The Cliff Dwellers [Raven]

[Ὀδύσσεια♐]

Nirco was ready for this; muscles were tensed beneath the darkness of his coat, coiled, desperate to spring. His sharp claws were already digging their way into the dirt beneath him, seeking purchase as if he would charge forward at any moment. It showed in the way he moved, stalking through the thinning forest with determined and powerful strides. But no, he couldn't. Not yet. Not until the moment was perfect. He would do them no favors today if he didn't practice patience. But oh, how patience was hard. It had been some time since he'd last snuffed out the life of someone involved in the slave trade. Too long. In fact, if he could remember correctly, it had been just before he'd first stumbled upon Chalandra all those many months ago. Or, more, she had stumbled upon him. The swift thought of her that assaulted his mind only spurred on his growing tension.

They settled down behind the sparse brush that lined Auktion Rock, many yards separating the two concealed figures from the desolate expanse that dropped quite suddenly into the pits below. Slaves are held down there, the brute thought bitterly to himself, mothers, daughters, brothers, sisters. In the tension resonating off his form, he wondered what it must be like to live in the squaller of the slave pits. What was it like to linger there for days, weeks, months or even years, never knowing if you'd ever feel the wind in your fur or the grass under your paws again? The thought made his stomach squirm and his heart clench slightly. Blue eyes shifted to the ebony figure beside him and the Groavche alpha could only imagine what must be going on inside his head. Ramsay had not divulged his life's story to him yet, only offering very few bits and pieces that Nirco was left to puzzle over and place together. He could still recall the day he'd found the other male in this place, dusted and dirty yet fighting his oppressors every step. He was strong, brave, his head in the right place. Even with how little he knew of him, Nirco wouldn't wish anyone else to accompany him on this task. Except... if Chalandra was here. Immediately, he ceased those thoughts. Even if she had come to him to be by his side, he'd never want her help with this. Not because she was not capable, but because the very thought of putting her in danger was enough to send a panic through him. He wondered where she was right now.

Turning his gaze back to their goal, he eyed a pair of guards through the harsh leaves of the brush. They hovered over a low point on the edge of the pit, tucked between where the earth sprung out to create an uneven edge that hid them from the eyes of their comrades. They tossed halfhearted glances over their shoulders every now and then, obviously not overly concerned about any dangers that may await them. None in Ravensbruck were dumb enough to assault the Rock, after all. Nirco could have laughed, but the presence of a third muted him before it left his throat. The new wolf stopped to greet its fellow sentries and seemed keen on creating a conversation. They would have to wait, it seemed. Despite his size, he didn't like the odds of three vs. two without drawing attention to themselves.

With his tongue grating against the sharpness of his teeth in somewhat of a snarl, the brute looked at Ramsay once more. "Look at them," he growled under his breath, "chatting as if there weren't starving and dying wolves cowering in the pit beneath them." His disgust was evident in his words, spat out as if the subjects of his animosity were poison.

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[⋆Ravɛn]

R A M S A Y

The iron smell of blood, mingled with the telltale scent of desperation and rot, flooded Ramsay's nostrils. He could smell it even from his position, crouched safely inside of the underbrush. Something about that infuriated him. Even from here the crows circled ahead, and even higher, the vultures. They croaked and screeched at each other, fighting for the best vantage point on the soon-to-be carnage below. He remembered his days spent in those rancid, stinking pens. He remembered the sickening thud of empaciated bodies hitting the dirt, the life sucked out of their frail bones, much like it had been sucked out of their souls long before. No, it wouldn't be long until those damn birds had something to fill their bellies with. The mortality rate of slaves at the pen was startling...but there was always another wolf to take their place, another spirit to be broken. Gods, how could anyone do that? How could anyone look into their eyes, or gaze upon their weakening bodies, and feel...nothing? Or, worse than that, feel hatred?

Several yards away from the two ebony figures, a cluster of guards chattered away. There'd been two, but...when had a third joined? Focus, Ramsay. Focus. It was so difficult now that he was in such close proximity to this place. The memories of how he'd originally gotten here, before Nirco had stumbled upon his rage-filled form, were pressing insistently at his mind. He could not let them it, because Ramsay hadn't allowed himself to think about the events leading to that day in a very, very long time. The betrayal had ripped him wide open, had grasped everything that he was and torn it into bloody ribbons, spreading the remains of him across the expanse of the earth. There was no chance of him finding those pieces of himself again, and if he somehow did...there was no way he could ever piece them back together. Ramsay had fallen into himself when his mate, Malia, had betrayed him. He had fallen into the darkest, most hopeless part of himself, and ever since then he'd been trying to crawl back out. But he was scared of who would emerge from that bottomless pit of despair in the end. He was scared of who he would see when he caught his own reflection in a pool of water, or a lake.

"Look at them," Nirco snarled, the disgust and rage in his voice making Ramsay flinch as he was yanked back to sane consciousness. He turned his flashing golden gaze on Nirco, waiting for the rest of his alpha's statement. It came a moment later. "chatting as if there weren't starving and dying wolves cowering in the pit beneath them."

At least Nirco felt the same that he did, then. Not as if Ramsay would be here if he didn't, but...Ramsay was glad that he had an ally. Someone who wasn't afraid to do what needed to be done. Someone who hated the slave trade business as much as Ramsay did. Ramsay had laid down there in those crowded pits, his belly rolling with hunger, his tongue dry as his body screamed for water. The guards fed them as little as possible to keep them alive, sometimes less. He had heard the screams of a mother as her child was sold to another dominor with eyes of shadows and teeth like steel. He’d seen desolation in the posture of wolves who had lost everything, who longed for nothing more than to be free, to fill their tummies with warm meat and to feel the grass tickling their paw pads just one last time. It was sickening, and the sights of empty eyes still haunted his dreams at night. Just like Malia did; the color of her fur, so silver that it shone like the moonlight on the snow during winter. And her eyes…gods, those eyes, the color of the freshest, greenest grass. It was almost painfully vivid, those dreams, when he would lay with her in the plush meadows, wickedly nipping at her soft ears until she relented and he rolled onto her, longing for pups and a future. But now she surely thought very little of him, if at all. She was probably too busy laughing with her new mate, hunting with him, surrendering to him beneath the starry sky…

No. Shoving the thoughts away, Ramsay met Nirco’s gaze again, finding that familiar distant look in his eyes. Where did he go when his thoughts wandered, Ramsay wondered. Or perhaps, to whom did his thoughts go to? The alpha sometimes looked so very sad, but that was none of Ramsay’s business, so he never asked. Just as he did not ask now, either. Clearing his throat softly, he returned his gaze to the guards, where the third still lingered.

”Some nerve,” Ramsay growled softly, irritation creeping through his bones. ”They probably will never even remember to feed the captives today. They won’t remember a damn thing about them.”

He sighed, a short, quick puff of air that rustled a single leaf inches from his nose. ”I wish the third would go already. I’m tired of listening to their pointless rambling.”

[Ὀδύσσεια♐]

"Patience," said the Groavche alpha, the same nervous anger rushing through his own veins, "we will be rewarded with patience." Perhaps a reminder to himself as well as to Ramsay. He was firm in this but not to the extent of sounding commanding. Nirco had no desire to appear a dominor or anything of the ilk, merely a leader and an ally concerned for their quest. Concerned for his future beta. If they returned home this day unscathed he would appoint the other male this position for he would have proved himself fitting of it. Nirco would be proud to see him raised through the ranks of slavery and up to these heights, defying those who had wronged him. Nirco knew not what had happened to Ramsay, what personal vendettas lead the other to follow him, but he had no doubts it was traumatic. He deserved the freedom he had granted him, and the acknowledgement.

His gaze turned from the sentries to his comrade. Nirco knew the fury pulsing in Ramsay's veins for he felt it, too. He suffered the same rage over the atrocities, despite his never having fallen to its carnage himself. He wanted to tear them limb from limb this moment, offer a shock to this gruesome trade, show them they were not as invincible as they liked to think. They could be touched, maimed, killed for their sins and Nirco and his growing pack would certainly be there to drive home this very fact. He would toss their bodies from their perch for all to see, without being seen, and he would continue to defy them. He would free the wretched from this world and free the innocent from their chains.

A smile lifts the corner of his maw at the other brute's comment, though the situation does not allow humor to raise within him. He strains his ears forward, desperate to hear any inkling of the conversation, only to pin them to his skull when he catches the words foced and female in the same sentence. A growl builds in Nirco's constricted throat but he forces it back before it can give away their position. Briefly he wonders how many pups the mere three in front of them have sired to slave mothers. Yet as soon as this flashes through his mind it jumps suddenly towards the silvery vixen that he had denied so many times. Chalandra had little in common with the forsaken she-wolves in the pit, he was sure, yet the topic of females always lead his mind back to her. If she were in there he'd tear to pieces every last scum that hovered over the hell below this very day.

"Did you have anyone?" The question is fairly abrupt through the prolonged silence between the two. Blue eyes shift again to Ramsay, wondering if there were any soul he'd been torn from. Perhaps Nirco himself had not necessarily lost Chalandra to slavery, yet in some small way it had still driven him away from her. His plans were great and what he'd needed was far beyond a female that he feared might grow tired of him. He wanted Chalandra by his side, yet it was his uncertainty over her and the comradery he wasn't sure he would receive when he needed it the most, that had created the great chasm between them. As much as he wished for her to be with him, he had forced her away. He had made her despise him. He had made himself alone. For the cause. "Any siblings, friends? A mate?"

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NOTES: Took way too long for me to reply to this. I apologize, again.
TAG: ⋆Ravɛn

[⋆Ravɛn]

R A M S A Y

It was the urge for patience that had Ramsay settling back into a still crouch, his head nodding to show that his alpha’s concern had been heeded. He was anxious, so very anxious, to destroy the disgusting brutes who cackled and jeered in the distance, but he would not ruin their plan with recklessness. He sat silently instead, golden eyes gleaming as his ebony belly brushed the ground just slightly, watching and waiting. It certainly helped to have a wolf of Nirco’s sizing on his side; Ramsay was significantly smaller than the brute in height, although his own stature was not something to be taken lightly. It was his stamina and endurance that he was proud of – discipline was engrained in each muscle that strained against his black pelt.

"Did you have anyone? Any siblings, friends? A mate?"

In the span of only a moment, Ramsay was paralyzed. It was as if he’d taken a lance through the chest; his body burned with it, the searing pain that had him checking twice to ensure that he hadn’t been ambushed. But no, it was not a physical pain. It was entirely emotional, shredding through his veins and setting him alight from the inside out. He’d thought he would have begun to improve by now; it had been weeks, months, since the betrayal. He did not look at Nirco, did not even blink as he moved his head just a fraction of an inch, the barest hint of a nod.

”Yes,” he said, hating the way his tone became strained – just slightly, but he doubted that Nirco would miss it. It was too obvious, he knew, the way his muscles stiffened, and the way he would not turn to face his alpha. He had seen how an injured creature behaved when it was cornered, and it was exactly how he behaved now, but he had been asked a question and he would not lie. ”A mate.”

It was interesting, Ramsay thought, the way his thoughts did not immediately go to his family. He did not worry for them; he’d parted from them willingly with the exception of his sister, whose loss he had long ago come to terms with. It was Malia who plagued him, with silver-gray fur that rivaled the moon and eyes like glistening emeralds. He could remember how she had stood safely behind the brutes who had lead him to Auktion Rock, how she had said that it was for his own good. He nearly spit disgust, reigning himself in at the last moment.

”She is the reason why I was there,” he said quietly, voice tinged with hatred as he remembered the cries of despair and the metallic scent of blood when Nirco had found him at Auktion Rock. He turned to face his alpha then, ignoring the disgusting jokes being passed between the two guards. ”And you?”

It was not a question inspired to cause pain; Ramsay would have never intentionally inflected the fire that raged through him upon someone else. It was curiosity that drove his question, and more than anything, the desire for something else to occupy his thoughts. Anything but her.

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NOTES: poor Ram D; | WORDS: 521 | TAG: Ὀδύσσεια♐