A hole, a hole, a hole in the desert.

ooc; Rome's grand return, special spot for Annypants!

Rome hadn't meant to leave Crux Grotto all this time, without telling Anberlin anything. He had gotten lost during a fishing expedition, and ended up venturing far south, to strange lands that were well outside the boundaries of his pack. The time he spent as a loner was extremely hazy, and there was very little he could recall, other than an abundance of fish. Months had passed in this manner, with the loudest noise being the lapping water of the Rio de Tialoc, and the frenzied flopping of fish as they vainly struggled against their impending doom. It was highly enjoyable for the three-year-old wolf, as he enjoyed solitude and silence, an unusual trait for such a sociable species. After a few weeks, however, something within him urged him northward, back to the lands he once held the rank of Zeta in. His charcoal black paws were weary with days of travel, and his mouth was dry, but he trudged ever onwards.

By the time the dark gray wolf made it to the borders of Crux Grotto, the bright yellow sun morphed into a dusky orange, with brilliant shades of pinks and purples swirled across the slowly darkening sky. Bright, dazed blue eyes locked onto the Orange River, and he hesitated. On one hand, that river was well within the scent boundaries of the pack that lived here, and Rome didn't want to get into trouble. His fur, however, was in a miserable state, dusty and sweaty with travel and exertion. And if there was one thing Rome couldn't stand, it was having filthy fur. Besides, if he did trespass, he could probably catch a few fish as well. It had been at least a couple of days since the Mackenzie Valley wolf had anything to eat. After a few seconds of deliberation, the former Zeta fisher warily crossed over the scent border, frowning as his nose took in the fishy scent. It seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn't put his paw on it. A dim sense of frustration momentarily gripped the brute. Why was it so hard to remember things nowadays? The sad thing was, it was perfectly normal for him. Rome was a very forgetful wolf.

Rome furtively looked around him before slipping into the odd colored river. A blissful feeling of contentment washed over him as he felt his fur become clean again. At last, his poor nerves would no longer lament over the state of his hygiene. After he felt the last bits of dirt abandon his body, Rome awkwardly clambered out, vigorously shaking his body in order to stop looking like a drenched rat. His pale blue oculars now gazed in front of him in befuddlement. What was it that he was supposed to be doing again? Rome closed his eyes briefly as he racked through his brain, but the search proved to be fruitless. With a small, hoarse sigh, Rome sat down, straightening his fur with his tongue. Perhaps he could ask a pack member where he was, and whether or not he could join Crux Grotto. If that was the case, he might as well look presentable while he was at it.

"dialog"

Whiskey spent her sunsets as she did her sunrises, in constant motion, with the thud of her paws against the ground matching her heartbeat as her fur flashed dark copper and pale cream in the in-between light. It was these amorphous times, the periods that separated the brilliance of day from the sultry darkness of the night, that best suited Whiskey when it came to patrolling. Her days were long and full, for keeping fit was a never-ending task (there was always more that one could do), but she liked to sandwich the variables of any given dayspan between two areas of constancy.

And, for Whiskey, the most constant thing in her life was her job.

Her circuit had been a slower one than the raced loops she performed when the day was just beginning. As shadows lengthened and threatened to drown the land itself, the warrior was more watchful - darkness seemed to attract those with mischief in their hearts and she refused to miss one due to complacency.

Such attitudes were fruitful since it meant that the ash-grey wolf did not go unnoticed.

It was the work of a moment to fire a few neurons off, to relax this muscle and tense the next, and then the bi-tonal female was jogging purposefully towards the wolf by the river. He seemed to be grooming himself and Whiskey's logical mind assessed the scene of the crime and put the story together, piece by piece.

"Stranger," she said as she approached, tone alert and authoritative both, while the piercing teal depths of her gaze sought to pin him to the ground, "that river you just bathed in belongs to Crux Grotto and is not free for use by strangers. State your name and your intentions, stat."

All of this was spoken after she had halted a good number of body-lengths from him, her paws setting themselves neatly into a formal stance that left her muscles loose, but ready to launch into a battle stance if necessary. The wolf did not appear aggressive, so her stance was unthreatening, but her straight back and long limbs only highlighted her uncommonly tall height for a female. She may not have been physically imposing, being lean and lithe rather than bulky, but there was an aura of competency around her that she had no wish to dispel.

Expectantly, her tropical ocean eyes bored into the wolf she didn't recognise, awaiting an answer and soon.

the lies are always better left unsaid

Aristole walked with her head held high as she scanned the harbor. Curiosity swam in her eyes as she sniffed the air. A scent. That scent. Her heart pounded harder as she realized that she knew that scent. It's was his scent. The form of a sheepish grin wiggled it's way onto her face. She quickly placed one foot after the other, the pace of her gate picked up as she neared in closer and closer.

The fist thing she saw was Whiskey, a frown crossed her face in confusion. was this not who she wanted it to be, who somewhere in that little heart of hers longed for it to be? No, those thoughts musnt come into her head. Ari would never give up hope. Afterall, she missed having the grey male around.

The desperation inside of her grew as she crossed over, gently dipping her head to Whiskey. Blue eyes searched the area in front of her before landing on their target. A smile then a skipped heartbeat. "Rome."She breathed the word letting it consume her. Reassure her in the confusion.

She quickly snapped back into her normal self, "No need to worry Whiskey, he is a crux Grotto wolf... He belongs here" Aristole smiled letting her eyes drift to Rome and then back to Whiskey.

Aristole stepped forward and gently pressed her nose to Rome's shoulder in greeting. Finally things were at least going to somewhat be back to normal. Even if it was going to be different. Ari let her haunches drop to the ground, tail thumping the ground, in one swift movement. The girl couldn't wait to tell Anberlin."dialog."

*squeals*

Very quickly, the grey wolf could tell that something was up. No, not just anything; something important. Not so important that the birds fled the scene in distraught flocks, nor so tiny that he hadn't even noticed. No, it was quite noticeable in the way that he spotted the copper-coloured soldier heading in one direction, closely followed by his trustworthy, alabaster Zeta. Certainly an event was unfolding that Anberlin could not bear to miss, nor tolerate; and though he was expecting the worst - a tragedy of some sort, or a trespasser that both Whiskey and Aristole were intending on sending out - a part of his mind nagged at him, insisting on something that may very well be positive. It would be the first in a long time.

And so, he abruptly moved to follow the two - while he was a little ways behind, as he had only caught fleeting glances of them passing by and it had taken him a while to decide to go - it would only take him an extra minute or two to reach their destination. So he trailed curiously through the undergrowth behind the pair, lifting his nose into the air and sucking in their aromas, following the scent trails. Among them was a peculiar fragrance, one relatively familiar that had a hint that ignited an irate flame inside. But, for some reason, he felt that the owner of this scent had no reason to irritate Anberlin so. Thus, he swallowed it down with immense wonder. The name was only teetering on the tip of his tongue.

With his heart pounding excitedly, for he had only the tiniest strands of intuition and consideration for who exactly it may be, Anberlin quickened. Soon enough he heard Whiskey's sharp demand, alert and on-the-ball as ever. Initially this caused him to backtrack in his thoughts and assume again that it was a trespasser, but Whiskey was soon joined by Aristole, for he heard her voice spoken out too. And a name. The name that he had been to keen on speaking in hopes that it would truly be him. An old friend.

Anberlin had broken into an all out run, bursting through the undergrowth in time in time to see Aristole greet the male and sink to her haunches. "Rome!" A broad grin shot across his visage and he danced towards the grey male. His tail swung happily behind him, for there was no doubt that Anberlin was excited to see him - he was the fisher that Anberlin had convinced to join him, from Adega, the wolf who Anberlin had taken an acute interest in upon first meeting him. Though forgetful, Anberlin had always considered him a prime piece of Crux Grotto as their Head Fisher. And though he did disappear every now and then, he did come back - even if he had most recently vanished for months on end.

His heart lifted considerably as he approached Rome and, like Aristole, physically greeted the male with a gentle muzzle-bump. Then, stepping back, he glanced at the white female and the copper soldier, and back at Rome. "Where have you been? I mean, I know I ask you this every time you've come back but I wonder, you know? And I worry. I'm glad to see you're alright." Anberlin mused, grinning at him. He would actually like to know where Rome had been - and there would be no mention of "You Vitos" this time.

I BEGGED THIS PLACE TO LET ME BURN AND IT WHISPERED, BURN AWAY!

ooc; -dances with excitement-

Rome continued to smooth over his pelt with that long, rasping tongue of his, ardently endeavoring to remove any sign of untidiness in his fur. He was a vain wolf by nature, and was always worried about maintaining appearances, to the point where one could say that he suffered from obsessive-compulsive disorder. In fact, Rome was so absorbed in tidying up, he simply wasn't aware that others were watching him. It was rather a shock to him, therefore, when Whiskey quickly jogged over to the younger Vito brother and immediately began barking orders. Ears twisted backwards to his head, and he quickly assumed a submissive posture, eager to avoid getting on this she-wolf's bad side. The warrioress before her, although lacking in raw power, made up for it in her intimidating height and the authoritative aura she seemed to possess. At least her stance wasn't very threatening, even if her eyes were.

"Sorry...Rome, ma'am. I want...to join this pack..." The dark gray wolf rasped, pale blue eyes wide with both confusion and fear. Was this really what he wanted? To join this pack and serve them as a fisher? It was a logical choice, after all: this was the first pack he came upon that owned a river, and the place seemed to be filled with competent, trustworthy wolves, if Whiskey was anything to go by. Deep down, Rome felt a connection to this place by the river, unknowingly because he was...or is already a member here. This place here seemed familiar to him, and if he could only connect the dots, he would know why. Crux Grotto, in short, seemed to have some particular grasp on his memory, and he felt as if his elusive memory began to strengthen in this particular harbor.

He liked that feeling.

His musings were interrupted by a white fay who claimed that he was already a member of Crux Grotto. Even more intriguing, this vixen somehow knew his name. The dark crown on his forehead scrunched up in confusion - now how did Aristotle know him? He hadn't met her in his life...or did he? "I...am? Wait, what? Who - how?" Rome's hoarse voice was soaked with confusion as he addressed the guardian. Rome toppled back onto his haunches as Aristotle bumped her muzzle into his shoulder as a sign of greeting, completely caught unawares. His eyes closed briefly as a name floated in his head - was this Arianna? Or something that sounded close to that. He might as well ask, though this forgetfulness always made him embarrassed and frustrated. Why, oh why couldn't he remember anything? "...Arianna?"

Yet another wolf came before him, and briefly, Rome wondered if loners seeking to join their pack was some sort of novelty. This younger wolf's scent, however, struck a chord within his memory. For once in his life, he remembered that scent. How could he not? It was one belonging to a dear old friend of his - one whose name also began with an 'A'. As Anberlin greeted the dazed wolf with a grin, a hint of a smile came upon his lips. "Anberlin..." Rome wheezed with triumph, his tail twitching with the hint of a wag at the pleasure of both remembering something and seeing his old friend again. "Sorry, I...can't remember...There were lots of fish." Rome shook his head regretfully, unable to adequately answer his alpha's question.

"...Can I join, err...Rejoin Crux Grotto?" Rome questioned hoarsely. This had been the most he had ever spoken in one day before, the most he had ever spoken in months, in fact. Rome vowed that he would not abandon his friends once more, but would Anberlin still accept him after all the pain his Zeta had inadvertently caused him? The fisher dearly hoped so - it would be nice to resume living a normal life, even if he wasn't the most sociable of wolves.

SORRY I TOOK SO LONG. >__<

The mistake might have been an easy one to make, given that Whiskey hadn't even been in the Grotto when this ex-Cruxer had been a pack member, but the copper and cream wolf hated being wrong in any way. In the field, mistakes got you killed. Here, where the worst effects were making you look like a fool, mistakes still irritated Whiskey.

Curiously, the wolf she had maligned wasn't the one who corrected her. He merely introduced himself and elaborated on his reasons for being here. The female warrior's face remained impassive, but some of the guarded neutrality left her. "Well, you'll have to wait for the General to get here to approve your recruitment," she said simply, believing that this was the right course of action.

It wasn't.

That pale female, Aristole, turned up around then to point out Whiskey's mistake and the copper-toned female's belly twisted with disgust at herself. She should have investigated more with her nose, somehow discovered the age old scent of Crux Grotto upon the other wolf's pelt. For the most part, she appeared impassive when the confusion was resolved, but she slanted her teal eyes towards the stranger in question. "Apologies," she said in a curt and formal voice, even as she 'saluted' Aristole.

Her apology was barely in the air before a slight frown creased her face. Whiskey liked order and adored correctness - hearing a name spoken wrongly messed with her sense of military formality. "Aristole," she corrected the new-comer, Rome, and continued her trend of speaking in as few words as possible when she was on duty.

More salutes were in order when 'General' Anberlin arrived on the scene. Whiskey stood to attention, her long, slender limbs propelling her up to her full height as the highest-ranked wolf in the pack arrived. With him here, she was no longer a scout - she was a guard, a military escort.

And military escorts didn't speak. They just watched, and listened, and protected their charges from any harm that might be thrown their way...