digging. He moved to the opposite end of the section Erik had outlined, so they wouldn’t get in each other's way and started to dig. His powerful paws cut through the hard dirt effectively, and he lost himself in the job of digging for a time. “Do you belong with a pack?” He asked, voice quiet.

"Speech"

Clearing the dirt, trying to clear his head with it. It's not too cold, too frozen to make it work. Not just yet, at least. Winter is coming. It brought Erik's thoughts back around to the boy before him, and how dangerous it was for a pup to be out on his own. Then, he'd been sent on his father's courier missions at the same age. Was this really much different? There's always the resolve to be better than your parents, Erik guessed.

Lost in the digging, until the boy speaks up. "The Hallows," Erik nods, thinking of Ember once more. "But with the strange ecological bullshit, I came back north." Was he from the north? Not really. Not in the same way his father and his siblings were. Caught in the in-between, hell, he'd been all his life. "Do you have somewhere you belong?" Sneaking a glance at the boy, wondering just what kind of reaction he'd have. There's no telling exactly why he was on his own, after all.

Standing back from the hole, satisfied with the depth, he looks to the boy. "It looks good. I'm going to plant the stakes, deep as they'll go. Only in the middle, and off to one side, so we can get in and out. No use catching dinner if I can't get out of the hole." Grumbling and pushing off, dragging himself up the side... it would do. "There are plenty of mountain goats around here. Shouldn't be too hard to chase one into the hole."

"Erik"

Citadel started a little at the name given to him. He knew the Hallows, of course. He’d spent some time there when his parents had gotten married and he had been just tiny. They were family, and Basilisk had made it clear that he could trust Artorias. He wondered if news of his… actions… had made it down that way yet.

“No anymore.” He said, hitting the dirt a little harder and spraying the excess over himself by accident. And that hadn’t sounded bitter at all. He was glad for the change in conversation and dragged himself out of the hole. He grabbed the spikes and passed them down to Erik so the other wolf could plant them how he wanted to.

"Speech"

"They make a point of their open door policy. If you don't have somewhere to be by the time winter comes, it's a fine place to ride out the cold." There's an older brother's edge in his tone. Erik would make a point of telling no one what to do, but then, the boy couldn't be left to freeze out here. Relationships between boys and their fathers are complicated, troubling things. He knew that much firsthand.

"Come, they're not far. We're going to cut one off and pressure it straight into the pit. We don't need to be all that fast, just accurate." Erik shook the dirt from his coat, sighting a group of mountain goats further down the wall. With their proximity to the landmark, they'd be able to chase it straight down. "Whatever you do, don't fall in." Pulling off wide, perpendicular to the wall, Erik takes off after the sheep. He'd get a good flank going, and then pressure the beasts forward

"speech"

“My family and I are… strained. I’m related to Artorias.” He said shortly, unable to think of a better way to word it. He didn’t inherit his mothers way with words. He glanced over at Erik, wondering if it would make the other think less of him, the chance that he wasn’t on the best footing with Erik’s alpha.

They made their way into position, and he’s given one last piece of advice. “Well… obviously” he pointed out, but it was said with light amusement, a hint of boyish enthusiasm, before they were both off. Heading into the midst of the sheep so they could startle them and cut one off. He was… enjoying himself.

"Speech"

Erik's nod is grim, but understanding. "Family is tough. It's still better than freezing to death, the strength of wolves is in their numbers." Strain is something he's no stranger to. More of a parent to his younger siblings than his father was to them, treated like an heir in everything but name by a father who hadn't bothered to raise him, and now the caretaker to an old man who was losing his mind. Yeah. Strain is something Erik knows, and knows well.

The boy's amusement is enough to put a rueful smile in the corners of his lips. Erik is quick to take off over the land, thunderous steps bringing him to the mountain goats' flank. All it would take is running them down, pushing them overland with precision, and not letting them get too far to the side. They had the wall to buffer one side, so chase and chase they would. Jaws snapping at the heels of the closest goat, keeping them moving. Precision over speed. Onward.

"Erik"

“She tried to make me a slave!” the words came out, sudden and hot and without an ounce of thought. He instantly regretted it, but he couldn’t bite them back. He ran a little harder, pounding his paws to the earth. His anger re-remembered and stronger now than his hunger. It boiled inside of him, and left him adrift. He didn’t know how to deal with it.

He snapped at the closest sheep, trying to snap his teeth around its skin, it bayed in terror, running faster and more erratic. Citadel knew he had to get himself under control or he’d risk ruining this hunt.

"Speech"