Rabbit Trails (Kostya)

[Requiem]

Not good. Faolan clung tightly to Faolask as the trees whipped by, ducking his head to avoid branches. Not that it really mattered at this point. His clothes had been snagged so many times in Faolask's headlong rush, twigs and branches slashing across exposed face and neck, that he had scratches almost everywhere. The green was fatiguing. That, at least, was good. Even though they'd gone hunting with others, there wasn't a wher at Selenitas who could keep up with Faolask once she got running. This wasn't so unusual...and was why he'd taken to riding her back as soon as she got big enough.

The not good part? Faolask wasn't picking up the others' scents here. They couldn't be out of the territory, could they? That idea made Faolan shiver, even as the green finally pulled up, her flanks heaving. She twitched with every little sound, but she was too tired presently to take off again. A soft, apologetic whine from her. Where were they? "I don't know," he murmured to her, sliding off her and leaning against the green until his shaky legs found some semblance of stability. What was that sound? "Owl." And that one? "Some sort of rodent." He stroked her neck reassuringly, though he knew she was aware of the tight knot of nerves in his stomach. Did not like the notion that they might be outside the whers' territory. It was relatively safe inside...

Another sound, this one much bigger than a rodent and sending a thrill of apprehension through Faolan. He grabbed for Faolask's neck, but he was already too late; the green whirled and flew in the opposite direction, knocking the man over. Faolan scrambled up, shrinking back from the direction of the sound. "Faolask?" She hadn't gone far. Too tired. But she'd gone far enough, and his knees were not cooperating well enough to send him after her. "W-who?" He hoped it was a who and not a what. Faolan yelped softly when his back struck bark. A tree. He'd backed into a tree. He groped around it for a branch that broke off into his hand, forgetting the blade at his belt.

Though he didn't brandish it. Simply clung to it, trying to control his shaking limbs.

[rii]

Faster - maybe - but not as graceful as she. Konstask turned her head upward to gaze back at her rider for agreement. It came in silence. Yes beautiful, there isn't a wher in existence that could match her. The green preened, pressing into the hand that smoothed along her muzzle. She eagerly soaked in the praise even if it was given in a second-hand fashion. Kostya's interest centered just ahead of them, using Konstask's night vision to watch from the shadows. For now he remained content to simply watch the way the wherling nervously backed away, spooking himself without any aid..

It was ironic. Amusingly so. Here Kostya had a night off from the infirmary, and in a fit of pique of being unable to find Vix, had moved off into the jungle to patrol for felines. He'd really been hoping to find one Konstask could tangle with. The thrill of the hunt, and kill, would have sated the darker tastes he usually placated with playing with his favorite human toy. So ironic. Luck upon luck. Kostya's eyes half-lidded as he continued to slowly stroke Konstask's head, all the while drinking in the sight of Faolan's distress.

Poor little lost wherling, Mirage chimed to her bonded's thoughts with images of tiny Faolan cowering alone in a sea of darkness. Yes, Kostya smirked, terribly sad - wasn't it? He leisurely strolled forward, not masking his steps as he approached the niche of trees the wherling had wedged himself into. One of the newest wherlings if Kostya wasn't mistaken. Didn't know any of their names - hadn't cared up until this point. Couldn't get his hopes up too soon however. It might just be the dark and the unknown depths of the jungle that made this rabbit nervous..

Only one way to find out.

Stepping into sight, Kostya didn't bother shedding the smile as he eyed the branch in Faolan's hands. He didn't say anything at first. Instead he prowled a few steps off to the side, circling his newly found prey. His pale gaze swept down the length of Faolan before shifting to the direction the other green wher had gone. "A bit far from the beaten path," Kostya tone nearly purred with dark delight. Konstask was mentally urged to see to the missing wher. His attention swiveled back to Faolan, looking the guy straight on to read in his reactions. Would he calm down now, or still continue that delicious nervous shifting. The smile grew a touch, "Lost?"

Konstask padded lightly over to where Faolask laid. The jade and emerald wher shamelessly posing beside the tired heap to compare beauty. Satisfied that she was the better half, Konstask lowered her head to curiously smell at Faolask. What a bright coat she had, Konstask graciously complimented with a brush of tail against the other green's flank.

[Requiem]

At first...he was relieved. Naturally. There was someone else out here, someone he vaguely recognized as one of the (many) more senior handlers who didn't have much to do with the wherlings. At least they weren't outside the territory of the Sentinel. But the relief that had him sagging back against the tree changed as the man moved. It was just a prickling sensation at first. Something wrong about how he moved.

The older of the two shouldn't have been able to see the movement of the wherhandler's eyes so clearly. Maybe it was he felt it more than saw it. Then the voice. There was nothing expressly wrong with the words, but the voice. And the smile. A smile that grew as he uttered the last question. Should lie. "N-no. S-she just startles easy."

He gripped the stick, his hands turning in a motion reminiscent of wringing a damp cloth. "We'll go back when she r-rests a bit." Faolan tried to remove the tremble from his voice. His eyes were on his hands. Part of him, the part that said he should lie, also said he should meet the handler's gaze. But he couldn't. The eyes had already unnerved him. The wherling visibly jerked in conjunction with Faolask's noticing Konstask...but the part about resting, at least, was true. The younger green had no more energy to startle.

Unlike Faolan, however, Faolask's relief did not abate. She had no reason to distrust other whers, and this one was being nice. So pretty, too. Faolask crooned tiredly at Konstask, moving her head to nuzzle against the older green's leg. Not as beautiful as Konstask's hide, she replied truthfully. Had they been nearby? She was glad they'd come, even though she did not wish to disturb them.

Faolan swallowed, lifting his eyes enough to note that the feet were still there. He hunched his shoulders inward then, grasping the stick in front of him, but it looked more like a man clinging to a piece of driftwood than a proper weapon. Didn't need to look up to know that the handler was still smiling at him. It made his skin crawl.

[rii]

"Ah," Kostya lightly nodded; not disputing Faolan's thin claim. More content to let the rabbit get tangled in the lie. It started with one lie now, but lies had to be strung together to keep the story believable. Eventually Faolan would find himself snared by his own words. Despite the unvoiced notion of not needing help, Kostya didn't move, only tilted his head while observing the wherling. Kostya didn't think he was radiating the predator vibes all that strongly - but Faolan's stance said otherwise. Alas, as a member of the Sentinel - sometimes - it was Kostya's duty to make sure the wherling pair got back to the weyr safely. "We'll wait then," Konna and himself. "Escort you back to the weyr. It's dangerous out here."

Felines n'what not.

Unable to avoid the temptation, Kostya further approached Faolan with wonder whether the guy would try to meld in with the tree he was pressed back against, or the more unlikely of actually wielding the branch as a weapon. Kostya hand lifted and his fingers curled around the end of the wood Faolan so desperately clutched. Gently he pulled at it, applying more and more strength until it was relinquished. "You'd have better luck with the knife."

The wood dropped, those same fingers lifted to touch against the side of Faolan's face and turn it forward and up to get a proper look at the guy's face. A pretty one, wasn't he. Kostya's expression furrowed with concern. "You're bleeding." The scent of blood was distinct, no doubt every other predator in the vicity would soon pick up on it. As a healer it was only right to ask, "Are you hurt?"

Konstask positively preen at Faolask's compliment. What an absolutely lovely green! Oh yes, she liked this new wherling. The jeweled green rumbled pleasantly with approval. Add in the fact that her handler liked this green's person and wanted to play - well, why shouldn't Konstask like her? Hers had the best taste after all.

Yes, Konstask finally responded to Faolask after the prideful glow waned, they were out hunting. The green stretched out alongside the younger green, fanning the Faolask's heated body with a wing. It was no disturbance at all, Konstance reassured, they were glad to have found them. So very delighted. At a quiet mental prodding from her handler, Konstask laid her head against Faolask's back while tacking on a question. Were they lost?

[Requiem]

The wherling shook his head slightly, but didn't voice the protest. There was hardly any point. He wanted to say it wasn't necessary, but they were kind of lost. Not too lost, though. Faolask could follow her scent back, right? He really should have thought of that earlier, instead of allowing himself to panic. Faolan wasn't the bravest of souls, though, and Faolask certainly didn't improve matters any in that regard.

He'd said it was dangerous, though, and that reminded Faolan that there were all manner of things out here (the most fearsome being felines and wild whers) which he didn't really want to run into alone with a juvenile green. Especially when Faolask was already so tired. His eyes darted up upon finding the wherhandler suddenly right there in front of him, tugging on the branch. Faolan's gaze dropped, then, relinquishing the branch to the other.

The color in his face was fortunately at least partially covered by the darkness. Right. Knife. Fingers brushed over the sheath at his waist, as if to ascertain the physical reminder. The nearly imperceptible nervous shifting of weight stilled at the touch on his cheek. His eyes lifted to meet the eyes so eerily similar to his own, the look of concern drawing something cold and hard from Faolan. A flicker that passed so suddenly it might have been a trick of the lighting.

The wherling straigthened a little. He wasn't sure that he liked this stranger touching him, but the feeling he'd gotten before was gone. Had disappeared with that unsettling smile. Faolan relaxed a bit. "I...they're just scratches. She was moving fast." A gesture of a hand accompanied the words. The stranger's hand was still touching Faolan's face. The older man stepped to one side, arm crossing in an almost defensive fashion across his chest as that hand rubbed at his other bicep "I don't really remember who you are." There was a note of apology in the words along with the questioning.

Faolask didn't often spend much of her time on her side; it made it hard to run if she needed to, and she even slept on her feet. This time, though, she was not too quick to regain her feet after thoroughly exhausting herself, due in part to the kindness of the full-grown green who had just stretched out beside her. The breeze felt good, and Faolask rested her head on the older female. Radiating gratitude.

The question was answered before Faolan could do anything to stop her. Nor did she understand his sudden dismay after her response, dismissing it as one of those things she just would not understand about him. Yes, they were a little lost, she'd told the other green. Everything looked kind of the same when moving really fast, and there were no familiar scents here.

[rii]

Kostya was well aware of the bonds between handler and wher; and as the wherling began to compose himself, despite the close proximity, Kostya had to wonder if it was due to the interaction between their whers. Such little curiosities. Figuring out these inner and outer workings of a person were such a favored pastime. Kostya enjoyed the puzzle of another's mind. Loved interacting with them to gain another piece to the whole picture; if only to figure out how to better manipulate the image to his liking.

Faolan's stillness in response to the touch pleased Kostya more than he'd ever show; more so it amused Kostya when the wherling tolerated the contact longer than necessary. Kostya let him slip away, although a part of him wanted to curl fingers into the man's shirt collar and jerk him back over. The pale blue eyes narrowed with veiled amusement. All good things in moderation. Kostya was a patient man. He laced his fingers together at the back of his neck as he stretched. Purposely calm in body language to contrast Faolan's nervous shifting.

"Can't remember what you never knew," Kostya shrugged mid-stretch before letting his arms fall loosely to his sides. With it came the dismissing of Faolan's apologetic tone. "I'm Konstantin - Kostya for short. I usually spend all my nights in the infirmary - I'm a healer." Which why he had been looking at the scratch on Faolan's face. Tsk, tsk, what ideas had the wherling been getting into his head. "Tonight happens to be my night off. Figured I'd make myself useful and do a patrol." Another ambiguous shrug, followed with a gesture in the direction of the green whers. "She's Konstask. I just call her Konna. It's easier."

Come to think of it, Kostya's head tilted a touch further while intently studying Faolan's features. Kostya made it a point to not play his games inside the infirmary. But, "I vaguely recall seeing you in the infirmary a few times. Erilena must have treated you- " For nicks and scratches because of his wher's blind flight through the jungle? "What's your name?"

Konstask had lifted her head to gaze through the darkness toward the riders, tail coiling more contently around Faolask after listening to her handler's thoughts. A gentle lick passed across the side of Faolask's neck. Why had she run so far and fast? Konstask nuzzled her little sister. (All greens were her sisters, right?) Such a lovely little sister too. Beautifuil. Beauty complimented with another beauty. Greens were just the best~

Don't worry little sister, Konstask crooned with another fan of wing, they would teach her and hers the way back to the weyr when there were no scents to find.

[Requiem]

This Konstantin seemed to be at ease. This close, Faolan could see that the man...man/boy...was a lot younger than he'd first appeared. The wherling was settling down gradually (perhaps mostly due to Faolask's calm), especially now that the greenhandler was no longer touching him. It was hard to say what bothered him so much about touches like that. He didn't really think about them. They just felt...wrong.

Oh. A healer. Now Faolan really felt dumb. Of course a healer would ask after injuries. Touch. That's what healers did. Even if the wherling didn't know why a few scratchings on a wherling would be important to a healer, even a healer who was also a handler. The older of the two wasn't quick to reply, thinking on everything Konstantin had said first, but he responded to the direct question with enough promptness to be strange. "It's Faolan."

Finally, his nerves had settled enough that he wasn't shifting around constantly, though he still found it hard to meet Konstantin's direct gaze. Instead his eyes would slide away for moments at a time before he forced himself to meet the other's eyes again. "Faolask...she frightens easy. I was worried that she'd hurt herself often when she was younger. Now I know better."

Indeed, his girl was very aware of her surroundings, despite what you'd expect to happen when an awkward baby wher went carreening around corners in the halls of the Weyr. Patrol. Within their territory then. That made Faolan relax even more. Still, he had to ask, "We're safe here, right?" Had the sound of something large moving only been Konna? He subconsciously moved closer to Konstantin at the thought that it might have been something else.

Well, and here Faolask's response took on a distinctly embarrassed tone, there had been something near where they were having lessons. Something large and it breathed really loud and scary, and it followed her when she ran, so of course she couldn't stop! Then, when it seemed to have lost her, she was too afraid it would find her again if it slowed, and she just kept running, and now she couldn't run a single step more. (The flood of communication abruptly ended, followed by a note of apology for speaking so quickly.)

Faolask returned Konstansk's lick, snuggling a little closer into the older wher. Her words were certainly reassuring, and the younger green thanked Konstansk demurely.

[rii]

Faolask, Konstask provided the green wher's name as Kostya compared the name to Faolan's. It was said that the more of the person's name that is included in the whers, the stronger the bond. He and Konna were close, but she didn't effect as much as he effected her. Konstask was a shallow creature that cared for nothing more than eternal beauty; it was easy for him to work around her whims and bend them to his desires. In the case of Faolan, since the green pair were only a letter off, Kostya knew that getting to know the wher would be just as important as figuring out the handler. A practice of manipulating a person through their wher that Kostya knew for a fact worked - he'd done as much to Vix; used the kids wher's adoration against Vix's better judgment.

An easily frightened wher – it became clear enough with those words and the story from Faolask through Konstask that Kostya understood why he had found Faolan in the frightened state. One that Kostya hoped to recreate some day by other means. Watching the guy shrink away in fear was entirely too delicious to never experience again. And sure, Kostya could probably make the expected healer scolding that if she was going to run Faolan shouldn't tag along with her to get whipped and battered by the branches that missed Faolask - but why ever would Kostya want to do that? The more often Faolan got hurt, the more excuse Kostya had to check him for wounds..

As Faolan shifted closer, Kostya only just kept the smile from slipping back onto his features. His eyes did narrow, almost thoughtfully, but in truth it was a pleased smile all on it's own. There was something ridiculously amusing about making a person nervous, uncertain but still forcing them to trust you because they had no other options. A humor Kostya enjoyed as he treated patients - they had no choice but to trust their lives in his hands as well. Among other things, Kostya was content with his choice to join the infirmary staff. It fed the darker parts of him, in small doses, that he usually sated with more extreme acts.

"No, we're not." Kostya answered in all honestly and unable to keep the faintest trace of laughter from his voice. Intently his eyes followed Faolan's movements, wondering if the wherling would edge even closer; after going through the effort to put distance between them too. Kostya didn't wait to find out, instead shifting his weight forward to again take Faolan's chin. He didn't turn Faolan's head this time, just briefly lifted the kid's head while tracing a thumb lightly below the fresh scratch. Kostya's hand drifted back to his own side. "You've left a blood trail leading right too us. We're on the outskirts or just past the outer perimeter of patrol." Kostya had been looking to find a feline so he'd gone to the more likely area to run into something dangerous. "The scent will be picked up soon enough, if the sound of a creature's panicked run hasn't already drawn a predator's attention."

Did it have a smell? Konstask curiously asked on her own. She'd learned to believe nothing unless it had a actual smell. This being more due to Mirage's nasty habit of feeding untrue images to her. A light nudge was giving the younger wher as Konstask made to stand. She was more than comfy to stay there with her little sister, but her handler said they had to move. Come little sister, Konstask tail brushed along the lighter green's back in encouragement. They must walk now - not run - and find the way back to the weyr.

[Requiem]

Faolan had already convinced himself – mostly – that there was nothing to be feared. It was merely a question that he thought – or rather, hoped – he already knew the answer to, a question framed to help soothe the nerves that never seemed to be completely assuaged. Faolan was not a naturally restive person. High-strung, much like a thoroughbred, the wherling was volatile in his reactions to outside forces and perceptive enough to readily find them. Paranoid. Just as with the stallions and, to a lesser degree, mares who were so hopelessly inbred for those few more ‘desirable’ traits, however, his reactions often lacked the necessary filter of judgment. A nervous tick, if you will, that could be evoked almost every time should the proper conditions be present regardless of context. The trick, of course, remained ferreting out those conditions. A difficult task for anyone who didn’t suffer from similar oddities. (Not that a fisherman’s youngest son could easily be equated to a thoroughbred.)

Common stock or not, though, it was not actually so much of a stretch. After all, people are the ones who select those traits in runners, and their values reflect similarly in choices in mates. A person naturally chooses the best that he can get, and beauty, wealth and power are desired over other traits, invariably. Who has the best choice but someone else with at least one of these three traits? Thus noble lines tend to take on the physical attributes considered attractive for the era, as only beauty has the hope of intermingling with otherwise established lines, and the natural consequence is that those recessive traits which are considered beautiful – people do not find common beautiful – are repeated over and over. As with thoroughbreds, though, genetics does not just select the positive traits. Nor does nobility limit itself to its proper bounds within the context of a marriage. Which is to say, a creature who is beautiful can most likely trace his ancestry back a couple or more generations to some indiscretion, and Faolan certainly possessed that certain frailty of humor that often plagued the inbred.

It had brought him both fortune and misfortune, this inherent frailty. Just as with nobility, dragonrider lines select for certain traits. Weyrs traditionally kept to themselves except when a gold egg is on the Sands, augmenting their ranks with candidates from outside only when there aren’t enough weyrbred to give hatchlings a range of choice. A dragonrider must choose to procreate, and if she wishes a child almost invariably she chooses another dragonrider. Thus here, too, we find a good deal of inbreeding. Not every person has the capacity to Impress to a dragon, but as time goes on those traits get passed on increasingly within the context of the Weyr population, until the chances are extremely high for any weyrbred to Impress while comparatively low for those outside. So it can be assumed that most of the holdbred who then go on to Impress dragons also have all the positives and negatives of an inbred line of dragonriders in their background. After all, during those dry periods when Thread does not fall, dragon populations are exceedingly low while the inbreeding continues apace. By this line of reasoning, dragonriders are more prone to frailties of the mind (as natural selection will often weed out more physical frailties) and those holders which Impress dragons as well, especially if generally considered attractive, most prone of all. Faolan’s late Wrenth speaks for itself in that context.

Further exploring such dynamics, it must be taken into account the relatively short and dangerous lifespans of dragonriders as a whole. This inbreeding is therefore naturally curtailed by the fact that those with the worst effects of the inbreeding do not survive to procreate or at least do not survive to procreate much, and a dragonrider lifestyle generally looks down on more than one or two children for every female rider. The sole saving grace of the breed. All factors that combine to produce the temperament that is at once enduring, adaptable, and volatile – the temperament of a dragonrider who has lost his dragon. Most dragonriders, after all, do not survive such loss, and even less survive the rigors that follow in the context of the northern war. It is indeed a most curious mixture of strength and frailty, in which we find Faolan unique in an already minuscule percentage.

This man, who has the stamp of not one but two lines of dangerous inbreeding, was strong enough to endure and adapt to the life of the subjugated dragonless while still maintaining enough of his personal identity to be deemed unfit. Too frail. Too broken. Too prone to nervousness to suit the needs of those who maintain the slave trade of which he is a product…which in fact begs the question of whether it is a weakness at all. Certainly it demonstrates a resistance to the conditioning, even if it takes an odd form. Thus the traits that define him are at once his salvation and bane. And so that brings us back to the nervous questioning that is less a sign of weakness and more the tool through which Faolan maintains some control over an otherwise unstable temperament. The seeking of reassurance to verify what his mind and reason has already told him.

And, naturally, it is a seeking that is reserved for the trusted. Faolask’s hold remains strong.

Whether Konstantin was aware of what his words would do or not is immaterial. Faolan froze, his insides knotting, and the tenderness of the younger man’s touch set a whole new set of reactions off in distinct conflict with the previous set. There was at once a desire to move closer and into Konstantin’s protection (something the nervous, even childlike nature of the dragonless man naturally evoked in most people) and a need to withdraw from the seeming tenderness that Faolan didn’t trust. In effect it rendered him impotent; his mind was stuck between two planes and he merely froze, his body trembling.

Fortunately, Faolan’s mind was not similarly frozen. He resumed motion, if only to breathe, when Konstantin’s hand fell safely away, reaching up to touch the scratch that the handler’s thumb had traced beneath. Even with his superior night vision – an acclimatization to the nocturnal lifestyle – he would not have made out the stain in this darkness had he not known to look for it. The smell, though, was suddenly strong to him. His overactive imagination conjured much, and the reason of a mind that didn’t lack in intelligence or experience knew that it was to him any predator would be drawn first. The weak, bleeding one. If they were on the outskirts of the territory, even still inside it, the boundary was weak here. Faolan shuddered, Faolask’s fatigue still pressing at his mind. They were helpless here.

“Please.” Voice trembled, his hand reaching out to clasp the handler’s sleeve. Not his wrist. Grasping the healer’s clothes was already more forward than was comfortable for the wherling, but fear could do much to push you past barriers you normally wouldn’t cross. It didn’t matter that Konstantin had already said something of going with them. Then, the situation had not been clear to Faolan. “Don’t leave us here,” he concluded in a whisper, eyes on Konstantin’s face. They stayed there, for once.

Well, she wasn’t sure. Faolask answered her older ‘sister’ with something like surprise. She couldn’t remember exactly if it had scent or not, though she was certain that at the time she’d been thoroughly convinced of its existence, so it must have had scent, right? This doubt she did not share with Konstask, as she didn’t want her green sister to think less of her. The younger wher was slow to follow Konstask’s lead. For one, she did not like moving when she was so tired. What if she had to run? She couldn’t! Though she wasn’t at all stupid enough not to realize that the problem was the same walking as it was lying here; Faolask could not flee from anything that came upon them in her present state of exhaustion.

Her indecision was ended with Faolan’s urgency. If they couldn’t flee, the next best thing was to remain with Konstantin and Konstask, who might be able to protect them. The young green immediately saw the sense in this, even if she didn’t like not being able to flee. She trusted Konstask, anyway. The green was so nice and seemed genuinely concerned. Though why wouldn’t she be? (And even if Konstask’s bothered Faolask’s, it was nothing new to the juvenile green. He was sadly nervous and distrusting towards people of any stripe.)

[rii]

For a long moment Kostya watched the indecision on Faolan's face. A curious factor kept the wherling from moving away, and shifting closer. Caught between two different pulls. Kostya could say with honesty he liked that he could cause such a strife in the other man. A few words, a simple touch, the results of such actions always provided interesting reactions. Kostya did like Vix's stubborn glares the best out of them all. He'd known the question was asked in expectation of receiving comforting words. Alas, Kostya had been more curious if just the mere mention of being in danger would send the wherling into nervous jitters; if it would stir the green wher into bolting.

The reaction he did earn was.. suspicious. Kostya's expression remained blank in an effort to make sure his eyes did narrow with question. He wondered if the wherling was behaving this way - begging and clutching his sleeve - to try and stir some flare of protectiveness. A simple concept that the strong protected the weak. A moral string capable of plucking - of manipulating. It wasn't one that sounded inside Kostya. He couldn't help but feel there was something missing from the earnesty in which Faolan pleaded.

It wasn't something he could call out on the other man. No. Kostya had already said he'd lead Faolan back to the weyr - expressed that he was concerned. Couldn't go back on those careful steps. Not yet anyway. Still and all, Kostya's pale eyes studied Faolan's face. Quietly searching for the lie. He was still unconvinced. "When the whers get here," Kostya softly replied with a faint tilt of head, his gaze briefly dropping to the fingers curled in with his sleeve. "We'll get moving."

As if on cue, Konstask pushed through the underbrush with Faolask on her heels. Kostya brushed past Faolan, whispering as he went by - the quirk of a smile on his lips. "Stay close." The grip was reversed, Kostya turned his hand around to circled his hand around Faolan's wrist and lead him along. He let go once Faolan matched the pace. It was every so tempting to lead Faolan off, deeper into the jungle and see what fun he could really have with the young wherling.

No one would ever find out.

So easy to assume Faolask ran off in her fright and the wherling pair got picked off while lost out in the jungle.

It's simple, little sister. Konstask gave a small cat-like hop to gain a bit of ground. She was always good to look back to make sure she had the green close. It was important not to let her run off, or so hers had expressed. The jeweled green increased her pace just enough to jump onto a fallen trunk. She moved up it's length, claws shredding away bark for grip, going as far as she could before stopping. One back leg was further back, the stretch of spine accenting her graceful shape. Konstask never passed up an opportunity to show off her beauty - even if she played it off as an act to teach Faolask.

If lost, Konstask began as she took a quick survery of the area, there are a few options they could do, but the easiest by far was this– Konstask dipped her head and began a howl, the note starting low and slowly ascending in pitch and volume. until her muzzle was pointed toward the sky. It wasn't a warning of predators, but a seeking of direction. Konstask ended the note, looking ahead in the darkness to wait for a response..

.. a haunting note from afar sang back to them.

[Requiem]

For a long moment Faolan felt himself caught. Yes, caught in the thrall of a gaze he couldn't even properly make out in this lighting. Like a rabbit or mouse that had locked eyes with a snake, his body refused motion and he couldn't look away. The silence was ominous to the man's ears. The plea never made it to his lips. Similar pleas had never worked before, if the first didn't. Shoulders lowered in a loosening of muscles he hadn't known were rigid, eyes following the direction of Konstantin's.

Lifted back up, blinked, felt the relief wash over him like a cool stream down the length of his spine. (Having Faolask nearby, too, certainly helped.) Then he remembered the expression as Konstantin glanced down and remembered himself and a flush that likely would not be seen in this lighting colored cheeks. Faolan released the younger man's sleeve as if it burnt his fingers...

Only to have a grip suddenly tighten on his wrist as Konstantin brushed against him and tugged Faolan about so abruptly that the greenwherling barely kept himself from a most humiliating faceplant; it didn't keep him from stumbling. It took several seconds before Faolan recovered himself enough to match stride with the greenhandler. His own hand replaced Kostya's on his wrist, both arms held in close to his chest as he walked beside the slightly taller man. Faolan's chin dipped, eyes on the ground in front of him. Peripherals keeping him beside Konstantin and habit resolving into his walking at a half a step behind the handler.

Faolask must have been truly exhausted, indeed, to trail after Konstask at such a sedate, plodding pace. The younger of the greens lifted her head from where it had been hanging in weariness to watch the graceful femme mounting the fallen trunk. There was an ungrudging admiration in Faolask for Konstask. When she was full-grown, she wanted to be just as graceful and poised. But...it seemed unlikely.

Kicking herself to pay more attention to her teacher, the green listened to Konstask, then lifted her head to add her voice to her aunt's(?). A deeper chest made for slightly lower pitch, the harmony sweet. Perhaps a touch chill-inducing, though one alone could have produced the same result. Faolask moved up toward the log and let her head rest on the surface of it after their calls faded into silence. Listening to the returning howl.

The older of the two men found his eyes lingering on the younger slightly ahead of him. There was nothing else to call it. He was admiring the smooth movements of the handler, blinking free of the momentary spell when the whers began howling. He pulled his arms in closer to his chest, shivering. That was...hm. Eyes flicked over toward Konstantin again. "There? It sounds...far..." he murmured, uncertainly.