Aksel / Male / 4 Years / Norwegian Elkhound
Mentions: Ryu, Adsila, Babael, Sven, Snowball

Aksel padded after Ryu, looking warily at the entrance to this strange den. Before Aksel knew what happened, Ryu was taking off inside, seemingly startled by something within. He heeded the dog’s rushed warning, and began to follow carefully, realizing it was imperative he move exactly as Ryu did when he saw the inside. Aksel moved as quickly as he could to keep up, while still being careful. Ryu was quickly out of his sight. Aksel hissed through his teeth, still clamped on his prey, when a piece of metal brushed his side. It didn’t feel like too much damage was done, and he moved on.

Once inside the den, he looked around. There were more dogs inside here than he had expected. Ryu was excitedly talking to a Dalmatian, the others milling about in their own areas. The Rottweiler that had spoken to him earlier was laying next to another dog. They looked familiar, but he couldn't place them for whatever reason.

Suddenly realizing he had zoned out, Aksel dropped his hare when spoken to. He hoped it didn’t look too strange he had suddenly waltzed in with a meal. The source of the voice was a rather large dog, some sort of Newfoundland mix, he registered.

“I’m Aksel. Ryu and I ran into each other,” Aksel paused when she specified this was a pack. A new pack forming? One to fight the Wild Fangs, perhaps? Very interesting. Aksel continued, “Well, I certainly appreciate your welcome.”

Adsila | Female | 3 Years | Long Haired Dalmatian
Mentions: Aksel, Babael, Ryu, Snowball, Sven

Adsila lifted a black, furry ear towards the entrance at the sound of paws hitting the ground. Her eyes turned to watch the metal death trap of a tunnel, lighting up when a familiar red husky wiggled his way through and into the main den. Even with the recent escape, he hadn't changed, and it was oddly comforting to hear his snappy voice echo across the walls. And his tail belied how much he actually missed her, even if his eyes could have ripped her a new one.

She gave a smirk at the new nickname he had given her. Then she tossed her head in a dramatic, yet elegant, fashion, striking a dazzling pose. “Why, looking for you, stud,” she replied, giving him a wink. Whether the two newcomers could tell it was an act or not, she didn't know, but she was sure that despite the short time, Babael would find it funny. She certainly did, doing her best not to chuckle. A scent hit her nose and she dropped into a stance that had her head bent down, trying to look around Ryu. There was a new dog out there. How odd that these two had found so many new friends.

Babael herded Ryu onto the elk pelt and as she did, Adsila raised her head to look at the newcomer. A small grin reached her lips at Babael's words of Ryu losing it without her, but she was preoccupied by this strange Elkhound that was in what she considered her new home. Even if she still had an owner, a wooden structure with a single furless ape didn't feel quite as nice as a den full of dogs did.

She watched this new dog, Aksel, curiously, especially since he head a hare between his jaws. The scent made her stomach knot. Dog food was all she was used to at this point, though eventually she would probably need to learn to catch her own prey and to fight. Especially to fight, she realized, remembering the mention of the Wild Fangs from the day before when she had first met Ryu.

“What brings you out to this stretch of the land?” she asked, stepping up a bit to get a better look. There was a scratch on him, most likely from the pointed shards of metal in the tunnel, but he didn't seem to hold any aggression towards them in his mannerisms, and aside from that she couldn't tell anything.



Rusty | Male | 4 Years | Siberian Husky Mix
Mentions: Phoenix

Things began to move in slow motion. The Windhound in front of him turned, as if treading through water in order to do so. The movement was just as beautiful as he remembered, those elegant legs touching the ground with soft paws. At first the look in those dazzling blue eyes was clear, not registering what they were seeing, when suddenly recognition seems to flood them as that beautiful brindled tail started doing a happy jig.

Rusty was sure these were reflected in his own movements, one paw raised slightly off the ground as he stared with hope and longing at the Silken Windhound. If a dog could shed tears, those amber orbs would have been overflowing with them. Suddenly a joy filled while escaped the thinner dog and he rushed at Rusty, slamming into him and causing him to scoot back a bit in the snow covered road. The wind was momentarily knocked out of him and his head did dizzy circles until he shook it.

“When'd you get so strong?” he laughed, licking Phoenix's cheek affectionately. “If you had been going any faster I'd be on the ground!” Even if he had of ended up on the ground, it would have been worth it to feel this swelling in his chest, a mixture of ecstasy and satisfaction that he was, at last, out of that dreadful pound and back with the dog he truly loved more than any other he had ever met. But with how long he had been gone—was it already a month?—there was sure to be a lot to catch up on, and a lot of repairing to do.

That thought had him stepping back a second, staring into his partner's eyes before pressing his face into Phoenix's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I've been gone so long. The dog catchers caught me while I was hunting. But...” he took a step back again, looking into the face of the dog he loved. “You're alright. You've survived without me being with you. That makes me proud, Phoenix.”

RYKER | MALE | 4 YEARS | GERMAN SHEPHERD
Location: In Town, Alleyways
Mentions: Ruger, Lianna, Piper, Ikkuma

With limbs as heavy as lead, he felt his muzzle naturally turn down in sync with his lowering tail as he solemnly made his way towards the border collie. Though relief had flooded his system when Ruger revealed he'd in fact be okay, it did nothing to soothe the pangs of grief and anxiety that gnawed at his stomach. He did not feel his own paws move, nor the snow that sank into his gold and black coat, but he did feel exhaustion. Actually, all Ryker really desired right now was to sleep- he didn't want to continue to face the day, they'd been through way too much.

Lianna's words made his shoulders stiffen, but besides that he remained indifferent on the outside. He nearly clicked his tongue and snorted, rolling his mahogany eyes and shaking his head, but he stopped himself. He just couldn't help but believe the worst after all this- Ikkuma was bound to be dead, too. Pain bit into his soul once more at the thought of his lost companion, the strong-hearted greenland dog who had somehow managed to bring out a soft spot in him. There was no point in mourning over her any longer. She was gone, Piper was gone, and they'd likely fall victim to these lands and everyone in it in no time. With his head angled downwards and his thought a wild concoction of distracting thoughts, Ryker was oblivious to new scents up until Lianna's growl caught his attention, growing rigid once he was thrown back into reality and aware of the sound of pawsteps on the cold cement. Tensing his muscles and steadying his form, Ryker would be quick to defend himself and his remaining friends from whoever dared to disturb them this time. Were more of those damn dogs back? His lips drew back to expose his fangs as his eyes searched above for whoever had startled Lianna but any sort of aggressive vocalization was abruptly cut from his throat. Merely a step away from him, only the other side of Piper's corpse, stood Ikkuma with a look of horror plastered on her face. Ryker wasn't sure what to do first, or how to even address the situation. Relief and joy made his tail itch to wag, but the despair that lingered in the air from Piper's death rendered him frozen. "Ikkuma." He finally breathed, struggling to keep his deep voice firm and even. "There.. was nothing we could do."

NORTH | MALE | 4 YEARS | BEAUCERON | BETA
Location: Camp
Mentions: Ashira, Dax, Silaluk, Freja

For a dog who once craved admiration and power, North suddenly felt very despondent in his new title. Not to mention, more so surprisingly to the remainder of the pack, humble. He was confident in his abilities to fight and defend, and certainly didn't doubt his ability to lead the pack as a beta when the alpha's required him to do so, but Silaluk's lack of a presence admittedly made him feel almost lost. The wolfdog had ruled the pack with an iron paw and in a very tight manner; now things were about to change quite drastically. Though there are no other dogs I trust to lead more-so than Ashira and Dax. He assured himself silently. Further observation of the dogs surrounding them only fuelled North's thoughts, some appeared to be rather unimpressed with Ashira's display of grieving and he was already well aware that not everyone within the Wild Fangs was fond of him. Lifting his head a little higher and hardening his gaze, he made it clear to anyone who let their eyes wander over his face that there was no room for uncertainty right now.

Deciding to hold off temporarily from participating in the feast, North let his mind wander back to the most appropriate suitor to replace him in his former position. As a dog who held the title of lead warrior for such a long period, it was inevitable that he'd be called upon to discuss who it should be. Though his interactions with her were brief and usually not friendly, Freja was the first dog to come to mind. Loyal and breathtakingly strong, he found little wrong with viewing her in the high rank. He knew there were several dogs eager to sink their teeth into the opportunity- dogs that the beauceron himself didn't trust.

Ikkuma | Female | 3 Years Old | Greenland Dog | Stray
Location: Town | Mentions: Ryker, Ruger, Lianna, Piper

Ikkuma’s orange gaze was almost blank as she stared down at Piper’s lifeless body. Her ears twitched as Ryker spoke, but she otherwise barely appeared to hear anything the Shepherd had said. Her stomach clenched almost as if it were preparing to empty what little contents it held and despair washed over her in fierce waves, making her pointed ears flatten back against her skull. Piper was dead...and it was her fault. Why had she been so risky? It was fine when it was just her well-being at stake, but now she was part of a group. She should have known they would come looking for her…

Ikkuma found that she couldn't face Ryker. His voice had been soft, his tone held no blame. That only made it worse. Why wasn’t he screaming at her or attempting to rip at her flesh for this? She would have much preferred either reaction compared to how mournful he seemed now. She avoided making eye contact and stared down at her paws instead before speaking. “I’m sorry. This never should have happened…” She mumbled. “I should leave.” Apologies were not enough to cover this sin. It would haunt her for the rest of her life.

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Switchblade | Female | 4 Years Old | Kangal | Stray
Location: Wild Fangs Forest | Mentions: Black Jack

Switchblade’s wandering paws brought her closer to the forest’s edge and she inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of prey and plant life, but also...dog. Many dogs. The Kangal frowned. It would appear the woodlands had already been claimed by a pack and this had her broad head drooping a few inches in disappointment. It was unlikely they would allow her to hunt or shelter among their trees unless she were one of them, which she certainly was not. Switchblade wouldn’t pretend she understood how packs worked, but she doubted these wild canines would appreciate her presence in their territory.

Just as she was about to head back in the direction of the reserve a low bark reached her cropped ears and the scarred female glanced black over her shoulder to find a black, wolfish dog staring at her. The thus far unnamed female advised her not to enter the forest and Switchblade might have been more inclined to accept such advice graciously if Black Jack hadn’t chosen to take such an authoritative stance. Switchblade turned around to face her almost agonizingly slowly, as if giving Black Jack a chance to rethink her position before she confronted her fully. Golden eyes narrowed in on the Inuit Dog and Switchblade’s gaze became rather intense as she resisted the urge to tear into the stranger's throat. “Why?” She asked rather flatly in response. “Who are these ‘Wild Fangs’ you speak of?”

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Phoenix | Male | 2 Years Old | Silken Windhound | Stray
Location: Town | Mentions: Rusty

In that moment it was easy to forget the months of misery he had suffered since Rusty’s disappearance. The doubt of his own worth. The struggle to survive on his own with little to no hunting or fighting skills. The hunger that forever clung to him as he tried to live off garbage, scraps from pitying humans and rodents. The anger and resentment that guided his attitude towards other canines. For now it was all just an unpleasant memory.

“I’ve always been strong,” Phoenix shot back smugly, a grin crossing his long muzzle. “You just never noticed before.” For that matter, neither had he. Not until he’d been forced to face life as a stray on his own. In the end their time apart had taught him how to rely on himself and his own senses. It was a lesson he’d had to learn either way and eventually he would come to realize that, but right now the only thing that mattered was the fact Rusty was back.

As the Husky pulled away from him Phoenix’s maw opened, about to issue a protest when the larger male’s face pressed back into his shoulder. An apology was offered and an explanation. That broke the spell and all the hurt came crashing down on him, making Phoenix jerk away from his touch and avert his gaze as his thin body tensed. Rusty was proud. How nice.

The claim of being captured by dog catchers was a reasonable one. Phoenix himself had nearly been netted by one when he wandered too close to one of the transport vans out of curiosity. This didn’t stop months of pent up bitterness from flavoring his reaction. His expression was clearly suspicious and his tail flicked in an unfriendly way. "So how did you get out then?" He finally replied. He had never heard of a dog escaping from the pound before. Such a story almost seemed impossible to the Windhound.