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[Pyreite]

OOC: Just a few charas of mine that were once part of Beacon Call Holt, since leaving there thanks to the Beacon, I have since decided to write these fic pieces as a 'this is what happened to them afterwards'.

All pieces will feature my characters Nettle, Slinker, and Tinder.

First up is Nettle and Slinker - Two wolfriders from Shadow Green Holt
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IC:

Nettle, once surrounded by snow, blinked blearily as the flash of blinding light faded.  She stared, wide-eyed at the sight before her.  There was no snow or ice, as had been in Beacon Call, but a wealth of summer green with supple saplings and tall giants crowned with leafy foliage.  She looked left than right searching for Choice, her soulmate, and newly recognised.  The pain came suddenly, like a rising wave that crested before nearly drowning her in a deluge of agony.

**(ERGAH!)** she roared in locksending, panic setting in.  **(ERGAH!)**

The silence was deafening in its emptiness.

There was no answering send, no comfort in that moment when realisation dawned.

Choice was gone, not dead, but well beyond her reach.

Nettle's knees buckled.  The tears pouring down her face.  She looked to the sky, blue and clear, as the sun shone high in its cloudless beauty.  She knew this place, as surely as she knew herself.  She was home again, in the woods of Shadow Green Holt, surrounded by the trees she'd loved as a cub. 

The irony was soul-shattering.

Nettle sobbed in her grief, torn from a soulmate she'd barely known, and now newly pregnant with their unborn child.  She clutched her stomach, still flat after barely two moons.  She opened her mouth, fangs bared to the gum, and howled like a lost and lonely wolf.  A drifting vagrant without a pack or holt to call their own.  She'd been torn from her tribe, taken far away, and was now back again as if she'd never disappeared at all.

Nettle howled until her throat was sore and tight.  Her voice a bare whisper, when feet, swift and sure, swallowed the ground in a brisk run.  Slinker, her rowdy packbrother, found her first.  He was home again too, returned by the same bizarre magic that had stolen them away the first time.  Nettle didn't hear his concerned words, or his abrupt questions.  He was warm and familiar and a friend.  She grabbed for him madly, fingers like claws, when he came within reach. 

He was startled by her desperation.

"Nettle!  Puckernuts!  Will you calm down!"

Nettle whimpered, eyes full of tears.

"He's gone!" she cried, nails tearing at his clothes. 

Slinker was too bewildered to think whom she meant.  "Who is gone?"  He shook her roughly.  "Nettle!  Highones!  Will you start making sense!"

Nettle slapped him hard in the face.  The reaction purely gutteral and instinctive.  She was angered by his stupidity.  How could he not understand that she was hurting?  Her fangs were spared when she snarled, face a rictus of rage.

"MY SOULMATE!"

Slinker stared at her, wide-eyed, the ire giving way to shock.  He cupped his cheek, the skin smarting an angry red, where she'd struck him.  "N-Nettle", he stammered uncertainly.   He had never seen her so full of wrath and panic.  Nettle had always been sensible, but now she was acting wilder than a bear with a broken fang. 

He was startled when her fury shattered like broken stone.  Slinker gaped when she doubled-over, chin to knee, arms wrapping protectively around her leather-clad belly.  He swallowed thickly when she keened like a mourning wolf.  Her wail, wordless, but filled with an eerie misery that sank into his very bones.  It was like salt poured onto an open wound.

It burned like fire.

**(Packsister!  Oh puckernuts!  I'm so sorry!)**, locksent Slinker.  He gathered her in his arms, chin resting on her hair, as she wept for the soulmate she'd lost. 

"He's gone!" cried Nettle.  "He's gone!  Highones!  He's gone!"

Slinker stiffened, fangs bared, lip curling when he heard the soft padding of elven feet and padded lupine paws.  A pack and their elf-bonds crowded in on them, some bearing spears, and others gaping in open shock and surprise. 

"Packbrother!" called one elf astride a golden-furred shewolf.  "Packsister!"

It was their Hunt-Leader, assembled with the hunting party, no doubt having been caught unawares by their sudden appearance.

Slinker frowned.  He recognised those double-braids and the gleaming golden eyes.  "Buckthorn!"

The Hunt-Leader's scarred face softened as a grin split his face in two.  "Aye, pup". 

Slinker was certain he saw the elder wipe a tear from his eye.  He was stroking Nettle's back when Buckthorn slid down from his bond.  Amber, his wolf, pressed her furry muzzle into the small of his back in her eagerness.  The other hunters held back, some Slinker didn't know, though he did see a few familiar faces too, some teary-eyed, and others grinning just as stupidly as Buckthorn.  He could only wonder how long he and Nettle had been gone when their friend stepped forward.

"You pile of dung!" cried Buckthorn.  He heard Nettle weeping.  He was confused by her grief, but it did little to diminish his joy at finding them whole and healthy and home again.  "We thought you were dead!"

Slinker gaped at his packmate, even Nettle was roused out of her melancholy.  Slinker opened his mouth to ask a question.  Nettle was swifter, her voice soft and cool and laden with sadness. 

"How long were we gone, Buckthorn?"

Nettle wiped at her face.  She stank of brine and fear and anxiety.  She was making the wolf-pack nervous, she knew, the bonds were shifting about uneasily.  Ears were laid back, nostrils were flaring, and soft snuffling snorts were audible.  Nettle growled when Buckthorn took longer to answer than was polite. 

"How long!" demanded Nettle.

Buckthorn grimaced.  He hesitated too long, and another answered in his stead.  A boy with black hair to his shoulders, and eyes green like new-spring leaves, gently urged his wolfbond forward.  The wolf, a burly white beast with black ears, paws, and tail sniffed curiously at Nettle.  The youth opensent, unafraid when Buckthorn shot him a dark look.

**I can count twenty-five turns of the seasons in age**, he opensent coolly.  He ignored the Hunt-Leader's warning glance.  **You have been gone all that time, Aunt Nettle**.  He smiled gently, the corners of his mouth turning upward in an expression Nettle recognised.  Her startled gasped made him grin self-consciously.  **Father has had his hands full trying to keep my mother from gutting him since you disappeared**.

"Valn!" barked Buckthorn.

The boy shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.  His impish grin made Nettle cry.  She was shaking when she gripped Slinker's arm.  Her face ashen white.  She called to the youth.

**Only Krisk smiles like that!  You're his cub!  My brother's cub!**

Valn nodded.  "Yes, Aunt.  I am".

Buckthorn groaned in annoyance.  "Blasted brat".

Slinker was still mentally trying to process this revelation.  Twenty-five turns of the seasons he and Nettle had been gone.  "Puckernuts", he muttered.  It was somewhat reassuring when skinny Valn was given a flick on the ear by another packmate.  Slinker knew her immediately, an old furmate, from his own wily youth.

"Doeshy".

The brunette rounded on him with a grimace.  "You've got a lot of explaining to do, rotgut!  Making me cry for turns after you'd disappeared!  Frosteye is going to tear you to pieces!  Dirk too!  Nettle will be cuddled and squished by her parents, but you!  Oh no!  You're in trouble, Slinker!  Big trouble!"

Slinker smirked at Nettle.  He gently wiped her wet face.  The tears coming away on his fingertips.  He winked at her gallantly.  He was unimpressed by Doeshy's threats.

"Wouldn't be the first time". 
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First story is done.

[Pyreite]

OOC: Right another exit from Beacon Call, this time for my character Tinder, a firestarter that once belonged to holts Triple Glade and Sand Dune Valley, and Wild Plains Holt, the latter as a cub, and the former as a young adult.

In this scenario at Beacon Call she was over three hundred years old, so clearly an adult.
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IC:
The flash of like burned like fire.  Tinder, more startled than afraid, blinked tearily.  She recognised the touch of that magic.  It had stolen her from her home holt, snatching her away in the midst of an argument with her brother, the chieftain of Wild Plains.  Dune. 

"Fire and Thunder!", grumbled Tinder when the light faded.  "Where has that blasted crystal taken me now?"  The Beacon's magic was far-reaching enough to make her skin-crawl.  She squinted at first, eyes narrow slits, as she peered through her own lashes to the world outside.  Tinder heard a sharp inhale of breathe.  She tensed immediately, spine straightening, and shoulders a hard stiff line. 

**(Well)**, a stranger locksent to her amiably.  **(Aren't you a lovely sight to wake too)**.

Tinder gasped, face paling, and eyes opening wide.  She stared at the elf before her.  He was handsome, if strange, with his laughing blue eyes, sun-bronzed skin, and slick strands of wine-red hair.  Tinder didn't know him at all.  She scrambled backward, feet kicking and arms pinwheeling, the slick surface of a summer-fur sliding beneath her bare legs.

"ARGH!"

Her scream of terror roused half the holt to waking.

Tinder was barely conscious of the soulname whispering in her subconscious.  She was too startled to care if the blue-eyed elf, grinning flirtatiously, found her reaction more amusing than offensive.  "The elfesses are usually screaming in pleasure rather than fright when they're frequenting my furs", he told her as he watched her fall off the edge of his bed.  The raised sleeping platform, a simple circle built on raised stone, was cushioned by a large pad of stuffed leather.  Tinder yowled like a neutered cat when she toppled off the end.

She landed hard, back flat on the ground, the air whooshing from her lungs in an airy gust.  She was winded for several seconds, lips pursed as she wheezed.  Tinder lay supine, eyes on the ceiling of this unknown elf's den, her legs bent uncomfortably tight against the edge of his raised sleeping platform.  Her backside ached.  She groaned when the elf, clearly male from his bare and muscular shoulders, peered down at her comically. 

He was grinning again, teeth flashing white in his dark face.

**(Beautiful with a sense of humour.  The Highones must love me to send me such a wonderful gift this early in the morning)**.

Tinder's face darkened.  Her hair was tousled and her clothes rumpled.  She looked as if she'd occupied his bed for the night and rolled out of it the next morning half-naked.  Her temper, akin to the fire she wielded by magic, blazed like a newly sparked flame.  She scowled, lip curling indignant, cheeks flushing red.

Tinder bent her knee, swung her foot, and kicked him in the face.  She was feeling vengeful when her heel struck him square in the nose.  The way his head flew back and his nose cracked was incredibly satisfying until she felt a sudden burning pain in her chest.  Tinder gasped again, lungs burning, when that pain intensified.  Her heart sped up till it pounded on her ribs. 

The world see-sawed in and out of focus.  She stumbled from the stranger's den, mind reeling, and head splitting in two.  Her brain ached as if she were drunk on dream-berry wine.  She swayed unsteadily on her feet, vision blurry, as she staggered through the holt.  Tinder didn't know where she was going or why.

Her head hurt as if she'd bashed her skull against a rock-wall.

"Puckernuts!" she swore.  "What did that fool do to me!"

Tinder winced when she heard her name.  The voice was soft and hoarse, but all too loud in her throbbing ears.  "Do be quiet!" she hissed irritably.  "I can barely think with your screeching!"  She flinched when her name was roared.

"TINDER!"

Her vision was blurry when a dark shape barreled towards her.  She didn't see the bright green eyes or the curtain of black hair.  She felt the strong arms, however, that wrapped around her like iron and crushed her in an exuberant embrace.  Tinder was offended in that moment until she inhaled, nostrils flaring.  She froze, still as a statue, when she recognised that masculine scent.  He smelt like sunshine on sand.

"Dune!" cried Tinder.  "Oh, Dune!"

Her eyes filled with tears.  Tinder clung to her brother and wept.  He was the first familiar and friendly face she'd seen in two eights.  Relief washed through her like a soothing spring-rain.  Tinder hugged him tight, the laughter in her ears making her heart lighter than it had been in days. 

She was once again in Wild Plains Holt.

The Beacon had returned her home.

The reunion with her elder brother, although happy, lasted for a handful of seconds until a disgruntled redhead made his displeasure known.

**(My Cheif!)** locksent the scowling elf with a broken nose.  **(Would you be so kind as to remove your hands from my recognised!)**

Tinder heard her brother's startled cry.  She felt him retreat, calloused hands sliding across her shoulders.  She grasped his forearms, head shaking, as he peered into her face.  He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and incredulous.  His brows arched and mouth agape. 

"You recognised?" asked Dune.

Tinder, too shocked to know any better, replied candidly.  "Well, I suppose", she grumbled.  "That would explain the burst of pain when I kicked him in the face".

Dune glanced over her shoulder to the fuming elf scowling fit to set his face aflame.  He stared in astonishment at the redhead pinching his blood-soaked nose between a bloody thumb and forefinger. The bridge was clearly broken, the bone crooked and bent at an odd angle.  The obvious result of Tinder belting the poor fool in the face.  Dune's amazement turned a round of joyous laughter.

He hugged his bewildered sister as he chortled in her ear.

**(Only you could recognise this way!)** he chided in locksend.  Dune's amusement rippled through her thoughts in a tide of warmth and forgiveness.  He hugged her again as he laughed.  **(Breaking Thorn's nose!  Highones!  Father will be so very pleased!)**

Tinder froze when Dune spoke of their missing parent.  **(Father is here?)**

She hadn't seen him for many turns of the seasons.

Dune grinned toothily, fangs flashing in the sun, when a burly elf rushed through the holt.  He recognised the brown eyes and short unkempt hair black.  Once called Graystone, now named Sunspear, their father shouldered past a fuming Thorn.  "He is", Dune said aloud, a bright smile on his face.  He welcomed their sire with a nod.  "She's home at last, appearing just as she left me.  Out of thin air.  We're together again, Father".

Sunspear sniffed loudly, voice tight as he converged on his children, with open arms.  "Aye my boy", he said gruffly, tears in his brown eyes.  "We're a family again".  He smiled shyly when Tinder's lower-lip trembled.  **Welcome home my, kitling**, he opensent tenderly. 

"Papa?" asked Tinder.  She sobbed when her father, thought long-lost, nodded sagaciously.  "Papa!" cried Tinder.  She lunged at him, arms thrown wide, and hugged him tightly as he engulfed her in a warm embrace.  **(Papa!  You're home!  Highones!  You're home!)**, locksent an ecstatic Tinder. 

Sunspear laughed, drawing her close, as Dune patted his shoulder.

Dune's nod to Thorn, glaring balefully at them both, made Sunspear a tad suspicious.

**(What's the weasel doing out this early?)** asked Sunspear in locksend.

Dune chuckled.  **(He's recognised my sister)**.

Sunspear sucked in an offended breath.  "Him?"

Dune's brows arched comically.  "Him, Father".

Sunspear cast the glowering redhead an irritable look.  **(You touch my daughter, just once, and I'll break more than your nose, weasel!)**

Thorn's lip curled indignantly.  The locksend was blunt and bristling with rage.  Sunspear was being unfairly overprotective.  Thorn had the sudden unpleasant feeling that it might be many eights before he managed to consummate his recognition.  He swallowed nervously. 

**(You have no right!)**, he replied heatedly.  **(This is between her and I!)**

Sunspear cradled Tinder protectively in his arms.  He snarled at Thorn.  "Judging from that broken nose, my girl's already given you a taste of her temper".  Sunspear grinned crookedly.  He was rather proud of Tinder's forethought.

It was best to get in early and teach him a lesson, before things got too intimate.

Thorn had to know his boundaries. 

"Fire burns, Thorn", warned Sunspear.  "You'd better pray to the Highones that you've got the stones to withstand the heat".

Dune waggled his eyebrows, green eyes glittering merrily.  "Aye", he said gently.  "You'll certainly need them, Thorn.  My sister's not like the other elfesses you've bedded".  He winked when Tinder, herself, jabbed him in the ribs.  "She's a little hot to handle".

Sunspear laughed when Tinder groaned at the terrible pun.

Being a firestarter certainly made it very true.
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Second installment is done.