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five months | exact location vague/flexible

He was not just surviving - he was growing. If he hadn't already managed to dwarf Akira's petite frame with his awkward juvenile frame, he was quickly growing closer to overtaking her. It came as a slight surprise, but mostly made him feel a little out of place.

They made for a strange pair. Trygve's mind was prone to slipping its leash and wandering anytime its thoughts wandered too close to dangerous territory. Akira was built fragile, except for in spirit, but even so Trygve could tell the way the loss of her other half wore her strength down. His role as protector was one the boy took seriously, of course; it was the only thing that still made sense to him, and he walked the fine balance between his need to be self-sufficient and an embarrassing urge to hover near Akira for emotional support with all the heart-pounding tension of a tightrope walker.

But Akira had come to prove herself over and over again to be dependable and trustworthy, and Trygve had no other choice but to trust her.

He was more than big and old enough now, though, to start pulling his weight on hunts. The chimera wandered along the edge of the crystalline, chatty stream idly. His scent tracking left something to be desired, but his eyesight was keen and he searched for evidence of quarry to chase as he walked.

He could see the fish in the river, here and there, but it was not keen on attempting to drown. Again. And besides, although he wouldn't feel the chill, he suspected Akira would be needlessly worried about it if it was found stomping through the snow, soaking wet.

He didn't want to worry her.

He huffed a sigh, ignoring the plume of fog that drifted from its maw. He'd find something else to hunt - and he'd catch it this time.

A twig snapped, not far away but hidden for the moment by the trees. Trygve's head swiveled toward the sound, his frame lowering slightly into a crouch as he stalked toward the sound.

Marigold awoke with a strangled gasp, her chest tight, her limbs heavy, and with the fleeting sensation that she couldn’t breathe.

At first, she just figured it was Van sleeping on top of her again, crushing her with his absolutely ginormous body. But no, it was too quiet for that. There were no earth shaking snores being fed directly into her ears or hot breath wafting across her face. The clearing was peaceful. Serene.

Which meant that something was terribly wrong.

Van? She cast her gaze about, hearing the trickle of a distant river and little else. …Vala?

No response, and no sight of either of them. Or Gladiator. Or Zora.

Now this was really weird. Marigold had never been… alone before. For her entire — albeit somewhat short — life, there had always been someone; a brother, a guardian — always at least within earshot, if not immediately in sight. Had they abandoned her??? Surely not. Vanguard would keel over and die if someone wasn’t snuggling him and usually that someone was her. He’d never willfully leave her behind. Their moms… well. They’d spent six months of their lives raising her so surely they wouldn’t just give up the ghost now, out of nowhere. And where the fuck even was she???

She picked herself up off the ground, shaking off the gathering snow on her pelt. They must’ve just wandered off somewhere. Or they were pulling a prank and giggling in a bush nearby watching her fumble around like a newborn fawn. They’d be back soon.

Right?

She made her way to the river, for a drink and to clear her head. She felt all… discombobulated, with no one in sight and not one recognizable landmark. She sniffed for them as she went, trying to ignore all the unfamiliar scents bombarding her nostrils. One in particular seemed stronger than the others, but she wasn’t sure.

A twig snapped underfoot. Marigold froze. The sound reverberated like a gunshot in the still, morning air, sending the fur along her spine standing on end. Her ears prickled forward, and for a moment she just listened.

TW: Animal death (via predation).

Skill: Small game hunter [1/5]

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Ever since she wandered into the spectral tunnel, Akira had a new goal in mind—not one of survival, nor of retaining peace for Trygve's sake. To find Lodgepole. That was what her mind dwelled on now—the knowledge that he was here. Somewhere.

She would find him.

Akira raced over the snow-laden fields, lips parted, tongue lolling out between rows of sharp teeth. Her sights were set on a hare as it weaved back and forth, attempting to rid itself of the voracious predator that was hot on its heels. Akira had no mercy—not when she knew this was for the sake of herself and Trygve.

Her jaws caught up the the small creature, clamping over its pelt. Her paws dug into its flank as she moved her teeth to instead pierce its throat.

A swift death. As merciful as a hunter like Akira could be in such circumstances.

The woman raised her head, now holding the rabbit firmly between her jaws. Her nostrils twitched, seeking out the familiar scent of her companion. She knew he was around somewhere, likely exploring on his own. There wouldn't be much Akira could do to stop him from doing so—after all, he was nearly her height and growing to be far more formidable. She could only watch and fret, hope that he would be mindful of his own health.

She stepped through a wall of foliage, towards the shore of a winding river. Trygve? she called softly, voice muffled by the fur of the rabbit, I got you some food. She could smell him nearby. She was not concerned.

Only... his smell appeared not to be the only one present.

The she-wolf's brows furrowed in sudden suspicion. Was someone else near? Were they a threat? With urgency sparking in her gait, she trotted forth towards the scent-trail that Trygve left behind.

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His sense of smell wasn't very good, so Trygve zeroed in on the sound of the twig and kept moving without paying much mind to what he could smell.

He rounded a bush, pawsteps hurried as he hopefully closed the gap between him and his quarry, only to come to a sudden and flinching halt as there stood a shadow in his way. She could almost be mistaken for the shadows between the leaves and trees, except for the streaks of sable and flecks of dirty gold and cream in her coat. He lifted its chin, giving the stranger a vaguely vitriolic, suspicious glare to cover for the way she'd genuinely startled him just by standing there.

Whadd'ya want? The boy spat, before Akira's lilting tone reached his ears.

She'd brought him food. It wasn't the first time, and he was reminded of her kindness in the woods when the sea had first spat him out, half-grown but so thoughtless and bruised and helpless he might as well have been newly born.

Its expression softened slightly, not losing much of his grouchy glare but directing it away from the odd child and toward the trees. His nose wasn't the best, but he knew Akira wouldn't let him wander too close to packlands without at least a warning. She was trustworthy, and he was smart enough to keep his nose out of trouble. ....You hungry?

Hurried pawsteps, golden nape standing to meet them, and... a boy. One who was decidedly not Van.

Marigold blinked. She knew better than to show her surprise and instead watched him flinch as he rounded suddenly into view with a blank, almost bored expression. Then she watched with a curiously raised eyebrow as his turned immediately hostile. He spat at her and she reflexively let out a derisive "heh", making a show of sizing the two-toned boy up. He was big but Vanguard was bigger and she was confident in her ability to wallop him.

I should be asking you that, Pretty Boy, she scoffed in the tones of her Gladiator, tail swishing lightly at her heels. But then there was a second voice, markedly older, and her arrogance shriveled, turning to suspicion.

If it was an ambush, the other wolf likely wouldn't have announced themselves, but one could never be too sure, especially seeing as the boy didn't seem particularly concerned. Marigold shifted, making sure to keep both him and his approaching guardian in her line of sight as her ears flicked back. You hungry, he said. Hardly. She'd just met the guy, what if he'd shoved wolfsbane into it? Zora had done something similar, once. The poor bastard died choking on his own vomit.

N— She started to snap, before her stomach let out a near comical growl. Heat clawed its way up her neck, wrapping its grubby little hands around her throat and choking off her words with an embarrassed grumble as she quickly averted her eyes.