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Bronx
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Bronx sat by one of the narrow rivers at Moonlight Ridge and idly watched the reflection of the moon in the water. The happenings at the recent Nova Mountain pack meeting played heavily on his mind; and for something to take up such a dominant position in that busy skull of his it had to be very heavy. He considered the numerous implications of this event and Sinistra’s “final straw” decisions — would this turn into outright war?
He knew well enough that so many parts of this “new” Nova Mountain-Silver Creek development concerned personal feelings. Both he and Sinistra had personal connections to the one that had been brutally attacked and thus they had to work hard to keep the mind in control (though this was something Bronx, at least, was extremely practiced at). It was of course the fault of the asinine Mister Red-Eyes who would, despite the resistance, be scampering away with his tail either between his legs or high up in a oak tree.
As for those at Silver Creek, he could just picture the headlines. Accusations that the Nova wolves were warmongering and simply looking for an excuse to be violent; one Alpha telling another “how to run their pack”; friendships broken… well, some friendships broken. The relationship between Bronx and Tiamat wouldn’t even waver. If anything, it’d simply become more powerful if that was even possible, for they were two intelligent wolves who would not let their personal lives get in the way of politics and, more importantly, would not let politics get in the way of their personal lives.
On the final note of this relationship, Bronx stood up and continued to walk gently along the river. Now a leader, Præfectus, he had abandoned the official title of Guardian but it was still in him from fur to bone. So he followed the borders, noticing rather vaguely that it had more the feeling of a moonlit midnight walk than a patrol.
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This post has been edited by Bronx on Oct. 28, 2006 - 12:45pm
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Arsenio
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Hope you don't mind this.
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He couldn't sleep; there was too much on his mind. The recent happenings between the Novian wolves and the Silver Creekers were too tough to work around into the realm of sleep. Arsenio had many friends in Silver Creek — Takashi, Fei, Levi — and he didn't for one minute want to even "shun" them (from Sinistra's orders), let alone go to war with them. The Phase youth didn't think that one wolf's actions, namely the red-eyed black wolf, should make all of the Silver Creek wolves guilty.
He left the family den in thought, wondering if the clear night air would help lift the thoughts from his mind. The moonlight was strong, giving the surroundings a very ethereal sort of look. He would like to have been able to say that he had been wandering, but that wasn't true. He was drawn to the borders, and to the edge of where he was 'supposed to' be. Looking out over the lands of the Sunflower Meadow and the Hickory Stream Woods, both seemed to become a block onto the rest of the world. Nova Mountain was isolating itself; its ties to Silver Creek strained and its knowledge of the Fields and the Mount virtually nothing.
Pawsteps started to enter his range of hearing and as quickly as he could, the golden-eyed kid darted into the nearest hiding place he could find — a very thick clump of interwoven branches and undergrowth. He watched as the figure passed... a black figure with red eyes that flashed in the moonlight. Arsenio was shocked, the stories of the red-eyed Creeker flashing through his mind. The scent the wolf portrayed though, along with more thurough investigation, showed it was definately not the one presently described, but the Mountain's new Præfectus, Bronx. Toying with the idea of going to greet the other wolf, Arsenio, knowing that the only danger here was being sent back home with a reprimand, creeped out and up to the Mountain leader.
"Do you think that Sinistra wen' a bit too far?" the young wolf asked, his golden eyes tracing his paws. "His terms are very... harsh." He almost felt like he was going up for advice.
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Bronx
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Tired of watching the reflection of his paws move fluidly in the water of the river, an elegant but obvious limp appearing every now and again on the right, his gaze moved up towards the jarred horizon. Had he been less swept away in his thoughts and focusing more on the near-distance as opposed to the furthest reaches of the galaxy he would have noticed Arsenio sooner. But Bronx only moved his composed eyes to the youngster when he had clearly set his sights on the Guardian and was moving towards him with a question clearly ready.
Bronx came to a slow halt and simply glanced down at the boy as he stood there, for some reason choosing not to submit. Now, Bronx was certainly not a superior or arrogant sort (despite the irony), even though his body was built for natural dominance. No, he had lived most of his life with his head dipped to those of higher rank so, now a Delta-equivalent, it did not make him pleased to see a puppy who was old enough to know better, strutting right up to him without submission, interrupting his walk and then asking him things. Throwing in his opinion to top it all.
The intimidating form simply stared at the pup tonelessly and bluntly, ready to just walk off and leave the youth who didn’t know his place. He found it ironic that Arsenio hadn’t learnt respect from his parents, who were both Betas. Perhaps he thought he was a prince. “And what ‘terms’ would those be,” he replied in his deep, low voice, firstly wondering if this pup was going to continue acting equal to the five-times-his-age, huge, dark Præfectus and secondly answering the boy’s question with a question of his own; after all, it looked like young Arsenio really didn’t have any idea what he was on about.
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Arsenio
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Woah, bad delay. ):
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It was rather easy to figure out that Arsenio was something of a spoiled brat. His parents (though it was ironic) never really forced upon him the value of submission, though he normally was more inclined to be taught to be respectful with more words than action. He had never been forced into many acts of submission, either, but that was mainly because none of the wolves he had met were really demanding of it, especially upon someone not yet into the adult ranks.
Bronx, however, was a bit different. Arsenio, unsettled by the critically curious silence before the Præfectus decided to speak to him, immidiately discovered his mistake and, with haste, flickered his golden gaze downwards and let his tail swish to his heels. His ears, pinned to his skull, seemed slightly muffled. The deep rumble of the much older wolf's voice came into his range of hearing, however, and he switched his weight between his forepaws, suddenly rather nervous.
"I-I'm not allowed to speak with anyone, not just in the Creek, but everywhere, if I understood correctly," he frowned, shaking his head slightly. "I have a lot of friends in other packs, an' I don't really want t' avoid them."
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Bronx
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Bronx’s acknowledgement of Tobin and Siaqi as parents upped in positivism at least a bit when Arsenio finally realised his mistake and moved into submission. Honestly, the pup shouldn’t really have needed the look in Bronx’s fierce eyes to adjust his posture. Bronx wasn’t arrogant and he certainly didn’t need submission from anyone, but now the Præfectus of this pack, he felt his responsibilities were louder than ever. So there was something disheartening about a young wolf that was soon to enter the adult ranks who had little recognition of pack etiquette.
Despite Arsenio’s almost business-like structure to the words, it soon became obvious that the lad didn’t really understand at all. “Well, no,” Bronx proceeded to answer, “what Sinistra means is that you shouldn’t go to Silver Creek and you shouldn’t allow Silver Creek wolves to enter Nova Mountain territory.”
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Arsenio
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Oh, shoot; did he misinterpret orders again?
Listening intently behind skull-muffled ears, he searched his rather good memory for the words that the Alpha Cæsar had given him and the rest of the pack at the meeting. He was absolutely sure that Sinistra had said to not talk to any wolves outside the Novian ranks on adventures except in self-defense. "I-I thought he said to not interact with any others ou'side defense after tha' c'mmand, though," he put in lightly, not trying to sound as though he was completely rejecting the older wolf's helping statement.
Of course, his mind was rather muddled at all of the recent changes on the Mountain nowadays, and he might've certainly gotten things mixed up in that hodge-podge of a brain that he held. Whether or not he had heard correctly was up to what Sinistra himself had meant.
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Bronx
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Brown frowned slightly and flickered a silky ear in brief confusion. He thought for a split second that maybe he had missed what their handsome commander had said in his moment of prolonged speech, but then his confidence caught up with him and he played the age game – Arsenio was definitely the one that had got the wrong idea. He glanced away from the youngster and re-played some of the words he had committed to memory.
In the mean time, no one here is to go to Silver Creek, and no Silver Creek wolf is to be permitted on Nova Mountain lands… and none of you, under any circumstances, are to so much as look cross-eyed at any wolf you come upon in your travels unless you are doing so in your own defense, in fear of your own life.
… Ah. It looked like Sinistra had constructed his words for those with a wider vocabulary. “He meant negative interaction…” he explained before adding; “in other words, be nice to everyone. Anyway, even if Sinistra had said that you shouldn’t talk to anyone, I’ll tell you a secret…” he leaned forwards slightly with dark playfulness and lowered his voice; “not even an Alpha can tell you how to lead your own social life.”
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Arsenio
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Although Arsenio was very much willing to be one of the pack adults, he simply wasn't ready. This was one of the reasons — his almost inate ability to hear things wrong and jump to amazing conclusions. Though this revelation from the firey-eyed Præfectus lifted a good deal of confusion out of his mind, it still sat unsteady with him that he, though willing, wasn't taking things calmly enough. If this continued on into his adulthood, he wanted to be at least mature enough to understand it...
Until that point, Arsenio might just have to listen more to words that were constructed for... those of his more standard of learning. Absorbing Bronx's words, he nodded and finally got the entire gist of it and, when the dark leader whispered his 'secret' to the Medic Apprentice, Arsenio smiled in his own impish sort of way. "'Course," he whispered.
Suddenly at a loss for conversation, he stood silent. Eventually, "D'you think that this'll really become a war? Not like talking war, like... fighting war?" After his conversation with Leviathan, he was becoming anxious on the matter as well.
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Bronx
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Bronx drew back from his secret with that hint of a dark smile, and his gaze floated to the east-most sky as Arsenio mulled over what had just been said (supposedly). For a moment he arranged his schedule for the rest of the day and consequent night; based on the weather, mostly, which he could tell from the distant clouds. As he looked back down at the pup, as if to check if he was still there, he noticed that the youngster had settled into a somewhat awkward silence, which really meant nothing to a wolf who never tended to get “awkward”.
After looking at the boy for a short second, he answered the question with a question with his own. “Would you fight?” There was an obvious answer… or was there?
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Arsenio
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The question aroused a few strange thoughts within the swirling confines of Arsenio's brain. Would he? He had, actually, no idea. At first, he started to think that he wasn't a fighting wolf — he was a Medic, right? But, if the need was enough and wolves of his pack were getting hurt, then... yes, he guessed he would, if the injuries were taken account for. But to go against all of those friends from the Creek...
"I... would, if I had to," he said eventually, after a moment of thought. "Only if I didn't have any duties as a Medic to do, because that's what I'd do first. I've had much more training in healing than in hurting." A slightly poetic way of saying he would much rather stay behind and help the less fortunate than be on the front lines getting snapped at.
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Bronx
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Despite the fact that most would have found this conversation at least slightly interesting, Bronx’s curiosity was in something else. Only if I didn't have any duties as a Medic to do… Bronx frowned at the lad thoughtfully. A Medic? It looked like that maybe – just maybe - Arsenio might have a job after a few months, considering the fact that Bronx’s last Medic had went and got herself killed. Although his paw pained him almost constantly nowadays, he had not sunk to asking a puppy for help.
So, back to fighting. “Why would you fight?” he asked gruffly, having a brief, mental picture of Sinistra barking out the command and this boy sinking his teeth into the neck of the nearest Silver Creek stranger.
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Arsenio
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Of course, since he didn't have a Mentor anymore, he wouldn't learn all by himself. Arsenio, who hardly knew the Præfrectus, wouldn't know that Bronx had that much pain ailing him (he noticed his limp vaguely, but thought it would be rude to inquire as to it, though he probably should, seeing his position as resident Medic). He had thought he would've always been mentored by Styx or Ahanu but seeing as though both of them had departed, and would've gotten much more experience before taking on the title of Medic (though that might not happen, seeing as though that newcomer Adolpha was Medic-ish, too).
Removed from these thoughts by another question from the firey-eyed leader, Arsenio thought for a longer while on this question. He needed to answer beyond the 'Because someone told me to,', and especially because that wouldn't be the answer. "I would fight... to stop the fighting," he ended up saying rather blankly, not sure what he meant himself. "Seeing as though this all was started by fighting, I guess... it'd be ended by it, too."
He paused before adding, "But if we could end this all diplomatically, that'd be great, too."
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Bronx
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Bronx glanced down at the puppy thoughtfully; just in a swift wondering as to whether or not the boy was being serious. It seemed that he was; and that was exactly what some adults would automatically assume, but not Bronx. He was not overly fond of puppies as a species, but he gave them their individuality, and despite the fact that he had got off on the wrong paw with the Præfectus to begin with, he seemed intelligent enough as his age went. He did shortly surmise that Arsenio was serious.
And since that was the case, he had quite a dangerous idea; an idea that Bronx felt inclined to push out of his head. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” he replied smoothly, “so you can’t stop fighting with fighting; you stop fighting with peace. And it wasn’t started by fighting either,” he continued calmly and kindly enough, “it was started by ignorant, arrogant and unprovoked violence, not to mention the sheer lack of care in Silver Creek. You can only finish a war started by an enemy like that when you refuse to sink to their level.”
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Arsenio
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He had never experienced war before, unlike Bronx. He had never experienced actual dispute, let alone anything else. Arsenio couldn't say he had the greatest grasp on the whole concept. What he said and thought were virtual guesses, shots that would probably go way into left field in any sort of real look-at. So, noticing that Bronx was giving him a rather strange look, he immidiately flushed, knowing he'd probably said something out of place. Great...
Two wrongs might not make a right, but two rights make a left, and— The childish nonsense whirred through his mind but was quickly wiped away as Arsenio struggled to stop from zoning out and listen attentively to the genuine lessons he was learning from this obviously more experienced Præfectus was trying to nail into his noggin. Eventually getting it (or believing he did), Arsenio nodded thoughtfully. Of course they wouldn't want to end this dispute by doing what Silver Creek had done.
"Mm, yeah — you're right," Arsenio murmured (rather redundantly, he thought blankly) and then paused again, wondering where else to go with the conversation, or to simply leave it at that and turn in for the night. Turning up blank, he merely went for a stalling sort of thing. He didn't want to go back to the den just yet now, did he? "'Ave you been in a lot of fights outside th' Valley, um, sir?" He puncutated his simple curiousity with a small smile.
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Bronx
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Bronx’s careful advice and explanation was met with what looked like blankness from the puppy. It looked like the boy’s intelligence had been overestimated, but it was to be expected on second thoughts: he was the son of a pair who seemed to think it was appropriate not to teach him submission and knowledge of his place, so this blind agreement meant nothing. Ah well; Bronx had tried, albeit without caring much, to get his point across, but Arsenio instead fled into silence. And then changed the conversation a bit.
“Sure,” he answered vaguely and then stood to leave. “I should be on my way,” seeing as the conversation was over, and Bronx tended to put no effort in when it came to making friends with puppies – especially not ones of this type, though this didn’t mean that Bronx disliked Arsenio. He nodded his farewell after the youth’s reply, and then headed down towards the borders.
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Arsenio
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-wraps up-
Arsenio, though rather blank at the time (he was rather tired — a kid probably shouldn't be up this far past sundown), did understand what he had been told, though he rather had nothing to show for it. In his mind, which was still dominated by the rather juvenille looks on things, such knowledge wasn't very useful yet. Give it a few more moths.
Anyway. The Plebeian, noting how the Præfectus waved off the question (it might've been too personal!) and then turned to leave, stood silent, and declined his head respectively. Such an important leader didn't have time to mess with pups, he guessed. Some wolves were just different, he guessed. When Bronx was far enough away, Arsenio looked up and murmured, "Nice talkin' to you," in a rather deflated fashion before walking, his tail dragging behind him, back to his den. What a night.
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