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[Brisa]

2nd of Summer, 522

The second day of Summer was just reaching its full, mid-day stride when Brisa made it to the Dust Bed.

Crumbling, half-buried grave markers suck out of the rocky hillside like the crooked teeth of a brawler. Brisa prowled between them, nothing but a dark smudge of black against a dusty backdrop of tough, scrubby grass and sad shrubs. A breeze was picking up from the south, doing much to wash the stink of the city out of the graveyard. Here the air was almost fresh.

The Dust Bed at high noon was as peaceful as Sunberth ever got, but still Brisa's shoulders rolled restlessly under her velvet coat. She was hungry. Kane wasn't being very open-handed with their money these days. Not when the city was knee-deep in so much celebratory fervour. But cheap wine could only do so much, and sometimes it felt like she was carrying both their hungers through the bond.

This wasn't the first time, and gods knew it wouldn't be the last. At times like this she would leave Kane to sleep off his stupor while she caught a fat brat to tide her over until the purse strings loosened or her bondmate snapped out of his apathy. And maybe she was getting slow, but the last few days she hadn't seen so much as a bald tail whipping out of sight. Strange as it was, as soon as she needed them the brats disappeared, and now she was getting hungrier by the day.

Thankfully she knew of more than one way to eat for free.

Brisa lowered her muzzle to sniff at the ground. Dragging in short, explorative gusts of air she cast side to side trying to locate the loamy, fresh smell of turned earth. Her short, pointed ears were pricked forward, only half listening to what was going on around her. Jedediah was the only human she was really worried about this far south of the city. And the bear of a man and his enormous sword had a tendency to make themselves known when he caught her messing with the graves.

The breeze picked up, winding between the markers carrying the smell of a fresh grave. She followed it a few crooked rows until her paws sunk into the loosened ground

From here it didn't take long. Digging her claws into the soil, she scooped huge drifts of dirt out from between her legs, and less than two feet deep she hit something solid. Reaching in with her muzzle, she sunk her teeth into flesh, leaned back on her legs, and pulled in short, hard bursts. Out of the earth rose a stiff wrist, discoloured but still intact, followed by the weak, stringy arm and shoulder of a young man. An ear and the first wisps of blonde hair were just starting to show when Brisa suddenly stopped.

A stiffness rippled up her back and settled in her shoulders, pulling her upright with the man's wrist still in her mouth. It took a moment for her mind to catch up with her senses, and she realized she was being watched.

Several lengths alongside her, much too close for comfort, a she-wolf was standing with her head low between two gravestones, staring at her.

Brisa twisted to face her, and the sound of the corpse's elbow joint popping out of its rigor mortis caused the wolf to flinch. The kelvic didn't look the other predator in the eye, her gaze was fixed low and to the left, keeping the creature in her periphery as she growled her warning. I see you. I don't want to fight you. Do not come any closer.

The wolf wavered for a moment, eyes fixed on the dog crouched over the body. Brisa saw a mirrored desperation in her yellow eyes, that same bloody hunger, and she finally dropped the corpse in order to bare her teeth. Her tongue lapped out of her open mouth, and she could feel saliva starting to collect in her lip. The growl turned into a snarl, the rumble in her chest collecting hard and heavy in her throat. I see you. I am warning you.

The wolf took a slow step forward, Brisa's weak show of intimidation not enough to deter her from an easy meal. The two didn't blink as they stared, sizing the other up, weighing the risk. The wolf was older than her, and just as tall, but painfully thin, bordering on malnourished. And she must be alone, or else Brisa would have been run off already.

The Kelvic wasn’t an experienced fighter, but she was so hungry. They both were. She curled her back legs tight under her body.

At some unspoken signal the tension snapped and the two lunged at each other. The quiet of the graveyard was broken by a cacophony of noise as the two drew up on their hind legs and crashed into each other. The wolf was faster, but Brisa's collar got in her way, and the snap for her neck failed. The creature's teeth sank into the loose skin just above Brisa's shoulder, knocking them both to the ground.

Looking for a better grip, the wolf came down on the Kelvic again, ripping into her cheek, still unable to get through her collar to her throat. Brisa kicked hard, raking her claws down the wolf's thighs and belly. Twisting in her grip, the dog barked and snapped until her mouth managed to find fur.

Her teeth closed hard under the creature's jaw, and from beneath the thick fur and muscle Brisa felt more than heard the snarl pouring from between the wolf’s teeth cut off into a trickle. Throwing with all her weight, Brisa shook her head viciously from side to side, upsetting the wolf’s already weak balance until she could finally roll and wrestle her down and under her. Finally standing over the wolf, she held on for all she was worth, laying on top of her to avoid the scratch of her claws, feeling the air move above her ear as the wolf's teeth snapped viciously just out of reach. Finally the wolf began to weaken.

It was a slow death. Eventually what little air the wolf could suck into her body was not enough, and she began to suffocate. Her limbs twitched, her muscles unspooled, and finally the body slumped under her. Brisa didn't let go until she could feel the blood pumping sluggishly from between her teeth finally stop.

Brisa stood shakily, quivering with the last shockwaves of adrenaline. Blood was trickling from the bite to her shoulder, but the rip in her cheek felt more serious. She hoped she wouldn't need stitches. Kane would kill her.

But that problem could wait. She looked between the corpse of the wolf and the half-buried human, before deciding that the wolf was fresher meat.

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Skull crows were starting to perch on the gravestones, patiently waiting for their turn, as Brisa tore out one last strip of flesh from the wolf's mutilated thigh. She had eaten as much as she could as fast as she could. She was starting to feel sick, but it was that satisfied kind of sick that came from a belly being too full. The scavengers could have the rest.

The skin around Brisa's muzzle felt tight as the wolf's blood started to dry. The pain in her cheek and shoulder was just a low static hum in her head, incessant but not urgent. Perhaps she should lie down for a chime and let her body rest and recover, and let this meal to settle.

Stepping back over the half-buried human corpse, she wandered behind a couple of tightly placed gravestones beside a scrubby little tree for at least a little bit of cover. Turning a couple tight circles she laid down, resting her heavy head on her front paws, feeling satisfied for the first time in days.

[/indent]

[Wrenlo Gravence]

Today, Wrenlo was wavering on a fleeting game of chance. He had strolled through these dust beds a few times a turning, more often for the silent morning meditation while sitting upon his Gram’s stiff corpse buried six feet under. But it was high noon already and he had the free time away from the Armory to scavenge a possible animal carcass. Something his Gram had taught him early on, it’s easier to pick the bones off a wolf’s meal scraps. Safer travels knowing the wolf was fed too. There was always the lingering fear of a surprise flank from a mothering canine, but what worried him more was what the Gravedigger thought of Wrenlo’s intentions. He had been confronted by Jeb on several different occasions, all of which he reassured his working measures within the Knight’s Armory that bone was always a useful product for blade making, amongst other things. Karos was willing to vouch with the quality of fresh stock he’d bring in from time to time. But it wasn’t always the case, and nine times out of ten Wrenlo would hold a few trinket pieces for his own personal and ill-ridden practice.

Call it what you may, he had found peace among the dead rather than the living folk. Their ambiance brought him a sense of closure and soft tones of treasuring wonder either from the raw parts he could take home or just the adventure of dismay. His travels here where very similar to his personal rituals and he held onto the moments dearly like his life was on the line. The long distance from the entry and up the meandering trail he’d find his Gram’s burial lingering just off course from the dust bed ridge where he stopped to say his grace, placing two fingers onto his pursed lips then passing a favored kiss by touching the same two fingers onto the tombstone. Here he laid his axe against the tombstone for a moment to dress himself with the top layer of dust from her grave as a way to camouflage his scent from the lingering predators. Wrenlo rested on his knees before her while digging his calloused hands through the dirt to hand bathe himself with dust. He wasn’t too sure how much this would help but since using this routine he hasn’t been tracked too often by wolves.

Rough hands tousled through his dirty locks in finishing touches when growls and snarls of a fight echoed toward Wrenlo from the downslope of the hill to the left of him. It was in his favor if he could make it to the scene well after the death was made and the winning animal long gone by the time of his arrival. He adjusted his rucksack to hang off one shoulder, digging in the small front pocket for a long strand of twine to tie his hair up in a top knot then reached his arm back through the arm loop of his sack and took his axe from it’s resting place before trekking down the hill towards the battle cries.

Wrenlo made way in a slow pace, often checking his peripheral and taking light footed steps in a sneak as to not trigger any by standing predator in the surrounding woods. There was an often chance other carnivores where taking the same measurements to see what all the ruckus was and he wanted every chance to get ahead of it and not be the next meal. From the shrubbery before him laid and opening to more graves beyond this side of the hill, and around the center of the meadow-like rock garden of tombstone laid a mangled and torn wolf. One that looked more withered and lacking nutrients, even in it’s missing chunks of flesh. Beside it a disturbed grave with a partial corpse trailing out of its hole. It was not an uncommon sight but one that worried him even the slightest with the idea that whatever animal did the damage was full and fulfilled as well as a bigger threat for Wrenlo to battle if it was still around. He sat in the same position for several chimes of silence listening to any sign of the beast. After so long the skull crows flew down from their perched roost and picked off the leftovers from the carcass. Whatever had eaten seemed to be out of the meadow, in his thoughts. It was hard to tell with all the tombs surrounding but if the animal was still stalking about the crows wouldn’t be lingering. Shuffling between the tightly branched bushes he came out to the center with axe towed in both hands, the head of his blade hovering from the ground and his stance ready to strike at the dead wolf. The scull crows flew off with one long swing from both arms and a disrupting crack rang loud in the silent woods when the blade separated the wolf’s back femur from it’s pelvis. He dragged the back leg with one hand away from it’s once connected part and alongside the bushes he drew out from. Pivoting back to the corpse he dropped down to his knees, axe resting on his lap and used both hands to grip top and bottom jaw. It took a large amount of strength and precise hand placement to pull the jaw apart from it’s locked position. Several pops crackled after another the more he wrangled the wolf’s mouth open. He had it open enough to wedge the head of his axe into it’s space to break some teeth, and right when he pushed pressure to pop a few long hooked fangs Wrenlo lost concentration to rustling movement from a few stones in front of him, close to the tree centering the meadow. He sat low and still, slowly dragging his axe close into position for a ready swing that could kill what was coming. He had obviously disrupted a resting place and he was unsure of the beast he might have to wrestle to survive his way out of here.

[Brisa]

It was the snapping of bones that alerted Brisa that she wasn't alone.

She startled awake to the distinctive crack of of a bladed weapon cutting through bone. A flurry of feathers and shadows passed over her as several disturbed scull crows landed in the tree above her. When had she drifted off? The Kelvic felt sluggish and slow even as her heartbeat reacted to her alarm. What was the purpose of an unguarded guard dog?

She laid there, careful not to move, her ears tipped forward and pulling in short bursts of air through her nose. There was a person nearby, either cutting up the wolf or the human carcass she had left out. Gods, why didn't she get farther away before passing out in the bushes?

She shuffled forward on her belly to peer around the gravestone. There was a man standing over the wolf with a heavy axe dangling from his hand. She watched him pulled the wolf's leg from its body and move it aside. The limb trailed sticky bits of gore and fur, but there was almost no meat left on that bone. What was he doing?

Brisa looked the stranger over carefully as he crouched in front of the wolf, taking special note of the glint of the axe balanced on his knees. Bizarrely, he was covered in grave dust, every moment disturbing little cascades of dirt from his arms. Underneath she could see tanned skin moving atop the corded muscle of someone that worked with their hands. He stank of oxidized iron and overworked leather.

There was a dull, fleshy sound as the man stuck the head of his axe into the wolf's mouth and began to knock out its teeth. Standing carefully, Brisa stepped out from behind the grave for a better look.

Automatically her shoulders drew up and her head lowered as the stranger reflexively drew his weapon closer. But it only took a moment for her to read his posture and for the tension to leave her body. She relaxed and raised to her full height, sniffing inquisitively but coming no closer. The man wasn't pulling the blade close to threaten her, he was being defensive. She had scared him just as much as he had scared her.

He had pretty eyes, she noticed. Amid the dirty face and unkempt beard his eyes were an alarming shade of clean, bright blue. She stared back at them, amber eyes burrowing into him. She could see a tooth-and-nail quality about him as he crouched there, clearly ready to take a swing at whatever was about to come his way. It was a quality she recognized in herself, one that was missing from her bondmate. This man in front of her was a born-and-bred Sunberther, she was willing to bet on it.

Brisa sat, the lock on her collar jangling as she reached up with a back leg to scratch her chin. Flecks of dried blood sprinkled from her jaw. She didn't have anything he wanted, and he didn't have anything she wanted. By the laws of animals and Sunberth, that practically made them chums. Certainly not trustworthy, but harmless. She was interested to stay and watch what this strange, dust-covered man wanted with the teeth and bones of her kill.