Far behind the rest of his kin, the man enters Amaryllis with slow steps. In his grasp (veritable soft-mouth) are three leaves from a well-matured elephant ear plant. Toying with them is wind off of the ocean, causing them to flop gracelessly against the pale, damp hairs on his chest. Annoyed, he quietly snarls and wrinkles his muzzle for the hundredth time, but he does not tighten his jaw lest his teeth puncture the membrane of the leaves between them. Why his beloved cousin had led their brood directly into the sea, Odhgrimm will never know (because he'll never bother to ask). Even as mountains begin to loom above him with a beach sprawling into the distance of the east, he wonders if any of them have bothered to prepare for what may lie ahead. Doubtful. Barbarians, the lot of them.

Long ago he learned not to allow his rage to control him, so for now it festers in the dark hole of his heart for later use. Choosing to ignore the sand between his toes as finally he finds grass on this side of the sandbar, he ducks his head and avoids the gaze of approaching pride representatives. He didn't want to be bothered. Thankfully, they seemed to get the drift without some unfortunate incident, and he makes his way beyond the entrance unbloodied. Unfurling, the many lands welcome him in the light of day, coaxing him to plunder. Following his nose north, then east, then nor.. Of course they'd gone north and found the closest thing to home. Odhgrimm lingers at the southern end of Celosia Fields, both tubers and root of a few devil's claw now bundled in one of his leaves.

Rising from the earth some miles ahead of him is the jagged spine of Ilere's Freeze. Usnea and death camas whisper sweet nothings in his brain, sirens calling him to the tundra, but to his very bones he is tired of the mountains and the ice. Casting a slow glance around, he hums low in his chest and chooses the jungle to his right quite easily over the mountain to the left. Green is what he wants, and today he would have it, regardless of his kin's collective status. Walking, for he didn't run where it wasn't needed (and it never was), he pays more attention to his surroundings once the dense canopy closes in atop him.

Hot air presses against his skin and he wants so badly to pant but does not. The three elephant ears are all that he's brought with him; he can't afford to lose them now. Among the many that he can name, there are plants here that he does not know despite desperately wanting to. One such specimen catches his eye among the throng, drawing him off of some unknown path into the depths of the boughs. While the tree at first glance didn't appear any different from those around it, he notices a difference in color of the ground at the base. Closer inspection enlightens him to the berries in the branches. Hundreds of them have dropped over time, some rotten and some not, creating an impressive collection on the jungle floor.

Interestingly enough, the birds don't seem to like them.

Medic:
+5 collect a herb (devil's claw, akuamma, poison devil's pepper)
+5 study the flora of a neutral territory

@Sunníva

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Sunníva is bored. Their clan is small, stretched out, annoyingly quiet and without any pursuit of their true targets. The logical side of the woman understands why; it is an inopportune time to pursue the Sigrún, who have had time to settle and rebuild their forces over many months. Still, she itches for more -- itches for anything other than this placidity that she has been confined to.

And so she goes, slipping into the mountains without a word. A part of her wants someone to follow, to hunt her down and engage her, but that is probably too much to ask for. With a huff, she careens rather gracelessly down the trails, kicking up dust and gravel in her wake whilst her tail swings to maintain balance so she doesn't go face-planting down the slopes.

On the other side of the mountains is the jungle they had passed on their way into this land. Once she is there, the Rike finds herself met with a familiar scent -- one that has been missing from the group. She flares, shaking dirt from her fluffy, scraggly coat and begins to track him, weaving wordlessly through the thick underbrush. Sunníva is not particularly trying to conceal her presence, allowing leaves to rustle against her frame even as she gets closer, closer, closer.

She eventually finds him -- the back end of him, anyway. He is evidently very intrigued by some strange tree that has captured his attention. Typical. He always has had a fondness for his macabre gardens, after all. She can't quite see the appeal, but whatever suits his fancy, she supposes. It's of no concern to Sunníva. "Are you avoiding us, Odhgrimm?" the woman queries casually, leaning against the sturdy support of a nearby tree and waiting heedlessly for his answer. She doubts he will take well to being teased, but she has nothing better to do with her time, so she might as well antagonize him.

@Odhgrimm

you said you wanted revolution

table by sentinel / art

Around it, they flew, and even landed in the cradle of numerous branches, its age apparent. But the birds did not peck for bugs on its trunk, nor were they on the jungle floor gorging on deposited berries. Yeah, and you're down here, he reminds himself, finding avian faces turned toward him in particular. Great, now he had an audience for when he accidentally (after all of these years) offed himself. Lingering there at the edge of this tree's personal graveyard, he reflects that this could do something very bad to him if he ate it right now. The medic, the scientist in him willed him to make the reckless decision.

Natural selection at its finest, the lion slows a moment to deposit his items (leaves below and origami bundle atop) onto the soft ground. He didn't want to get whatever this was on it just yet. Salmon tongue strokes the blonde hair on his lips as he lifts his skull thereafter, and Odhgrimm steps closer to the ring. Disproportionate paws trudge a few paces over the berries, weight bursting some and slowly crushing others, and every single one of his extra toes experienced an extra zing as those claws pricked and popped the outliers.

Finally easing to a halt (after what has felt like days, weeks), the lion settles his lengthy tail atop the scattered fruit at his rear. Better safe than sorry when discussing skin sensitiv- That notched ear of his swings back, and there's a subtle jerk in his tail tip that begs one to fuck off. Narrowed gaze slides around his own shoulder as he glances back to get a good look. Gaze goes first to his deposited items before they flash up to meet the intruder's with a solid stare, ears forward. Already? This is his cousin's fastest hound yet.

Odhgrimm sighs.

Can't have avoided them forever, he knows, but he did hold small hope that they would leave him be for a while. All he has is what he's gathered along the way, and it wasn't much. Wasn't enough. "I was," he informs her, taking her lack of panic to mean his kin was still alive. Well? Anyone's guess. Returning his attention to his fore, the lion begins to move in toward the base of the tree, not particularly enjoying the gummy sensation on his wide paws. If this shit was urushiol, he'd take it out on everyon-

"Don't you have better things to do?"

@Sunníva

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He doesn't seem happy to see her -- what a pity. She meets his gaze with a flash of periwinkle eyes, such an innocent color for a woman so morbid. Sunníva only barely manages to keep herself from planting a taunting smirk upon her lips; she so loves to needle at them, to play when she really ought to behave. Well, she's never been particularly good at that, and she isn't about to start now. Chaos got her this far, after all.

"Unfortunately not," she returns with something of a pouting tone to her voice, indicating her boredom with the current situation. Please, do something interesting. Sunníva would prefer his ire to his ignoring her -- she knows what to do with anger, and lives for the thrill of it. It is the reason she is always poking and prodding, demanding any sort of attention, even if comes with teeth -- especially if it comes with teeth.

Her tail flicks an agitated tempo against her ankles, keen gaze taking in the assortment of plants he has collected, and the stain of crushed berries on his paws. Whiskers quiver with a mild sense of intrigue, and she dares to stalk closer, encroaching boldly into his space. She does so love to flirt with danger. "What are you doing?" Sunníva demands to know, her narrowed gaze assessing the scene before it flickers towards his face. Odhgrimm may wish for his peace and quiet, and no doubt is most disappointed that she is the one to have found him, but he's the only thing to pass her time for now -- unlucky him.

@Odhgrimm

you said you wanted revolution

table by sentinel / art

Nearing the trunk, he avoids the thickest roots. Occasionally he brings a forepaw forward and shovels back a layer of berries, investigating the soil underneath. After a moment he seems to find what he's looking for. Pointedly adjusting his posture so that his weight could rest predominantly on his rear limbs, he begins to dig. Not like some brute, or dog, but with purposeful and efficient scoops of the same dirty (but aren't they all Odhgrimm) paw. It only took two scoops. Obsidian claws hook into roots, and he closes his fist to grasp as much as possible.

"That's a lie," he challenges her as he withdraws his handful, rolling the chalky root in his palm. They all had things they could be doing right now to ensure their survival and success. She knew as well as any of his kin despite not being one of them. Odhgrimm hummed, tucking his newest loot item into his mane for temporary storage. Glancing up, he knows they would only hold on long enough to make it back to his leaves. But he needs two more things before he moves on from this particular plant.

Reaching forward with his undirtied (the not-shovel) paw he tries to hook a claw into the surface of the bark. Three claws snag it. Flexing those digits, he drags out and down in an effort to shear the bark off of the trunk. It works. As he collects the debris, @Sunníva comes crawling up his back. There's a wicked quiver in the incrementally worsening snarl that is very suddenly on his face. Odhgrimm yet again controls himself, shoving her forcibly away only if she touched him. He wants quite badly to swing a massive paw across her fa-

"Be a doll," he croons, a smile overtaking his face faster than the display of discomfort had, just in time for her to look up and meet his glance. "Go get me some of those leaves," he demands, pointing upward with the same paw that gently clutches the bark, voice low and pleasant, expression serene. The lion's dark ears are buried in his mane, completely hidden from view as the hair rustles with his even breaths. C'mon, little hound, do the trick! "I'll tell you after," he assures her, nodding sagely. She could trust him.

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A lie, he proclaims, rooting around in the dirt in a most strange fashion as he dismembers various parts of the poor tree. What did it ever do to you, Odhgrimm? Perhaps he is right, but she refrains from retorting; Sunníva could just as well be gathering information -- it's not like their enemy would know her face if they saw it. But she's been a good girl, keeping close to Eulalia and the others whilst they fortified their foothold in the north.

She knows better than to creep close enough to touch. As loathe as she is to obey, she knows that she must -- though she toes the line of it at every opportunity. She only barely plays by the rules, skirting just beneath the wire to keep herself in the Rikes' good graces. The wife of a jarl really should have better manners, but that would be entirely too boring for Sunníva.

Be a doll, he purrs, and her eyes flash with a dark glimmer, that twitch of her tail increasing in pace. She knows the intonation -- she remembers it well; she doubts that he will ever see her as anything more than where she started with them. To Odhgrimm, she will always be a slave. Her lips quiver in mild frustration as her sharp gaze follows his gesture towards the leaves before it darts back to his face.

Can't get up there yourself? Sunníva is no stranger to the game he is playing, but she appeases him -- taking the bait. "Alright," she agrees without fanfare, slinking around the base of the tree until she finds a suitable-enough low hanging branch that will support her weight. She lofts herself into the tree with coiled muscles, prowling across the trunk and onto a slightly higher branch that almost directly overhangs Odhgrimm's position.

Idly, and somewhat carelessly, Sunníva plucks a few leaves, but her helpfulness stops there. A mild smirk touches her lips as she stretches pointedly before reclining herself on the branch, her haunches tucked neatly beneath her and her chin resting upon her forepaws, within which she tightly grips the leaves against the bark. She fixates her company with an innocent bat of her eyelashes, all but daring him to come and take them from her. If he tries hard enough, she hangs just close enough to reach; her defiance is quiet in her movements, in her lack of words, but in the silence, its weight is deafening, and her point is made wildly clear. Sunníva is a pet no longer.

@Odhgrimm

you said you wanted revolution

table by sentinel / art

Another man might revel in her silence, in the care she takes to avoid touching him, in that cute little quiver of her lips when he worms his way beneath her scarred skin. Odhgrimm does not. There is no victory in this; no ego or accomplishment in forcing her to pay him his due respect. It is the way of the Rike. She (and every other female in this wretched world) was supposed to, expected to defer to him in all things, obedience the first of her many responsibilities.

This one, this blemished wench before him, has always displayed a grievous misunderstanding about how it all actually works. Every so often he takes it upon himself to remind her, less than halfheartedly hoping that she might eventually get the picture if she has enough lessons taught to her. Where his cousin let her toe the line and test limits, tease and undermine, Odhgrimm found it all to be far too embarrassing to allow. If ever his own wife...

A lioness that partakes in noncompliance among Rike men was not practicing bravery, she was committing a sin.

Willful ignorance was not a saving grace.

Lucky for @Sunníva, she carries out his command after a few seconds of staring at him. Watching her scale the tree with ease, his jowls sag back into their perpetual frown, the genial expression sliding from his face like a loosely fitting mask. There need be no further direction from him, the lioness smartly moving so that she can drop the desired item without making him play a game of catch. But she doesn't hand them over, instead exhibiting the very pattern that made him think that they were better off killing her.

Stony visage doesn't give her the satisfaction of revealing his annoyance. Humming, the lion tucks the roots that he has collected into his mane (smearing berry guts into the pale strands) and turns away. Beginning to move back toward his patiently waiting bundle, Odhgrimm lays "every part of this tree is poisonous," placidly into the air between them. Not a hint of lie is in his demeanor because he knows that part to be truth. "We're in for a hell of a rash," he speculates, lowering his crown to maneuver his leaves for packaging.

Medic:
+5 warn someone about a poisonous plant

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Sunníva is not particularly built for mind games; truthfully, Odhgrimm is the smarter of the two. She had not spent her childhood being educated; she had spent it as a servant and as a weapon, and no one had taught her how to be exceptionally good at either until she had sparked Eulalia's attention. All she knows is the fight, and his ability to foresee a prediction of events is greater than hers.

And so whilst she thinks she is being clever, he's managed to manipulate her into exactly what he'd been hoping for. Every part of this tree is poisonous, he tells her casually, and with his back turned, she allows her face to fall into one of annoyance. Liar is her first thought; Sunníva feels just fine, thankyouverymuch. But it dawns on her that he has probably tempted her to climb into the tree on purpose, because it is the truth. Her lips purse, tail flicking in agitation as she glowers at the back of his neck.

With a huff, she heaves herself from the branch and to the ground, saving little room for grace and landing with a heavy thud into the dirt below, mostly catching herself with her shoulder. She rights herself, shaking the dust from her fur before she prowls around Odhgrimm, halting at a near perpendicular angle before him. Unceremoniously, she extends her clenched forepaw and opens it, dropping his precious leaves in front him and heavily resisting the urge to sneer. "Here," she mutters, slumping irritably to her haunches as her tail resumes its frustrated twitching.

@Odhgrimm

you said you wanted revolution

table by sentinel / art

Using his broad mouth, the lion carefully lifts the folded package and places it aside, freeing the flat leaves that lay underneath. Skull pulling back to give himself a better view, he toes one of the leaves away from the other, simultaneously resting his weight onto his flecked rump. With a disgruntled noise from the back of his throat, he uses one dirty paw to scrape the crushed berries off of the pads of the other, depositing them onto the selected leaf. Once satisfied with the amount therein, he takes a moment to clean his forepaws as well as possible on the thick grass off to the side. It isn't perfect, but it will do for now.

From behind him comes the sound of her dismount, but Odhgrimm does not allow himself a smirk at her expense. They have danced this way since her acceptance arrival into their ranks. And every time he thinks he's getting through to her, she regresses. Idly, paws pulling the majority of his focus while he folds the leaf so as to secure the sludge while leaving uncompromised material for the remainder of his samples, he wonders what she runs off to do whenever she can't get to him. If he cared enough to guess, he would figure that pestering someone else to their wit's end was her prerogative. Small wonder his lessons never stick.

'Round his large frame she comes, and it is as he fishes both roots and bark from his mane that she deposits before him the last piece necessary for his research of this unknown plant. "Mm," is his response, his thanks. Were she another, an obedient woman, he may have called her a good girl. But she wasn't, and so he doesn't- not even glancing up at her to acknowledge an order followed. Tucking his items into the half-folded leaf, Odhgrimm completes his newest package, turning it into something easier (and safer) to carry. Plucking up both bundles then, as well as the still unused leaf, he rises and begins to walk forward, moving past her as though she isn't there. If she were smart, she wouldn't follow. He figures she will, since she wasn't.

@Sunníva

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