The days have grown long once again, warm even with the persistent parade of clouds that intermittently passed by to hide the gradually setting sun from view. There's still enough sunlight to paint the ocean orange, however. As if the sea was on fire. With such a lovely view before him and soft sand beneath his feet and a cool breeze upon his face, what more could a man ask for?

Well, Rainer could certainly do with less of that salt smell. A sharp 'click' of teeth resonates in the air, but tragically, snapping at the air does nothing to improve his quality. Nor does dragging his lengthy claws through the black sand do anything to improve his mood.

It's been quite some time since the piebald Rike had traveled this far south. Not since that ill-fated challenge upon the mountaintop, he supposes. He's endured the most hellish winter of his life isolated within the Freeze's caverns while his body struggled to recover from the great heights he'd been flung from, and he had met the arrival of spring with an all-encompassing hunger, his days filled only with scavenging and hunting as he sought to fill his starving stomach in Safia's absence. He's a ragged creature even now - his thick coat not as shiny as he would like, his ribs hovering closer to the surface then they'd used to.

But he lives still. Schemes still.

He doesn't know all of what had befallen his kin after his fall, nor the current state of affairs in this land and that is very much something he desires to change. From the scraps of what he remembers though, Rainer has little doubt that these past months have seen the Sigrun goading in the victory their puppet Queen had won them. She made for a vicious ruler, Rainer could give the Summit that much. Then again, he wonders if they celebrate her ferocity, or if they attribute all of their good fortune to their so-called 'god?'

The very same one that supposedly resided in this ocean they now lived so separate from.

The rhythmic melody of the tides is accompanied by rushing water of a distinctly different sort, a golden stream mixing into the waves from beneath a grey, hiked leg.

And that is what he thinks of Vellen.

@Astarte

Art + Code by Dee

She had fell from glory the moment Adalwolf and her had toppled together, but she'd made it home, and he had not. The once proud wife of a Jarl was now nothing but a woman, alone and broken, she climbs from the cave shed made into a den and onto the shoreline, taking a moment to stare into the vast openness that is the sea.


The clack of teeth is what gets her attention though, and she sets her eyes on a figure, though she cannot see who it is before her, her body feels a creeping edge that causes her fur to raise.

She had spent months in the Mire healing, her body and curves filling out, the stump where her tail how it had been was healed, she was physically back to being beautiful and alluring, but mentally she still felt like she was dragging herself across the Freeze, limping, gasping for air, starving.

She comes closer, ignoring the feeling that tells her not to, each paw step forward brings on a new wave of unease but still she does not shy away, not until she watches him lift his leg and piss into the ocean, causing her to wrinkle her nose up.

""How impolite.""

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Hmm, what was this? An audience? Oh, how delightful!

Oh? I've always been led to believe that any gift was better than none. He drawled all too cheerfully while he finished up, planting all four paws firmly atop the ebony sand once more as he shook his coat out lightly. Wouldn't want the big bad monster down in the deep to think I don't care about him, now would we? He adds in an exaggerated simpering tone that couldn't be described as anything other than patronizing, a hint of something cruel hiding in the signature grin he finally turns to shine upon @Astarte.

Though the sharpest, brightest edges of it doesn't take long to fade, replaced by something contemplative as he considers the woman's ink-painted features.

You... He does not remember all the details of everything that'd transpired that day atop the Summit. There'd been a lot going on (thanks to him), and to be fair, he'd been busy. But some memories do stick out - such as the moment the Jarl had appeared to declare his support, a crimson shadow standing at his shoulder.

Oh, that's right - you're my cousin's little pet, aren't you? If he had the ability to snap his fingers, he surely would have done so, but as it was, Rainer would settle for a decisive flick of his tail. Still hunkering down in the filth of the swamp, I see. Figures. He observes, dark nostrils flaring to pick up the lingering scent of the Mire as he steps closer to the crimson woman, looking her over in a manner both blatant and flippant. Huh. No tail? Well, wasn't that fun.

The absence of Adalwolf's cologne from her perfume doesn't go entirely unnoticed, but what precisely is he to think?

I do hope you aren't trying to slip the leash out here, schatz. I need someone to go back and tell Adalwolf just how disappointed I am that he didn't send me flowers, you know. A click of his tongue accompanies the scolding words, his features curving dramatically into a mask of hurt disappointment.

---

1. Darling.

Art + Code by Dee

Memories come flooding back of that fateful as soon as she lts her eyes upon the close form of the male, she has to dig her paws into the sand to keep from toppling over, her breath hitches and she feels dizzy. He speaks of Vellen and she grounds herself, eyes boring int him, and when he looks upon her, she freezes.

He remembers her, if only barely.

That day on the Summit, she'd come to support him alongside her husband, he was the reason they were there that day, her body was trembling now as nausea rolled over her.

I do hope you aren't trying to slip the leash out here, schatz. I need someone to go back and tell Adalwolf just how disappointed I am that he didn't send me flowers, you know.

She feels her breath get knocked from her body, as if she'd been struck, she feels tears prick the corners of her eyes and she struggles for air, hurt and anger flashing in her eyes, ""That'd be hard to do,"" She chokes on the words, voice now trembling with her body, ""He's fucking dead."" She released a choked snarl, angry at him for her husbands death, angry at the world, angry at the fucking Sigrun, ""That fucking Sigrun bastard killed him.""

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Who could say what sort of reaction he might've been expecting out of his theatrics? Half the time, he's not sure that even he knows. He just needs it to be fun. And @Astarte's is certainly dramatic. The catch of her breath doesn't go unnoticed, and already a condescending tease dances upon the tip of his tongue, perhaps something about how his mere presence had taken her breath away, terribly easy though that quip was to make. But then - there's the shine of tears.

And then there is the truth.

Our Jarl has fallen? It's a delayed reaction, this need for confirmation. So many different trains of thought within his mind come screeching to a halt, forced to reset - and start again. Jests and smirks are dropped for now, marking this as a rare occasion indeed, but the look upon his face is not quite one of grief. Nor is it exactly anger, nor disbelief, nor shock, though surely one threads of each must run somewhere in the black abyss of his heart.

But no. Outwardly, his face is one of intrigue, as if he's just witnessed a new and unusual phenomenon beneath a magnifying glass.

So his cousin was dead, before Rainer had even gotten to really figure him out. Killed by the Sigrun, like so many of their kin before them. But which one of their dogs would claim his blood on their paws this time? Which one? And there is a hint of that anger. Or is it more accurate to call it indignation at this newest insult the Sigrun have inflicted upon them? (At Adalwolf's failure?) Either way, the emotion does not burn within him, not with fire. No, his voice is carved from ice, a reflection of the pale flint gleaming in his eyes.

When did this happen? He directs his attention outwards once more, pinning the widowed woman sharply beneath his icy gaze, considering the fury that shines in her eyes, her voice, the gleam of her snarling fangs.

Oh. Oh. And now he sees.

The day of my challenge? He guesses, without even allowing her the chance to speak. Of course. A softness bleeds into his features, perhaps too quickly to pass as sincere. You've been all alone for this long? Oh, you poor, poor dear. In a display of fearlessness not uncommon for the Rike, the piebald would step even closer into her space, lifting a paw to brush against the softness of her chin while he coos. A show of sympathy, though his thoughts do not truly rest upon her. Not entirely.

There are far grander things to be planned out now. Whoever shall pick up the pieces and lead the Rike into the future, now that yet another Jarl is six feet deep?

Oh, he wonders, he wonders.

Art + Code by Dee

The hint of a smirk on his face causes the crimson lions hackles to rise, she was trained well by Adalwolf, but not enough that she had lost the fighting spirit in her, but she doesn't move to attack. She stands there, her body not working with her brain, she wants to lunge, to sink claws into him, but she cannot figure out why she holds, her eyes finding his.

His reaction is what has her hesitating, he's not upset, there's no fire, but there is ice that she can almost feel it chill her core, he doesn't taunt her, he doesn't poke the bear, and she stands confused, eyes boring into him, she.does not know what exactly he feels, but it is something.

And something was better than nothing, she could work with something.

He asks which one and she tenses, lip curling up in disgust, ""The melanistic one, the Jarl."" She answers with a cold anger, one to match his own chilled emotions, to herit was not failure on her husband's part, she had no way to know if Myrkvi had killed him or the fall, or whatever. But to her, that bastard was the reason.

His gaze has her frozen, she wished to escape this feeling, her paws were frozen to the sand below her. Firmly planted even if she wished to lift them and run. He guesses and his expression shifts making her shiver, and then he coos to her and she growls softly.

You've been all alone for this long? Oh, you poor, poor dear.

He comes closer, she watches as in slow motion he reaches out, his paw brushes her chin and she suddenly comes to life to rip herself back, snapping at his paw making sure to miss him. She was not his. She was Adalwolfs.

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It's fascinating to watch the way her maroon frame quivers with a rage only just barely contained. Would it break free, beneath cold intensity of his gaze? Would she dare to strike him, even knowing her place and his. In the absence of the Sigrun mongrel that had left yet another vacuum behind in their family, would @Astarte seek to inflict her vengeance upon Rainer instead. Such suspense! How fun, indeed.

For it is this that defines the differences between them, perhaps more than anything else. Women are such terribly emotional creatures, driven by them in all things. And Rainer? Beneath the colorful masks of pretentious displays and light-hearted jests and wide, wolfish grins, Rainer feels precious little.

The world is divided between the things that benefit him and the things that do not.

Oh, but the thought of seeing the Sigrun's Jarl brought down to choke pathetically on his own blood sounds very much like something that would benefit him. It'd make him smile, at least. He will suffer the same fate. Or perhaps - a worse one? I can be quite creative, I'll have you know. Some day. Perhaps it would be an even sweeter vengeance, to pick them off one by one.

Would that make the crimson woman smile as well?

He wonders only because she might yet benefit him too, if he pulls the strings just right. Alas, there are occasions where a more...forceful touch is required. She snaps at his outstretched paw, a calculated miss that he doesn't recognize for how quickly he yanks it back. It does not matter, for in the next instant he's already lashed it back out at her face, attempting to land a forceful blow against her cheek, blunt as his claws were safely tucked away - for now. Look at him, still being 'nice.'

It's a flash of violence that exists at odds with his calm demeanor, the way his tongue clicks sharply, head tilting to side with a distant look of disappointment. Now, now, that wasn't very nice. I thought my cousin would have taught you better manners than that, schatz. There are certain truths that cannot be altered. Through the ties of marriage, Astarte had been made one of the Rike's. And with the Rike she shall remain. It would do no good if the old Jarl's toys were left to scatter to the winds, frolicking out of control.

Adalwolf should thank him for being here to catch her, really.

No matter. He presses forward yet again, unperturbed, so that he might put his face mere inches away from hers, his icy gaze seeking to stare into her fiery eyes, oddly unyielding considering the cruelly 'playful' notes that have crept back into his voice. There's still time for you learn them properly.

Art + Code by Dee

Astarte was usually better at holding her emotions in, or she had been getting better with Adalwolf to keep her in line, but she was emotional, a wreck, in pain, she couldn't think clearly on a good day. Today was not a good day.a

Would Adalwolf have felt this much pin had it been her that died? In her mind she knew it was a no, but she felt in her heart that he loved her in his own way, no matter what was said.

She watches him, eyes carefully averted, though hey would flick up to look at him, defiance somewhere far in the sea of fiery orange. He threatens the Sigrun jarl and she feels something stir in her, ""I want him to feel my pain."" She said softly, head lowered only slightly.

She barely registers the paw flying towards her until it slams across her cheek and she stumbles, letting out a small gasp as she reaches up to cup her face, her eyes glare up at him, angry and hurt. How dare he?

She had be forcibly removed of her marriage. She thought she could escape the Rike, no longer a toy, or property of them. She was free. Was.


He comes forward again, and she flinches as his face comes closer, his words echo in her ears and she gives a soft sob in response.

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How sweet.

It is a simple matter to demand loyalty from another, but if Rainer wasn't mistaken, it seemed that @Astarte had devoted far more than just that to his dear cousin. In the cracks those impassioned flames leave behind in those molten eyes, he would dare to say that he sees the scar of heartbreak.

Emotional, indeed.

Why, it's nearly enough to make his own heart quiver! With jealousy. He's yet to inspire such levels of devotion from any of this land's pretty little things. And all while he behaves so nicely, too. Compared to the rough handling that so characterized the rest of his unsophisticated kin, Rainer can be so terribly gentle when it's 'deserved'. Oh, to be the single drop of honey in a sea of vinegar - it offers a strangely entertaining form of power.

It's a travesty that he's not appreciated for it more. But he has his ways of making do.

Oh? Well, aren't you clever. He hums lowly in response to her answer, his lips finally pulling into a smirk once more, the gleam in his eye both sharp and teasing. She wishes to see her pain inflicted upon the shadowy zealot? There are certainly ways that could be arranged. A dog of his standing should have plenty of other little pets to 'care for.' Their blood will draw him out. And you will help me track them down. Many paws made for light work, as the saying goes. And Rainer so does love light work. Yes, this woman shall be of use to him, indeed.

For more reasons than one, if he is to have his way.

Secondhand though she might be, there is a loveliness to her that exudes from the curving planes of her body, a distinctive beauty clinging to her blood-red fur and the elegant patterns of her spots. She is not as petite or delicate as Rainer tends to prefer at a glance, but he can admit that there are certain positives to a woman of sturdier stature. The Rike do favor large sons, after all. It's understandable enough why Adalwolf laid claim to her.

Oh, and she does learn quickly too. She doesn't snap at him again, when he draws his face close. Test passed. If it is, perhaps, a tad bit disappointing that she capitulates so quickly, he doesn't bother to mention it. Instead, another hum rumbles through him, approving even as she flinches, a soft cry catching in her throat. There, there. He coos, shifting even closer to nuzzle his scarred cheek against the crimson one he'd just bruised. Gentle, again. A reward made poignant by the threat that she must now know lingers below the surface. Everyone makes mistakes, hmm? You can begin correcting yours by telling me your name, schatz.

He can be so generous, too.

Art + Code by Dee

Though her and Adalwolf had not started out with love at all, there was never suppose to be love,he was to be her rise to power, her protection, and she his loyal wife, pop out cubs, fight, and be there on his arm. And yet, she'd still in the end found herself broken, left behind, open heart bleeding out as he went wherever he was.

How cruel of him to leave her to the wolves. Did he know she would be passed down be to the next Rike? Did he think about her before he passed? Was she ever anything to him? She chokes back a sob, gasping as her mind is invaded by thoughts that prodded and poked her, why aren't she went sooner for find him?

He draws her away from her thoughts, her eyes flicking to peering up at him as he speaks, he seems to agree in his own words at harming the Sigrun Jarl and she nods, ""I know their scents. I know some of their faces. I can use my skills to find them."" She could think about her options later, if this got her closer to ripping the heart out of that bastard, she wanted it.

She feels his eyes ravaging her and she tenses, her nostrils flaring, fur raising, she wasn't too large, somewhere between curvy and petite, or slender and thick, curves were where they should be and everything else was muscle and tone. She's given birth to her two sons one being a colossal, and one girl. One colossal male and two large cubs. She was truly blessed with good genes to breed with.


He lans in and nuzzles against her sore cheek, tears freely escape down her face as he speaks to her, her limbs tremble as she stays there, letting him "reward" her, the act is so familiar, she forgets for a moment he is not her husband as she leans into his touch. Until he asks for her name. ""Astarte Devorre."

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