Post by Vulcan on May 6, 2015 5:03:41 GMT
☽ T H E E N C O U N T E R ☾
Sun's rays pool over the used-to-be enriched forest, the blanket of white encasing beneath them the promise of new growth and a bountiful new generation. Nature was funny like that, never bowing down, bending to the will of others, giving up. It fights on, no matter how hungry, thirsty, weak, out-numbered, it will never give in. And through this snow, the bitter wind nipping at one fae whom walked alone, she trudged on. Eyes so pale they seemed colorless though that was far from the truth, a frame so petite and lacking in size that it constantly trembled as it fought to cling to what little body heat is exuded. Audits flicked back to keep the snow out, ivories bared for she was struggling to press on. Life beckoned her forward, death chased her like the leech it was. Her own determination demand she follow her own path and simply keep moving. Everything looked the same, her nose useless for it'd been numbed from the cold and could detect no scents... Her situation truly was pathetic, as was her existence. There wasn't a soul to be seen, a voice to be heard, another to be protected by and comforted within their presence; she was utterly alone. And as death claws at her tassel, she'd whimper and burst into a run. Her body had not the strength for such an act, each stride was like smoking a cigarette-- every full leap and she lost another six minutes of her life. No matter how big a breath she took, no matter how quick her panting was, never was enough oxygen sent into her lungs. Her heart could not, even though it beat so hard it droned out all other sounds, get the warm blood to her freezing-over toes. Her body was giving up on her, the sweet, enticing promises of a better tomorrow through death became louder than mere whispers. It echoes in her mind, droning out all other sounds-- actually, all other /senses/ better than her own heart had. She continues to run with all she has left in her, death could not be the answer, her life would not end here with no legacy to speak for. She would die and instantly be forgotten, her strand of DNA lost forever to never grace this world again. And the Laws of Nature /demand/ she leave such a footprint if she can help it. As if Death itself manifests into a physical form, it gives chase, nipping at her heels and spewing it's deadly poison on her tassel. She yips out again, tucking her tassel beneath her legs, running even faster. Her mind begins to hallucinate-- more forms spring up, they surround her, foot falls as well as the whispers began to reverberate in her mind--
Then she slams into something, and her world fades to black.
The sun's rays fall to stir about a massive group of souls. A gentle caress, like a mother's loving touch to stir about the soul and bring the exterior to life. Many of the tribe were asleep, for their duties rise and fall with the sun, whilst the lower members of the pack were nocturnal, proving their worth and 'carrying their weight' while keeping watch whilst others slept. Gentle foot falls shatter the peaceful silence that was the home turf, orbs slowly open while others sound gentle yawns. Those whom were on night patrol just made it back, they sit at the more or less north boundary, waiting for the head count before being dismissed to eat and sleep. In total, fifteen members were sent out, and as the members of the Tribe awaken, the counting would begin. The tribe was known as the Zarjeros, a proud, dignified, humble and righteous namesake. Behemoth-like in size, as strong physically as mentally, they were said to be the ancestors of the Russian wolves. Always housing a dark-hued pelt with a sort of sandy undertone and markings, they towered over normal wolves with impressive muscles and stature. Their eyes could be any color though it was always a pale shade, their bodies would always be dominated by stripes, their patterns being unique to their own branch of the family tree. Born to be warriors at heart, to stand tall over the injured and to be the wall between the defenseless and the attackers, their bite is much worse than their bark. The most aggressive and heartless of the tribe was left in the 'pack stage', the lower ranked, for they could not comprehend the importance and how sacred life is. Those who could be more compassionate, merciful, selfless, kind, and genuine would rise to the Tribe, the ones who rule over all and have the final say for everyone. They were the elders of the pack, without a doubt, for it could take years for a Zarjero to forsake the ruthless and blood thirsty ways, and at times only turning fangs against them could snap them from the trance. Like all packs, though, the Alpha was best suited for the position. His, or /her/, age was taken into consideration as well as the 'age' or maturity of their mindset, and their personality. Of course the first litter of the alphas had first chance of being the heir, but if deemed unworthy, the next first litter of the next branch of the family tree would be taken into consideration.
The current Alpha, Vicktor Zarjero, was the only unanimous decision.
Towering above all of his generation, he had promise of being a Chief Warrior, like his father and fore-father. Vicktor is the first of his branch of the family tree to rise out of Pack standards. His family has been the personal warriors for the alpha pair and the Tribe elders-- the best of the best. Their cunning and blood lust was unmatched and could never be satisfied, they only got a sense of self worth and pride by mercilessly slaughtering their targets and carrying out their tasks with prejudice. If one of Vicktor's blood was sent to end you, Hell was considered the vacation afterwards. However Vicktor had a soft spot for pups, for the young, for he could understand the fact that such tiny, pathetic, and otherwise useless souls would grow up to be the pack and tribe as a whole. They were the legacy-- /everything/, and without them the pack would surely meet a grim demise. He was able to turn his fangs against foes when ordered to and even use said fangs to protect the innocent. An impressive feat in of itself, Vicktor's heart opened up to other emotions, his mind hungered for knowledge other than to quench his blood lust and being a bringer of death. He let emotions come out slowly, playing with them, truly understanding, and in a way not yet met by a Zarjero, he came to understand. Everyone had feelings, everyone had a sensation for wanting pleasure and avoiding pain. Everyone had wants, dislikes, hunger, thirst, /feelings/ to be respected. So impressed were the elders of the time, they named Vicktor the heir. He was five years of age when he took the title of Alpha. Crimson fur smothered in brown underfur and stripes, his pale blue orbs were feral, though he stood regal and exuded the pride that is Nature herself. An alpha's alpha, his words were law and justice was always served, under him the entirety of the Zarjero's endured less deaths via murder/accident and their territory grew larger. Foes willingly allied with them from his words of concern and value of life, instead of waging wars he brought about peace. Land was traded, hunting techniques shared. It wasn't until one cruel winter in which ten or so other packs were whipped out that a gust of wind brought about a time of change.
The blanket of snow left his once humble oasis home as the stuff of a nightmare. Everywhere he looked it was just a bare stump from a dead tree, the occasional carcass from an unfortunate soul, or just simply more snow. It was a tragedy and he felt in his heart and soul the need to check for survivors. The elders approved his request though there wasn't much food nor space to share with any found stragglers, but they would do what they could to be hospitable. It'd been three days since the snow had come to rip to shreds what was left of the serenity of the lands. Countless canine-like bodies had been buried and respected, few carcasses of prey animals gathered to keep the pack fed. Though on this day, something shatters the silence. Quick footfalls in the succession that would state a run-- a very fast one at that. Pendulums rise, as do audits, maws lift skyward to taste the air for clues, some uncertain growls ring out from Pack members. Vicktor would silence them all with one gruff grunt, his pale gaze narrowing as something does seem to be approaching. He orders with one mighty bark for his escorts to break away, to run in a wide radius to come from behind and hopefully trap the unknown being. But this one had been small, so quick and agile, and able to slip through this plan. Though, before it could realize, it slammed head first into the well-built wall that had been Vicktor. She must have hit him hard, though he barely budged, because instantly her pools roll and she slips into a state of unconsciousness. Bemused by the actions, Vicktor is all too quick in demanding the unknown female be brought back to the others. He himself lifts her much smaller frame on his back and carries her home. It is as much a blessing as it is a failure, in Vicktor's pale gaze anyway, that they only bring one survivor home.
She is left in a small 'hut' of her own to recover. Being among those ranked 'pack' was to risk her being ripped to shreds for simply existing. She is given refuge in the area sealed away for those of the Tribe, the more benevolent and blessed souls of the Zarjero bloodline. A bed of old furs is used to hopefully offer comfort while she slumbers, a small hole dug near her maw for water, and next to that the back legs of a hare for her to snack on. A bundle of herbs encircles her, the light fragrance one to help keep her calm and collected. Hourly she's checked upon by Vicktor, he is worried for her and feels obligated for he was whom she ran into. He stands by the entryway, audits back, nostrils flaring with each intake of oxygen. He watches her without sound, waiting for her to do something. For he /felt/ she would do something. And as if on cue, or as if her soul could speak to his, she /does/ do something...
A breath-taking coloration not yet encountered meets his pale zenith globes, and his breath catches in his throat.
Sun's rays pool over the used-to-be enriched forest, the blanket of white encasing beneath them the promise of new growth and a bountiful new generation. Nature was funny like that, never bowing down, bending to the will of others, giving up. It fights on, no matter how hungry, thirsty, weak, out-numbered, it will never give in. And through this snow, the bitter wind nipping at one fae whom walked alone, she trudged on. Eyes so pale they seemed colorless though that was far from the truth, a frame so petite and lacking in size that it constantly trembled as it fought to cling to what little body heat is exuded. Audits flicked back to keep the snow out, ivories bared for she was struggling to press on. Life beckoned her forward, death chased her like the leech it was. Her own determination demand she follow her own path and simply keep moving. Everything looked the same, her nose useless for it'd been numbed from the cold and could detect no scents... Her situation truly was pathetic, as was her existence. There wasn't a soul to be seen, a voice to be heard, another to be protected by and comforted within their presence; she was utterly alone. And as death claws at her tassel, she'd whimper and burst into a run. Her body had not the strength for such an act, each stride was like smoking a cigarette-- every full leap and she lost another six minutes of her life. No matter how big a breath she took, no matter how quick her panting was, never was enough oxygen sent into her lungs. Her heart could not, even though it beat so hard it droned out all other sounds, get the warm blood to her freezing-over toes. Her body was giving up on her, the sweet, enticing promises of a better tomorrow through death became louder than mere whispers. It echoes in her mind, droning out all other sounds-- actually, all other /senses/ better than her own heart had. She continues to run with all she has left in her, death could not be the answer, her life would not end here with no legacy to speak for. She would die and instantly be forgotten, her strand of DNA lost forever to never grace this world again. And the Laws of Nature /demand/ she leave such a footprint if she can help it. As if Death itself manifests into a physical form, it gives chase, nipping at her heels and spewing it's deadly poison on her tassel. She yips out again, tucking her tassel beneath her legs, running even faster. Her mind begins to hallucinate-- more forms spring up, they surround her, foot falls as well as the whispers began to reverberate in her mind--
Then she slams into something, and her world fades to black.
The sun's rays fall to stir about a massive group of souls. A gentle caress, like a mother's loving touch to stir about the soul and bring the exterior to life. Many of the tribe were asleep, for their duties rise and fall with the sun, whilst the lower members of the pack were nocturnal, proving their worth and 'carrying their weight' while keeping watch whilst others slept. Gentle foot falls shatter the peaceful silence that was the home turf, orbs slowly open while others sound gentle yawns. Those whom were on night patrol just made it back, they sit at the more or less north boundary, waiting for the head count before being dismissed to eat and sleep. In total, fifteen members were sent out, and as the members of the Tribe awaken, the counting would begin. The tribe was known as the Zarjeros, a proud, dignified, humble and righteous namesake. Behemoth-like in size, as strong physically as mentally, they were said to be the ancestors of the Russian wolves. Always housing a dark-hued pelt with a sort of sandy undertone and markings, they towered over normal wolves with impressive muscles and stature. Their eyes could be any color though it was always a pale shade, their bodies would always be dominated by stripes, their patterns being unique to their own branch of the family tree. Born to be warriors at heart, to stand tall over the injured and to be the wall between the defenseless and the attackers, their bite is much worse than their bark. The most aggressive and heartless of the tribe was left in the 'pack stage', the lower ranked, for they could not comprehend the importance and how sacred life is. Those who could be more compassionate, merciful, selfless, kind, and genuine would rise to the Tribe, the ones who rule over all and have the final say for everyone. They were the elders of the pack, without a doubt, for it could take years for a Zarjero to forsake the ruthless and blood thirsty ways, and at times only turning fangs against them could snap them from the trance. Like all packs, though, the Alpha was best suited for the position. His, or /her/, age was taken into consideration as well as the 'age' or maturity of their mindset, and their personality. Of course the first litter of the alphas had first chance of being the heir, but if deemed unworthy, the next first litter of the next branch of the family tree would be taken into consideration.
The current Alpha, Vicktor Zarjero, was the only unanimous decision.
Towering above all of his generation, he had promise of being a Chief Warrior, like his father and fore-father. Vicktor is the first of his branch of the family tree to rise out of Pack standards. His family has been the personal warriors for the alpha pair and the Tribe elders-- the best of the best. Their cunning and blood lust was unmatched and could never be satisfied, they only got a sense of self worth and pride by mercilessly slaughtering their targets and carrying out their tasks with prejudice. If one of Vicktor's blood was sent to end you, Hell was considered the vacation afterwards. However Vicktor had a soft spot for pups, for the young, for he could understand the fact that such tiny, pathetic, and otherwise useless souls would grow up to be the pack and tribe as a whole. They were the legacy-- /everything/, and without them the pack would surely meet a grim demise. He was able to turn his fangs against foes when ordered to and even use said fangs to protect the innocent. An impressive feat in of itself, Vicktor's heart opened up to other emotions, his mind hungered for knowledge other than to quench his blood lust and being a bringer of death. He let emotions come out slowly, playing with them, truly understanding, and in a way not yet met by a Zarjero, he came to understand. Everyone had feelings, everyone had a sensation for wanting pleasure and avoiding pain. Everyone had wants, dislikes, hunger, thirst, /feelings/ to be respected. So impressed were the elders of the time, they named Vicktor the heir. He was five years of age when he took the title of Alpha. Crimson fur smothered in brown underfur and stripes, his pale blue orbs were feral, though he stood regal and exuded the pride that is Nature herself. An alpha's alpha, his words were law and justice was always served, under him the entirety of the Zarjero's endured less deaths via murder/accident and their territory grew larger. Foes willingly allied with them from his words of concern and value of life, instead of waging wars he brought about peace. Land was traded, hunting techniques shared. It wasn't until one cruel winter in which ten or so other packs were whipped out that a gust of wind brought about a time of change.
The blanket of snow left his once humble oasis home as the stuff of a nightmare. Everywhere he looked it was just a bare stump from a dead tree, the occasional carcass from an unfortunate soul, or just simply more snow. It was a tragedy and he felt in his heart and soul the need to check for survivors. The elders approved his request though there wasn't much food nor space to share with any found stragglers, but they would do what they could to be hospitable. It'd been three days since the snow had come to rip to shreds what was left of the serenity of the lands. Countless canine-like bodies had been buried and respected, few carcasses of prey animals gathered to keep the pack fed. Though on this day, something shatters the silence. Quick footfalls in the succession that would state a run-- a very fast one at that. Pendulums rise, as do audits, maws lift skyward to taste the air for clues, some uncertain growls ring out from Pack members. Vicktor would silence them all with one gruff grunt, his pale gaze narrowing as something does seem to be approaching. He orders with one mighty bark for his escorts to break away, to run in a wide radius to come from behind and hopefully trap the unknown being. But this one had been small, so quick and agile, and able to slip through this plan. Though, before it could realize, it slammed head first into the well-built wall that had been Vicktor. She must have hit him hard, though he barely budged, because instantly her pools roll and she slips into a state of unconsciousness. Bemused by the actions, Vicktor is all too quick in demanding the unknown female be brought back to the others. He himself lifts her much smaller frame on his back and carries her home. It is as much a blessing as it is a failure, in Vicktor's pale gaze anyway, that they only bring one survivor home.
She is left in a small 'hut' of her own to recover. Being among those ranked 'pack' was to risk her being ripped to shreds for simply existing. She is given refuge in the area sealed away for those of the Tribe, the more benevolent and blessed souls of the Zarjero bloodline. A bed of old furs is used to hopefully offer comfort while she slumbers, a small hole dug near her maw for water, and next to that the back legs of a hare for her to snack on. A bundle of herbs encircles her, the light fragrance one to help keep her calm and collected. Hourly she's checked upon by Vicktor, he is worried for her and feels obligated for he was whom she ran into. He stands by the entryway, audits back, nostrils flaring with each intake of oxygen. He watches her without sound, waiting for her to do something. For he /felt/ she would do something. And as if on cue, or as if her soul could speak to his, she /does/ do something...
A breath-taking coloration not yet encountered meets his pale zenith globes, and his breath catches in his throat.
☽W E L C O M E T O . . . ☾
Meanwhile, it's true fear and an unshakable dread that is the female's reaction. Frozen by a sense of shock and questioning as to where she was-- was she even /safe/ here? Was she a prisoner? Soon to be the pack's chew toy? Her body begins to tremble and she tries to move back, tassel moving to coil and cover her paws. This display of genuine fear causes the mighty Alpha to back away, his own audits flicking back. "Peace, Friend." His authoritative vocals rang out, commanding total submission by nature and decibels though at the same time they were gentle and coaxing. Bemused, the female finds herself forgetting the fear because she's so confused and intrigued. "You call me friend when you do not know me and I encroached on your territory-- You expect me to trust you though you shouldn't trust me?" Her inquiry lacked any menace and anger. It was a sincere question, one that makes Vicktor calm easily. "What I'm asking you may not be fair but is life ever fair?" He'd inquire right back, proving that he was more than the typical 'Head Honcho' of this established pack. The female quirks her skull to the left, she uncurls herself just a little and nods in a tense fashion. "To be fair-- even if life is, I should warn you that my family may be looking for me and that by holding me hostage, which they will assume is the case, you risk war." She smiles shyly-- a bold move indeed but somehow Vicktor can pick up that this is a jest. Her choice of words and the way her mind ticked, he rather liked it because none other of this pack has intellectually challenged him so. "Well, then must I not be fair in return? I'll have you know that, if there is indeed a family searching for you, they will be massacred in a blood bath and I will force you to watch." His vocals dance out in an eerie fashion, no longer charming as previous to see just how perceptive the female was. And she doesn't look bothered by his tone, her fur does bristle and she does gently shiver but never again does that initial fear show itself again. "Well, then cliche happily ever afters would demand I fall head-over-heels in love with you or someone else of status within this pack and make my worst enemies my most cherished family. Does that sound about right?" She'd flick the tip of her tassel and turn her skull downwards. "Or, perhaps I should vow vengeance, wait for the perfect time to strike, and end you when you sleep. Though, I think the first is most fitting." She'd giggle, such a beautiful sound that makes Vicktor's heart race. She was stunning to his gaze and showed promise of housing a soul just as stunning to his own- he must shake his skull to keep up with her, but finds himself lost.
Saved By The Bell becomes Saved By The Grunt; Vicktor was so taken by the female that he failed to notice his own guard coming in. Five massive canines, the largest of the large, and only ones larger than Vicktor stand about him, their enraged and distrusting gaze locking onto the female. All but one, whom was gazing uneasily at Vicktor. "Alpha..." His deep, vocal-less tones rumbled out in a tense fashion. He did not like how friendly Vicktor was being toward the female-- Part of the reason said guard would never rise up to be such a rank. And Vicktor, in turn, loses that aura of friendliness as his gaze flickers to glare at his troupe. Already the female was a cowering mess in her little corner; when in another pack submission was the best chance of survival. And Vicktor hated seeing that side to her. "Cease!" He'd snarl toward his guard, making them all instantly cringe and back away, massive statures low and submissive to their superior. Vicktor rises his pendulum, lips pulling back as he'd sound an unearthly growl, one final warning to them. And at this sound, they quickly leave this little den, desperate to not get on his back side. And as they leave, Vicktor would blink once, and send his soft, inviting gaze and aura to the female. She responds almost instantly, how did he do that!?-- Her body had a mind of it's own as she stops cowering and rises to her paws. She looked like a mere pup in the presence of the male, he was so large in comparison to her not-too-impressive size. "Come." He beckons, he'd turn and with a flick of his pendulum, makes his way out of the den. Shyly and hesitantly would the female follow, naturally her posture kept submissive as to hopefully avoid any harm. She steps out to see the massive and impressive set up that this pack called home. It seemed everywhere she looked was a wolf much larger than she going about business. Except for the guard that surrounded Vicktor, everyone else sent curious and non-threatening glances her way. Some even sent a small smile to help her feel welcomed, there seemed to be no typical bloodthirsty, territorial canines present.
She quickly noticed something common along with the impressive sizes-- They all were striped. Though the patterns seemed to be unique, their coats were all of a dark color, followed by a shade of brown, and covered in stripes. Much like the way zebra stripes can throw off a lioness on the hunt, the female finds herself dazed. She gazes on in shock, some chuckle at her innocent confusion and shock while others smile in pride, Proud are all whom hold the Zarjero name and have the blood course through their veins. She wonders how this pack must work if so many bear stripes, would't that mean they're all related? In-breeding? She tucks her tassel between her legs and scurries to Vicktor's side, feeling safe for she knew him best even if she knew him not at all. He chuckles from her actions and nods for his guards to give some space, to make her more comfortable, and to better guide her. "Come, you're to meet the Elders." He mused as he begins to walk. The size difference was insane, the female gasps at his sudden walk and finds she must jog to keep up with his walk. She follows at his flank, watching his big steps the way pups tend to their first few days out of the den, and this keeps his mood up. She was different than the headstrong, feisty Zarjero females and different from any other visitors they've had. He finds himself wanting to know more of her, but for now, that must wait. They walk among the crowd of other striped giants whom all held an aura of being well groomed and mannered. They hold conversations like for better hunting strategies, possible war tactics should they be invaded, new herbal remedies that were proven to work. They didn't seem the least bit barbaric and feral, more like poised and sophisticated, educated individuals. Something the female has been craving herself-- something that made this pack more like a fairy tale than a reality.
Upon reaching the boundary of the area, she'd spy another den-like area that was boarded up by trees. The trees their-selves were aged, the bark dark and leaves crisp from the harsh winter. She found that amazing-- nothing else had survived the cruel winter yet she was staring at greenery. She'd gasp from the sight, perhaps she loved nature? And she dashes forward to try and sniff the tree-- but snarls instantly ring up and she feels herself slammed to the ground, the air forced from her lungs as she shrieks out in fear. Had she done something wrong? As that thought hits her she feels the weight instantly left from her frame, another fierce but incredibly louder snarl ripples out to bring about a time of silence. Above her now stood Vicktor, she could tell for soon enough she saw a large crimson-hued appendage next to her skull. She'd whimper and cower, frame quivering as she gently nuzzles said appendage, hoping to appease him for she thought she did something wrong. But her touch calms him and he lowers his maw to gently nuzzle between her audits. The motion is calming, for he quickly moves to her nape, where mothers would lift pups to still them. He waits until she is calm then lifts his skull again, standing regal among his pack and glaring at them, daring them to harm his guest. "She is a guest." He growls to his members, their audits flick back to show her respect because they knew better than to test his rage. "She knows not our ways but make no mistake she is no threat to us. If another fang touches her so help me my fangs will touch you. Do /not/ touch her, that is my task and mine alone!" He bellows the words, not easing up his glare as the members bow to his commanding tone. She watches in dismay, relieved to know she was safe but hating to see the others submit like this. "That isn't right.." She'd whimper softly, then cringe because she hadn't meant to say anything. "...Life isn't fair, is it not?" Vicktor would reply and he nuzzles her once more, coaxing her to stand. He doesn't move so she may stand, he was so much taller than she was so there was no need. She enjoys the sensation of being protected while she stand beneath him, she even smiles a little, but that is quickly gone when she notices part of the crowd parting. They were moving aside as if to let something by, and that makes her nervous. But Vicktor doesn't move so she doesn't either, and soon enough six elderly males and one elderly female were standing before her. They stare at her silently, their gazes not scrutinizing nor judging, just simply watching. And eventually she finds herself nervously backing away, a good move she guessed because soon enough the female elder nods. "She may stay." She sounds, and the other elders nod. The female gazes up to Vicktor, confused whereas he smiled big. "You're not thrilled, child. You may speak." The female elder states. The female flinches from being acknowledged but she quickly looks back to the elder to show her respect. "...W-where, exactly, is it that I'm welcomed?" She asks so sheepishly that few could hear her. Another must tell the elder what was spoken, and only then would she smile gently toward the guest.
"My dear, you stand in the heart of the Zarjero Pride."
Meanwhile, it's true fear and an unshakable dread that is the female's reaction. Frozen by a sense of shock and questioning as to where she was-- was she even /safe/ here? Was she a prisoner? Soon to be the pack's chew toy? Her body begins to tremble and she tries to move back, tassel moving to coil and cover her paws. This display of genuine fear causes the mighty Alpha to back away, his own audits flicking back. "Peace, Friend." His authoritative vocals rang out, commanding total submission by nature and decibels though at the same time they were gentle and coaxing. Bemused, the female finds herself forgetting the fear because she's so confused and intrigued. "You call me friend when you do not know me and I encroached on your territory-- You expect me to trust you though you shouldn't trust me?" Her inquiry lacked any menace and anger. It was a sincere question, one that makes Vicktor calm easily. "What I'm asking you may not be fair but is life ever fair?" He'd inquire right back, proving that he was more than the typical 'Head Honcho' of this established pack. The female quirks her skull to the left, she uncurls herself just a little and nods in a tense fashion. "To be fair-- even if life is, I should warn you that my family may be looking for me and that by holding me hostage, which they will assume is the case, you risk war." She smiles shyly-- a bold move indeed but somehow Vicktor can pick up that this is a jest. Her choice of words and the way her mind ticked, he rather liked it because none other of this pack has intellectually challenged him so. "Well, then must I not be fair in return? I'll have you know that, if there is indeed a family searching for you, they will be massacred in a blood bath and I will force you to watch." His vocals dance out in an eerie fashion, no longer charming as previous to see just how perceptive the female was. And she doesn't look bothered by his tone, her fur does bristle and she does gently shiver but never again does that initial fear show itself again. "Well, then cliche happily ever afters would demand I fall head-over-heels in love with you or someone else of status within this pack and make my worst enemies my most cherished family. Does that sound about right?" She'd flick the tip of her tassel and turn her skull downwards. "Or, perhaps I should vow vengeance, wait for the perfect time to strike, and end you when you sleep. Though, I think the first is most fitting." She'd giggle, such a beautiful sound that makes Vicktor's heart race. She was stunning to his gaze and showed promise of housing a soul just as stunning to his own- he must shake his skull to keep up with her, but finds himself lost.
Saved By The Bell becomes Saved By The Grunt; Vicktor was so taken by the female that he failed to notice his own guard coming in. Five massive canines, the largest of the large, and only ones larger than Vicktor stand about him, their enraged and distrusting gaze locking onto the female. All but one, whom was gazing uneasily at Vicktor. "Alpha..." His deep, vocal-less tones rumbled out in a tense fashion. He did not like how friendly Vicktor was being toward the female-- Part of the reason said guard would never rise up to be such a rank. And Vicktor, in turn, loses that aura of friendliness as his gaze flickers to glare at his troupe. Already the female was a cowering mess in her little corner; when in another pack submission was the best chance of survival. And Vicktor hated seeing that side to her. "Cease!" He'd snarl toward his guard, making them all instantly cringe and back away, massive statures low and submissive to their superior. Vicktor rises his pendulum, lips pulling back as he'd sound an unearthly growl, one final warning to them. And at this sound, they quickly leave this little den, desperate to not get on his back side. And as they leave, Vicktor would blink once, and send his soft, inviting gaze and aura to the female. She responds almost instantly, how did he do that!?-- Her body had a mind of it's own as she stops cowering and rises to her paws. She looked like a mere pup in the presence of the male, he was so large in comparison to her not-too-impressive size. "Come." He beckons, he'd turn and with a flick of his pendulum, makes his way out of the den. Shyly and hesitantly would the female follow, naturally her posture kept submissive as to hopefully avoid any harm. She steps out to see the massive and impressive set up that this pack called home. It seemed everywhere she looked was a wolf much larger than she going about business. Except for the guard that surrounded Vicktor, everyone else sent curious and non-threatening glances her way. Some even sent a small smile to help her feel welcomed, there seemed to be no typical bloodthirsty, territorial canines present.
She quickly noticed something common along with the impressive sizes-- They all were striped. Though the patterns seemed to be unique, their coats were all of a dark color, followed by a shade of brown, and covered in stripes. Much like the way zebra stripes can throw off a lioness on the hunt, the female finds herself dazed. She gazes on in shock, some chuckle at her innocent confusion and shock while others smile in pride, Proud are all whom hold the Zarjero name and have the blood course through their veins. She wonders how this pack must work if so many bear stripes, would't that mean they're all related? In-breeding? She tucks her tassel between her legs and scurries to Vicktor's side, feeling safe for she knew him best even if she knew him not at all. He chuckles from her actions and nods for his guards to give some space, to make her more comfortable, and to better guide her. "Come, you're to meet the Elders." He mused as he begins to walk. The size difference was insane, the female gasps at his sudden walk and finds she must jog to keep up with his walk. She follows at his flank, watching his big steps the way pups tend to their first few days out of the den, and this keeps his mood up. She was different than the headstrong, feisty Zarjero females and different from any other visitors they've had. He finds himself wanting to know more of her, but for now, that must wait. They walk among the crowd of other striped giants whom all held an aura of being well groomed and mannered. They hold conversations like for better hunting strategies, possible war tactics should they be invaded, new herbal remedies that were proven to work. They didn't seem the least bit barbaric and feral, more like poised and sophisticated, educated individuals. Something the female has been craving herself-- something that made this pack more like a fairy tale than a reality.
Upon reaching the boundary of the area, she'd spy another den-like area that was boarded up by trees. The trees their-selves were aged, the bark dark and leaves crisp from the harsh winter. She found that amazing-- nothing else had survived the cruel winter yet she was staring at greenery. She'd gasp from the sight, perhaps she loved nature? And she dashes forward to try and sniff the tree-- but snarls instantly ring up and she feels herself slammed to the ground, the air forced from her lungs as she shrieks out in fear. Had she done something wrong? As that thought hits her she feels the weight instantly left from her frame, another fierce but incredibly louder snarl ripples out to bring about a time of silence. Above her now stood Vicktor, she could tell for soon enough she saw a large crimson-hued appendage next to her skull. She'd whimper and cower, frame quivering as she gently nuzzles said appendage, hoping to appease him for she thought she did something wrong. But her touch calms him and he lowers his maw to gently nuzzle between her audits. The motion is calming, for he quickly moves to her nape, where mothers would lift pups to still them. He waits until she is calm then lifts his skull again, standing regal among his pack and glaring at them, daring them to harm his guest. "She is a guest." He growls to his members, their audits flick back to show her respect because they knew better than to test his rage. "She knows not our ways but make no mistake she is no threat to us. If another fang touches her so help me my fangs will touch you. Do /not/ touch her, that is my task and mine alone!" He bellows the words, not easing up his glare as the members bow to his commanding tone. She watches in dismay, relieved to know she was safe but hating to see the others submit like this. "That isn't right.." She'd whimper softly, then cringe because she hadn't meant to say anything. "...Life isn't fair, is it not?" Vicktor would reply and he nuzzles her once more, coaxing her to stand. He doesn't move so she may stand, he was so much taller than she was so there was no need. She enjoys the sensation of being protected while she stand beneath him, she even smiles a little, but that is quickly gone when she notices part of the crowd parting. They were moving aside as if to let something by, and that makes her nervous. But Vicktor doesn't move so she doesn't either, and soon enough six elderly males and one elderly female were standing before her. They stare at her silently, their gazes not scrutinizing nor judging, just simply watching. And eventually she finds herself nervously backing away, a good move she guessed because soon enough the female elder nods. "She may stay." She sounds, and the other elders nod. The female gazes up to Vicktor, confused whereas he smiled big. "You're not thrilled, child. You may speak." The female elder states. The female flinches from being acknowledged but she quickly looks back to the elder to show her respect. "...W-where, exactly, is it that I'm welcomed?" She asks so sheepishly that few could hear her. Another must tell the elder what was spoken, and only then would she smile gently toward the guest.
"My dear, you stand in the heart of the Zarjero Pride."
) I'd appreciate the confidence boosters too, they honestly mean a lot more to me than one would think. And no problem, Vul. I'm always here to praise your work and help you if you need me. I'll be looking forward to the next chapter, and also, I hope you feel better soon. Don't push yourself too hard.~ 
