A quiet nod, and Tristan agreed to her terms. He wasn’t innately cruel, nor unaware of the gravity of what (likely) happened in Spain, but Sierra was wrong about the outcome. The predator did not mourn blood shed by defending its den, and neither would Tristan. The scents twisted as they proceeded. Sierra’s acceptance of her parents’ fate was tentative at best. Never padded alongside, casting its nose warily at Tristan now and then, confused by the strife sprung between the two-legs. Brenna loped along eventually, yelping when Tristan whistled so she was not left behind. When they stopped to rest several hours later, the pup was exhausted. She sat quite stately at Tristan’s feet as though she were alpha of this little pack, before yawning and laying her muzzle on her paws. Tristan scooped her up and held her over his shoulder, patting her back as she slept, for another thirty minutes beyond the rest stop.
Finally, images pushed uninvited into his mind. He saw a snake laying in the bottom of a pool. Then a massive tree with roots diving in and out of the ground like enormous wooden worms followed. More and more swirled as the wolves of the larger pack introduced themselves. He himself was the image of a brushfire sparking after a lightning storm, consuming all the dead brambles in a wild blaze spreading to the horizon. Brenna shook her head out like bees buzzed in her ears. Never and Sierra were likely communicating similarly.
When finally the great wolf, the elder male of the pack, stepped out from around a tree and stood there, staring at them, it judged them both for a long minute, sniffing warily, before its ears twitched and he turned to lead them forward.
Tristan had never been more excited about anything in his life. He hitched the bag higher on wide, albeit tired, shoulders, and followed close behind.
The pack was all around us. Each pack member was introducing themselves. Never relayed the image of Tristan, introducing him to me wolf style. Sierra asked never to send her's back as well. The image was silly if you thought about what the images saw. The long eye of the camera in front of her face. Sierra patted the camera that hung around her neck and smiled. It was the simple things the wolves saw. They didn't understand, but she told them enough so their interpretation came out as Long Eye or roughly that.
Sierra was still worried about what Tristan had done when their host stepped out from behind the tree, but Tristan was caring for his pack. She understood, and she wondered if he would accept the others too. Marta and Elyse. Though they were very far away at the moment and while the dream might pull them in, Sierra had other plans for the dream this night. Tristan needed to explain some things if she was going to trust. But his care of the pup made her less leery and more trusting. He was just that - caring.
But it felt good to be back with a pack. And true to herself Sierra held her camera to her eye and snapped pictures as they walked. Pups playing in the trees. Young one lounging in the shade. It was the beginning of her work. And she'd be happy to stay with them for as long as they'd have her.
The den wasn't far from where they'd initially met up with the pack. A fresh kill was waiting and Sierra sat down with the others and waited for their leader to take his claim first before she would even pull out her knife cut her own piece from the deer laid before them. Part of remaining human meant doing things the human way. And Sierra did not want to end up like her brother. That was where she drew the line. Human tools, not human teeth pretending to be a wolf even if the urge was there.
Tristan sat upon a bed of cedar needles while the wolves padded near. Brenna pushed her nose into a pile of wolf pups, mingling and playing meanwhile. His bag laid alongside, and he smiled when one of the wolves sniffed at the contents. The image of sniffing hot bear shit came to his mind. He laughed and peered inside. Granola, kelp leaves, and canned herring were tucked into the pockets. The wolf shook his head in a way that made him think of Thorn Paw, but as he trailed away, Tristan caught the scent of a fresh kill. Water filled his mouth.
The glistening, warm meat laid open for consumption. His stomach ached with sudden hunger. His mouth drenched waterfalls. His eyes glazed. On the periphery, Sierra carved into the meat with a knife. Snouts wet with juices peered up, maws devouring hungrily, even as they invited him to join.
Meat juices slicked his mouth as he tore eagerly into the game. Warmth infused fresh blood, and he growled happily to himself. His sweater was pulled from his shoulders, tossed back by the bag. An undershirt was a fine sacrifice to the mess dribbling from his chin. He must have looked a fright he realized upon licking his fingers. He had a canteen, but rather than waste it to wash up, he asked the wolves for water.
"Sierra, I'm going to the creek to wash," he said, holding up his hands. "Come?" he asked, a content smile tempted her toward agreement.
Rudeness dictated that Sierra eat the meat raw. Not the healthiest of options, but she did not give the offered food offense by burning it in the fires of man. It wasn't the first time nor the last, but she ate like a human. Tristan on the other hand did not. She watched him dig in face first. There was gore in the human side of it all, but she saw nothing more than wolf here. Her brother had done the same, but he had not cleaned up afterwards. He'd fed like a wolf and lounged like a wolf. This was somehow different.
Tristan's offer to join him made her smile she nodded and joined him. The creek wasn't far off. Never stayed with the pack and found himself being cleaned by an overattentive pack mama who thought Never should stay with them instead of following a two legger into the cement forests. They walked away from the pack and when she could no longer hear them she turned to Tristan. "For being a pup, you took to a meal like a fish to water. Are you sure you've never been with a pack before?" She smiled and reached up to pick a piece of lingering meat stuck in the edges of Tristan's beard. It was a shame to waste the offered food in the pack. She could have offered it to Tristan but that was far more intimate a gesture. She slipped the piece between her lips and swallowed. "But be careful not to overeat, we don't want to get a human sickness out here in the middle of no where. Unless of course you are used to eating raw meat." Her smile was playful as the creek drew into view.
He shook his head, "No. No pack. But I was raised by a troll. We didn't have the best table manners," he said, laughing.
Her warning that followed did put a hand to his stomach as though mentioning sickness was enough to induce a visceral reaction. He would do well to remember he was in fact a human man despite what repressed instincts were rising to the surface. The woods did that to him, and he had to wonder if the Nordic landscape was indeed what the Hidden One referenced. He was human, though. The sudden awareness was all the more pertinent when Sierra slipped meat through her lips, and Tristan's entire body fell to stillness, paralyzed by her motions. Human norms were already frayed in the wilderness, but was all he could do to restrain from chasing her scent closer.
He knelt at creek side and splashed much-needed water on his face.
Tristan mentioned trolls again. She wanted to know more. Wanted to ask questions. The journalist in her wanted to find out more. Was there some phenomenon that she could take pictures of. It wasn't about the money or the prestige it was about the beauty of life or death. But Sierra sensed that Tristan was restraining himself. There were stray thoughts from the wolves not so far away, but most of her was human. And she knew how hard it was to find that line between human and wolf. It had taken her years and only the cautionary tale of what happened to her brother right in front of her kept her on this side of crossing it.
She offered Tristan a happy smile as she knelt down next to him and splashed water on her face and cleaned the knife she'd used before. Sierra picked at the dirt under her nails, they were kept purposefully short for a human girl she noted. Dirt was common place in the pack. "I'm going to risk sounding like lecturing parent, but I know how hard it is finding yourself among the pack and human. I watched my brother cross the line from human to wolf. It's such a fine line, but as long as you remember you are human, always remember it, crossing the line is never a bad thing in the pack." Sierra giggled softly to herself, "Tho going full on wolf, sniffing the air and growling among city folks you might get a few stares and a wide breadth. But it's hardly the worse."
"My job at present is to take candids of the pack and their life for National Geographic. After I'm done with that. I would like to know more about your home.... and you." she said shyly. Sierra carefully cleaned her already clean finger nails. It was a distraction so she didn't have to look at Tristan.
Blood rinsed away, Tristan lounged against his pack, Brenna napping at his side. He’d built a fire despite the wolves’ aversions to the flames, but two-legs lacked the furs that warmed their bodies. Even if they nestled among their four-legged brothers, fire was necessary in the Nordic nights. Naturally, he invited the woman to share the warmth, and as the night settled, his thoughts stirred outward. “How many more of our brothers and sisters suffer?” he asked of Sierra. “How do we find them?” His lids lowered as the blue and greens of the northern lights began to dance.
Sierra accepted her place by the fire. Though she was used to sleeping without it, she enjoyed the smell and sound of it. It reminded her of times long since gone. The pungent scent of the smoke remind her of her lost wolf, and her brother before that. Oddly enough a new pup curled up against her and there was another wolf in her life. She'd found pack, but Elyse and Marta weren't like this. It was nice being understood but this was pack - sharing and outside not cooped up in some city between four walls.
Tristan asked about other brothers and sisters but she didn't know how many of them suffered. Or what Tristan considered suffering. When Sierra was locked away in the bowels of the earth in an iron boat under ground she had not been kin. Her eyes hadn't changed until her father had let them out. And then it was almost like magic the world grew bigger all at once.
The camera only facilitated that. Sierra glanced at the man who was now pack - more than family. The wolves had accepted them. And she hoped they'd tell her more of this strange thing, but right now she was concerned for Tristan. His need to fix things troubled her.
"The dream can find some. Most of us hide what we are. There are people who hunt us. Kill us because of our golden eyes and the dream and the speaking with wolves. What they call a curse is but our gift." Sierra didn't mention that she knew two such people - both tied to the kin - one of the kin, the other a parent of the kin. They were different. But Sierra was 100% certain to Tristan they would be the enemy.
It was one thing to chain a man for what he was, but it was another to kill them. Hunt them like prey? "Who are these killers? How do we find them? Someone must stop them."
As predicted Tristan wanted to put an end to their lives. Sierra sighed. "So you would become what you hate in them. A man who kills just because he feels he's been slighted?"
She wanted to trust Tristan, wanted to call him pack, but violence was not the pack way. Defense of one's pack was true. Kill for food. But they did not kill because they wanted to. A rabid wolf was just as dangerous as the man who hunted them. "I won't tell you about them, but I will tell you about the man that killed my brother. He was one of them I suspect. I watched from the shadows as he slight my brother's throat. My mother had called him to exorcise the demon from my brother - but it wasn't a demon and he killed my brother chained to a tree like he was some sort of animal to slaughter. His eyes were cold and dark. He had a Russian accent, but he never offered a name. He bore the mark of a serpent eating his own tail."