Didn't Know What This Could Be [Tigris]

[Kenren]

The wind quite literally stole the breath from Minske's lungs, and he had to inhale with a focused effort as he stumbled almost blindly down the mountainside. White paws scrabbled against icy rocks, fighting for purchase in the white nothingness. He kept his head ducked down to his chest, but it didn't help - the whipping snow stung his ears, his eyes, his nose. He thought ice crystals were probably forming on his coat, but he couldn't take his attention away from the path to look. He knew he'd die if he didn't find shelter, either from the cold or by falling off a hidden cliff. He couldn't see anything but white. He'd been searching for a healing herb only found on the mountaintop, but he'd long since dropped it after the onset of the blizzard. Panic was threatening to surface, and only his father's training kept it from fogging his mind. He had to keep moving, but carefully - each step had to be tested before placing weight, and that wasn't easy with the wind buffeting him. He clenched his teeth, trying to keep his shoulder brushing against the rock wall alongside the path - he knew he was probably bleeding from scraping and bumping along, but his body was too numb to feel it. Red smeared the rock, though he was too busy looking forward to see it. Quite suddenly the wall beside him disappeared, and he fell sideways in a heap. Wincing, he stood again, bi-colored eyes gazing around him. He'd found a cave of sorts, though it wasn't very big. Maybe ten feet, from the mouth to the back. More of an enclave than anything. But it offered a much-needed respite from the wind, if not from the cold. He moved to the back, shivering and noting dully that the white fur of his left shoulder was, indeed, bleeding. Not much, and the wound itself wasn't that bad, but red was smeared along his whole side from the way he'd moved along the rocks, carrying the blood back. He closed his eyes tightly, taking deep breaths. It was okay. This wasn't the worst injury he'd had, not by far. It was just the situation that was scary, not the wound. He sat down, hunching as close to himself as he could. He would be okay. The cold seeping into his bones made him feel miserable nonetheless. Speech

[Lexx]

Snow fell, thick and heavy, against Tigris’s heavy coat. It clung to him, transforming him into a wintry beast rather than a recognizable wolf; his handsome black fur was clumped together, dense with snow and frost, and his breath alone seared through the wintry gale in long, smoking trails of white. His silver eyes scoured the mountainside for something, anything, that promised shelter—he wouldn’t survive like this long, exposed to the mountain’s volatile elements. His large, dark paws slipped, and then caught hold yet again; he glanced down, huffing out a breath, and carried on. Despite being a large, well-muscled wolf, it was clear he wasn’t quite in his element—his fur was thick enough to weather the storm, but his black fur stuck out like a sore thumb in the arctic gale, and he was not experienced in his movements over the slickness of ice. He stumbled again, and then righted himself, pressing determinedly onward. He saw now that he’d made a mistake coming here. Originally, he’d been in search of a new place to haunt—he still avoided forestland out of sheer panic, for his old, terrible memories of his family’s death still consumed him within the suffocating shadow of trees. He felt claustrophobic without the sky above his head, and had thought, initially, he’d do well in an area where the territory was rock and sky and blessedly open space. Tigris had, of course, failed to factor in the weather mountain ranges were prone to experiencing within winter. Fiery determination settled in his chest. He was not going to die here. And then, even as the storm picked up, robbing him of valuable warmth, he saw it—a smear of black against the whirling wall of white and gray. He fell into the crevice gratefully, a large sigh rattling from his lungs, and pressed all the way into the opening, his large body wedging through the crack in the rocks and into the opening beyond. The smell of blood greeted him, and he froze, his silver eyes wide. A growl rumbled in his throat—he turned, just slightly, and discovered that a white wolf had already claimed the cave as his own. He was bleeding from a shallow wound on his shoulder, and he looked like he was badly shaken. Unfortunately for him, Tigris had no intention of soothing whatever fear he felt—this was his cave now, and he was prepared to fight for it. “Hey,” he rumbled, still coated in snow, his pale eyes shining demonically down at the smaller wolf. “If you try to kick me out, I’ll rip you apart.” That said, he pushed past the other wolf and crammed himself into the very back of the cave, curling up on his frostbitten feet and shuddering against the cold that had seeped into his very marrow. He had no desire to interact with the white wolf outside of making it very clear he would not be leaving until the weather let up—and if that bothered him, Tigris would invite him to locate a different cave, using some choice foul language and the flash of his fangs. "speaking"

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Kenren]

He didn't know how long he sat there hunched over, but he did know that his limbs were mostly numb by the time a dark figure blocked out the small amount of light from outside. He looked up a little dully, impassively - if someone else wished to take shelter, the more the merrier. He was so cold. However, his would-be companion seemed to have a different take on the situation. Though the lighting wasn't great, Minske could feel and hear the animosity coming off of the other male, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. One of his own threatened to rise in response, but he fought it down - fighting here wouldn't do much for him, really. And he wasn't so good that he was confident he'd win or survive the scuffle in these conditions anyway. He was prepared to just ignore him, but that apparently wasn't good enough for the stranger either. "Hey." The voice made Minske look up again, pulse quickened enough at this point that his mind was much sharper than it had been only moments ago. "If you try to kick me out, I’ll rip you apart." The white male's ears pulled back in irritation. Sharing a space was one thing, but having him act like such a lordling when he hadn't even been the first one there was a little ridiculous. Minske leaned against the wall as the other pushed past, wincing at where his wound pressed against rock. To his credit, he didn't glare at the larger wolf as he settled himself down. Just watched him for a moment, contemplating. He couldn't quite decide if it was self-preservation that was making the black male so hostile or if it was his actual personality. Deciding to test the waters, since it was better than just sitting and thinking about the cold, he turned toward the other wolf despite the fact he clearly didn't want to be bothered. He stood, walking a step closer. "Don't bite my head off, but we'd both be warmer if we sat closer together." His voice was quiet, and relatively passive, but there was a firmness altogether as if he was speaking to a potentially unruly child. He took another step, then another, so that they were only a foot apart. Any other time he wouldn't have pushed the issue, but he was starting to feel the pain in his toes and ears that signaled a more dangerous type of cold and his mind was just affected enough by it that he'd try anything he could. He still couldn't pick out any features on the other wolf except his fur color, though it was a little clearer this close - he had some sort of markings on his face, but the shadows obscured them. Some vague sense of familiarity tickled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't grasp it. He didn't move to sit down, just stood a little warily, waiting to see if he'd made a very bad decision by getting so close. "speaking"

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Lexx]

For a moment, there was tense silence within the cave, and Tigris pinned his dark ears against his skull, ignoring the harsh sound of his own breathing. The other wolf hadn’t said anything—he’d just stared up with glassy eyes and then gotten out of Tigris’s way without a word. He could smell blood, thicker now within their cold, confined space. The silence pressed in upon him like a physical weight; the walls of their shelter seemed to grow thicker, smaller, tighter with each breath he took. His lungs ached. He dropped his muzzle roughly against the frozen cave floor, drawing a large paw over his eyes in exhaustion, and tried to ignore the way he felt the other male watching him, because he was certainly not going to panic over his claustrophobia in front of the same strange wolf he’d just threatened with bodily harm. It was just…the scent of blood was too strong in here, too permeating. He tried to let his mind drift, but his thoughts were trapped in woods as dark and deep as the ocean. He remembered the way his own face had been carved open, the way he’d been sick and delirious from infection and pain, the way he’d been left to die beside the corpse of his father. He breathed, but deep breaths weren’t enough to chase away the dizzy, swooping sensation in his gut. He hated small spaces; he hated them, he couldn’t breathe in them, he was going to die here— “Don’t bite my head off,” the other wolf said softly, from somewhere above him in the gloom, “but we’d be warmer if we sat closer together.” Tigris lifted his head slowly, fighting the urge to gasp for air. He felt almost as though he was drowning. The other male stood before him now—pale in the gloom, his face obscured by shadow. The storm howled furiously outside, and Tigris could not remember the last time he’d been so cold. After a slow, terrible moment where he fought the urge to be sick, he managed to grind out a hoarse, “You’re hurt,” from between his clenched teeth. It was a stupid thing to say. There was no reason to point out something so unnecessary. And yet, it helped him to say it out loud, to define that the white wolf was injured and not Tigris himself. He breathed again—slow, deep, as steady as possible—and relaxed, just enough so that the walls seemed to slightly recede around him. “What happened to you?” "speaking"

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Kenren]

The sound of harsh breathing was almost covered by the sounds echoing in from outside. Almost, but not when Minske was this close, close enough to feel the strained exhalations warmly brushing his paws. Minske shivered involuntarily, even that small bit of warmth affecting him. Just enough to make its presence known, though - a taste of blood without the sustenance of meat. It only made him ache for warmth all the more. Finally, the other wolf lifted his head, and in the poor light he realized that it wasn't a marking at all that marked the wolf's face, as he'd first thought. It was, more troublingly, a row of thin scars, starkly contrasting even here. But Minske didn't stare, didn't comment. His gaze met the other's when he spoke, and he was somewhat surprised by what he heard. "You’re hurt," came the rough voice, rough as the panting. Minkse thought, belatedly, through a cold-addled mind, that perhaps this wolf was hurt as well, and trying to bear the pain. Minske nodded slowly, then tilted his head in a wolfish shrug. "What happened to you?" The other wolf hadn't tried to get up, nor move away. Indeed, the words themselves were almost welcoming, given his earlier demeanor. But Minske didn't move closer, not yet. He did sit, however, tucking his tail about his hind paws to try and offer nonexistent warmth. A gesture that was empty, but he could do nothing else. "It's... I think I just cut myself on the rocks. I couldn't feel it then, so I'm not sure." He didn't have to add that he could feel it much more now, even though he hadn't exactly warmed up - outside of the biting wind, the ache was sharp through his shoulder. He had, perhaps, cut himself more deeply than he had originally thought, but not so bad that it bled worse than a single sticky trickle down his leg. It was closing. It would heal. "And you? The conditions are worse than poor out there." More obvious words, but there was more than words being communicated here. They were circling each other, as surely as the panthers did in the rainforest before a fight. But Minske did not wish to fight; only to understand enough to get through this night.

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Lexx]

The wolf met his eyes, and Tigris knew that his scars must be visible, even within the low light cast from the storm that screamed ghoulishly outside. He stared directly into the white male’s eyes, as though challenging him—they were two different shades, it seemed; one dark, one light, though it was hard to tell exactly what colors they were while his face remained cast in shadow. The silence around them was strained again, but this time, Tigris did not growl at the other wolf, nor did the delicate muscles of his face twitch into their usual snarl. Instead, he was watching, waiting, breathing through the crippling anxiety that had him gripped by the throat. After a moment, the white wolf sat back on his haunches, and Tigris was able to relax further—he could breathe slightly easier. There was no threat. There was no threat. He told himself this, over and over, begging it to be true. “It’s…” the white wolf said softly, and Tigris’s eyes finally broke away from his two-toned stare to rest instead upon the dark smear of blood along his shoulder. It was almost uncharacteristically submissive for Tigris to back down first from a perceived challenge—but this was no threat, he told himself again, there was no threat, and if anything came to a fight, he knew he would easily win. He was larger. He was hungrier for survival. “I think I just cut myself on the rocks. I couldn’t feel it then, so I’m not sure.” His fur was matted and looked nearly brown from the blood, but when Tigris inhaled again, the scent no longer seemed as heavy as before—the wound was already clotting. “And you? The conditions are worse than poor out there.” Tigris closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them again. The smell of blood had truly begun to fade. He could focus on the scent of the other wolf now—he smelled soft, like warm, open air, like pine needles and soil made rich by snowmelt and rain. It helped ground him—that, and the calm, no-nonsense tone to his voice. “No,” he said, and his voice sounded sharp, like the very tip of a razor—he swallowed hard, his throat working silently for a moment, and tried to soften his own voice to match the other male’s tone. “Just cold.” He realized, suddenly, that wanted to ask for the other wolf’s name; the question already lay on his tongue. Even so, he hesitated; after his earlier aggression, after his brief spell of anxiety, it suddenly seemed too personal, and he didn’t dare let himself think that he would care about this stranger after the storm let up. Instead, he shifted his weight, so that his left side and back lay snugly against the cold cave wall, and so that his stomach and throat were nearly bared to the white wolf. “Come on, then,” he muttered, and then pointedly looked away, not wanting to see the victory that would surely shine in the strange wolf’s eyes. "speaking"

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Kenren]

He didn't realize he was holding his breath, bated, waiting, until the voice, low and dark, sounded. "No," it said, and that breath exhaled softly. "Just cold." And now, a sardonic noise from the back of his throat that he couldn't restrain. Yes, it was hellishly, fucking cold. He couldn't even shiver for warmth - the nerves were numbed. But as he watched, a decision was made. The male, dark enough to be nearly invisible in the shadows, moved aside, just far enough that Minske would be able to curl beside. The noise he made in his throat was almost a whine, horribly vulnerable and highly embarrassing but he couldn't have stopped it if he tried. "Come on, then," He started to look away, face heated, but the other wolf wasn't looking at him anyway. Numbly, lacking the grace he normally held, he stumbled into the small, offered space. He all but collapsed as he turned, side pressing far too intimately against the wolf beside him. He could smell him now, this close - something of ash and air and a spark. The white wolf pulled his paws beneath his body, shuddering in a tremor now as heat sought to permeate the thick layers of cold. He realized, belatedly, the pain in his shoulder. Separating it from the pain everywhere else. He winced, starting to shift but then realizing there was no room unless he wanted to rise again, and that he could not and would not do. "I'm some sort beast, to bleed on you after all of that." His voice, he realized blearily, was as weary as he felt. He couldn't see the wolf's face from his current position, but he decided he'd rather die than get up at the moment. Sighing a breath, he lowered his head to the frozen cave floor, shivering again but feeling the warmth beginning to seep through their contact. Surprisingly, though, he didn't yet sleep. Just looked blindly into the growing, complete darkness. "I am Minske," he said, because it felt important. More important than anything. speaking

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Lexx]

"He made a sharp noise in his throat, and Tigris almost flinched back from the sound; but before he could move, the white wolf had closed the gap between them, and his weight pressed heavily against Tigris. The stranger pushed his frigid paws against Tigris’s own, snuggling close without any glimmer of reservation or shame. The added warmth of another body was a blessing—despite himself, he relaxed into their new embrace, shivering beside the stranger. The white wolf at his side was shaking badly now, and so he hesitantly stretched out a foreleg to tuck around his back, in order to pull him slightly closer. The wolf seemed to shift with the movement, and Tigris, horrified, immediately froze—and then realized his attention was not on Tigris at all, but instead the wound on his shoulder. “I’m some sort of beast, to bleed on you after all that,” he groaned softly; his voice sounded desperately exhausted. Tigris was perfectly still. “No more of a beast than I am,” he retorted softly. He watched as the white wolf lowered his head to the cave floor; he watched as the worst of his shivers subsided, as they both slowly began to warm up despite the dire cold around them. It was growing darker—had dusk begun to fall? Would they be snowed in all night? He supposed it was survivable; it was temporary, after all, and he could go back to wandering aimlessly after this. A small part of Tigris wondered if the wolf at his side had a pack, and if he’d be all right returning to it, given his wounded shoulder, but he brushed those thoughts away with a rough shake of his head. It wasn’t his place to ask; they were not friends. “I am Minske,” the wolf said suddenly, and Tigris’s silver eyes flickered back to the white shape at his side. For a long, silent moment, he said nothing, and listened to the muffled howls of the storm raging outside of their shelter. “Tigris,” he said at last, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. “Tigris of White Forest.” There was bitterness in his tone. The woodland of his birth was empty now—his pack was gone, and Tigris had no intention of ever returning. “White Forest hasn’t been home for a while, but still—” He scoffed slightly. “I wasn’t prepared for mountain weather.” Even despite how claustrophobic he felt within forests, a small part of him had still relied on the shelter of the trees that he found so suffocating. "speaking"

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Kenren]

A leg, completely unexpected but not unwelcome in the least, drew over him, and he sighed, addled with exhaustion, leaning into the chest of this stranger he did not know. "No more of a beast than I am," came the low rumble, felt more through his back than heard through his ears. Minske hummed, neither agreement nor dissent. It didn't really matter, anyway. He had almost drifted, eyelids starting to shutter, when the voice returned, bringing him back to wakefulness. "Tigris," it said, vibrating through him again. "Tigris of White Forest." Images sprung to mind of pine trees, thickly blanketed with snow. Snow so deep it could barely be walked through. "White Forest hasn’t been home for a while, but still— I wasn’t prepared for mountain weather." Minske chuckled, finding at least a bit of humor in the situation. "But isn't White Forest cold? I remember it being quite cold." Then again, he had been born and raised at Akeli Lake, where it never got nearly as cold as in the north. Perhaps they could feel the shades of cold, but he... no, it was all just frigid. "Have you been to the south? There are places where the sun is so hot there's no water for miles." He'd been there only once, and didn't feel like ever going there again. He didn't know why he even brought it up, except he'd trade that heated dryness for his own soul at the moment. But this was better than it had been. It seemed worlds better than it had been just twenty feet away, what seemed like a year ago already. "Nevermind, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. So before I forget, thank you. For this." He could feel his body grow heavy, so he had to say it now or never. For when he woke, when the dawn had broken and the storm had subsided, Tigris... Tigris would likely be gone. At least he would go with his gratitude, whatever that was worth. speaking

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Lexx]

Minske chuckled at Tigris’s side, and he tilted his head, looking down at the soft blur of white beside him in the gloom. “But isn’t White Forest cold?” he inquired sleepily, laughter smoothing the hard edges of exhaustion from his voice. “I remember it being quite cold.” Tigris was silent again, thinking back on it. Yes, it had been cold. As a child, he’d known winter more intimately than any of the seasons. But snowstorms never blew in unexpectedly; the sky would go dark and overcast first, warning him of the weather’s changing mood, and the pines had sheltered them from the worst of the gales. And besides—he’d had his family with him. It had been warm, curled by his mother’s side, his siblings crowded up beside him. The warmth he shared with Minske now seemed to mock him; he fiercely shoved the thought away. “Do you?” was all he said—toneless and soft within the dark. He was sure it was frigid there now, with no life left within the pine shadows he’d once called home. “Have you been to the south?” Minske asked him. “There are places where the sun is so hot there’s no water for miles.” Tigris, startled by the change in topic, quietly barked out a laugh; the sound seemed to echo in the small space, and it surprised even him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d chuckled at anything. Answering was easier this time; the weight pressing in on his lungs had subsided. “Never,” he replied, and the darkness caught his words and held them, running them back and forth between the cave walls, echoing them softly back into nonexistence. “But after being caught in a storm like this, it sounds almost nice.” No trees could survive in such a land; there would be nothing to box him in, trapping him like a scared rabbit, or muffle his voice as he screamed. Again, he closed down the thought before it could truly unfurl in him. He was stronger now—older, angrier. He could kill anything that tried to kill him. Despite Minske’s warmth, he felt cold all the way through to his heart. “Never mind,” Minske said suddenly. “I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. So before I forget, thank you. For this.” Tigris didn’t answer him. He listened to the way Minske’s breathing slowed and steadied, buoying him off into sleep. He was exhausted as well, but he remained awake, staring sightlessly into the dark, until at last the wind’s howling calmed outside. Even so, he made no effort to move from Minske’s side. He waited for the first finger of cool light to press against the horizon, signifying the true dawn still to come; the temperatures would rise with the sun, and Minske would be safe without him. Carefully, he extracted himself from Minske and slid along the cave wall, leaving the white wolf in the warmth his body left behind. “Next time,” he said, very softly as not to truly wake Minske, “we should meet in the south. Where it’s warm.” He doubted he’d ever travel so far. He doubted Minske would, either. There was a pack waiting for him somewhere—he was sure of it. Tigris turned away and silently ducked through the cave opening, into the pristine, snow-laden world beyond. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was leaving something important behind him. "speaking"

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.