Honor Bound | (On-going)

Initiates | 1.0

Roland laid near the fire, his toes warm and toasty while the chill air nipped the end of his nose. Silent and still, he laid there listening, his heart heavy and full of worry. Many of the other initiates joked with each other or told spooky stories. Bets were being placed as to what roles each would assume, and who would continue their studies with the elders of their castes. Some even took bets as to which pack they would be assigned, although this was less certain. Many assumed they would be paired with their Council-chosen partners after the ceremony. 

That was funny. Roland smirked when this line of conversation reached his ears. Council rarely paired a newly recognized Ulf'el until they proven their worth as adults. Why raise more drama than an arranged pairing typically caused?

At about six foot two inches, his powerful frame lounged along the ground. With his head propped up on his long pale arms, he laid against a log on which two others sat. His inner he-wolf, his soul's partner, snoozed in the back of his mind, waiting for the time of dreams when he could hunt freely among imaginary forests. Sighing inwardly, Roland's mind wandered morosely to the events of the last two days. At times like this, when the gears inside his head spun like the clockwork of an over-wound clock, it was always good to speak to the calmer, wild-wise wolf.

To stop the spinning gears, he sat up and added another branch to the fire. Stirring the coals, and poking at the half-fire-eaten wood, gave his mind something else to think about other then the bloodshed that had taken ten Ulf'el lives, and the lives of twice as many Ulf'ellen. He had been praised for his quick thinking, but his heart soured inside his chest. It hadn't been quick enough to save more lives. 

Verdammte Hunde. Roland's thoughts darkened, and he stabbed at the fire sending a flurry of sparks into the air. He laid back and folded his arms behind his head. It was a lot more comfortable to use his arms for a pillow then to set his head against the rough bark of the log. The gears started to spin again.

"You excited?" The moderately Irish-accented English floated over the other conversation mutterings nearby. Fey was one of those who sat on that log, and her voice was a soft whisper. The "you" sound more like "ye" or "ewe" depending on how excited Fey got when speaking. Roland smirked, her words choices were so much like his mom's mom.  It was kind of homey and comforting. The gears slowed their whirling as Roland turned his attention towards Fey.

A massive raven named Skold perched on the log between them with his head snuggled into his birdy chest, fast asleep. Roland leaned back, tilting his head backwards over his arms, and looked at them both.

"Aye, but worried too..." Roland picked up on the accent unintentionally and smirked at himself. His earlier concern mixed with a rising, dark, mischievous mirth as he looked at Skold. Slowly, he reached his index finger out to poke at the raven. Fey smacked his hand away from her familiar and glared at him, her gaze like little daggers that promised a world of pain. The bird stirred, moaned a soft croak, and settled down again.

"Don't ya dare." Fey hissed between clenched teeth. Roland grinned impishly at her. 

She was quite a bit shorter than Roland at five foot 6 inches, but her personality made up for her shorter stature. With a riot of curly brown-red hair and a pale, freckle-spotted face, she looked almost like a doll next to him. She rolled her hazel eyes at him, and they both returned their gazes towards the campfire in silent introspection.

Jake, who sat to his right shifted his weight and tossed another small branch into the campfire. "I'm excited too, I know I'm going ta Jacob's Guardian pack. He told me yesterday, said he needed to replace lost..." Jake hesitated and frowned, his gaze on the fire.