He's not hard to find; you can smell him literally a mile away, due to a combination of his poor general hygiene and the fact that he has somehow managed to pee on his foot since you left him. He's gone quite some distance in the opposite direction from his camp. "Have you caught a scent, sir?" you ask abruptly from the shadow under a spreading spruce, making him jump. "You're heading away from camp."
Aconite startles dramatically enough that all four paws leave the ground, and he's fluffed up like a zepplin when he whirls around and snaps. "Villains! Monsters!" he growls, then recognizes the two of you and sags. "Oh, you two. While you ladies were playing around out there I found clear signs of enemy action! This area's lousy with wild wolves, scores of them, we could be under attack at any moment! We need to clear our territory out of those vicious, bloody-minded killers! Make a statement! Draw a line in the sand! Fortify our encampment! Prepare for war!" "Eat lunch?" you suggest, dropping your duck. He stares blankly at it. "Oh my god, is it dead? Did you kill it?" You sit down, your ears back just a bit with insult. "Well it's not twenty wolves but yes, I did in fact manage to kill a duck." Honesty nips your hocks. "Alright, the Captain here killed this one. But—" "Good work, Captain," Lord Aconite says, cutting over you, and sidles closer over to Bel's sheltering bulk. "I can see you're just the sort of man a Leader can rely on." Both your ears are flat back. "Right," you say flatly. "Yes. I agree."
Your hackles rise. You can reply calmly, but you can't hide your annoyance. "But Lightfoot brought it to you, sir," you say pointedly. "It's a gift from both of us."
He shrinks away from Bel's anger and addresses you sidelong. "Oh, er, well. Thank you, Lightfoot. It's a nice gesture. Very respectful of you." "I want to see you eat it," you say. "My Lord." His tail droops. "Really?" He asks faintly. "Uh, but it's raw." "You're welcome to make a fire, Lord." You wag your tail, a good deal less irritated and more entertained.
"Werewolves," you say distincly, "have been known to eat raw meat." Your eyes are still augering through his skull. He must think you're about to rip his throat out.
"Oh, alright, damn it, I get it," he snaps, and cranes down to gingerly nibble the duck. He's mostly just chewing the feathers, but it's amusing enough. "What do we do about those wolves, though? Everyone knows wolves kill eachother for territory! I think we should strike first. Make a show of force. I'm not going to sit around licking my ass until they ambush us."
"Ambush," you echo under your breath, and glance to Erskin to see if he's having as much trouble taking this seriously as you are. Out loud, you say, "How old was the trail, sir?" And then, frustrated with his dicking-around re: the duck, "Here, let me open that up for you." You dart in and rip the duck's belly open. Aconite reflexively snaps at you. You don't even flinch, just stare at him with half-clotted blood and feathers dripping from your jaws, and he cringes. There is, to be honest, something in you that needs to kick his ass, make him submit, teach him humility by force. But you're pretty sure it's not a wolf instinct, because you've felt the same when dealing with clueless officers in the past. It's a good thing you've had practice keeping your cool with those. Instead of sitting on Aconite's head until he cries, you dip your bloody muzzle to Erskin and ask affectionately, "Can I get a cleanup, bro?" You'll pretend to be named Shadow, and you'll call Aconite 'sir' if it keeps Erskin amused, but you won't pretend he's not your best friend.
You sling a paw over the furry tree-trunk of his neck, fond and aggressive, and headbutt him squarely in the cheek. "As if you can't wash your own nose, Captain!" you tease him, but set to with a will. Lord Aconite makes a supremely uncomfortable laugh. "Ha, uh, okay, guys, that's kinda— wait, is h—are you two gay?" "Well, in my case it's a matter of low standards," you say, pulling on one of Bel's ears. "Ow!" Bel has nipped you back significantly harder than necessary or fair. Lord Aconite stares at you with a sort of uneasy pity. "Well, that's cool. Uh. I know lots of gay guys."
"I'm sure you do. I'm sure some of your best friends are gay. As it happens, I'm bisexual. I've dated both men and women. But I don't think less of you for being heterosexual, sir. And I assure you, neither Lightfoot nor I are the least bit attracted to you."
"Okay, okay, ha ha, very funny," he snaps, ears back and tail up. "You don't have to be a smartass about it."
"Sorry," you say, insincerely but cheerfully. You nod at the dead duck. "Please, eat up. I smell snow on the wind. You'll need your strength."
Aconite growls at Bel, resentfuly, then takes several gulping, vicious bites out of the duck, swallows, and storms off. "Enough playing around! We're going back to camp. And don't go running off to play this time either, we stick close together." You pick up the remainder of the duck and carry it along, trailing feathers and viscera as you go. If he's so fucking eager for a fight, you might as well draw a nice, bright invitation.
You look from the blood trail to Erskin questioningly, and his expression tells you all you need to know. You barely manage to refrain from laughing. Watching Aconite get put in his place by wild wolves would be a stitch, if they're close enough to get involved. Aconite does manage to find his way back to the camp, to your mild surprise. You trot ahead and right his tent with a shove, then go in and nose through his belongings, getting your scent all over them. "Looks like something got in and stole some food," you observe. "Anything that's not packaged airtight, you really ought to hang it in a tree." You're getting kind of bored with calling him 'sir', so you don't.
"It's the wolves!" he growls. "They're already here! They scouted out the area while we were away!" He sniffs all over the clearing with furious deliberation. "They must be around here somewhere," he mutters to himself. "Actually, I ate your beef jerky," you say, just to see what he'll do. You add, "It wasn't very good." He puffs up, and for one brief moment it seems as if he might actually jump on you— he snarls, his back legs dig into the ground, he gives a little lunge. Your tailtip waves and you grin at him gormlessly. But he draws up short, prances sideways on stiff legs, and smooths himself down with a furtive, calculating look at Bel. He doesn't know how to discipline you in a way that won't bring down your valiant knight protector's wrath. "Next time, ask me for my food," he grits out, nearly rattling with suppressed outrage. You cock your head, tongue out in innocent consternation. "But what if you aren't there?" "THEN DON'T TOUCH MY SHIT!" he roars. You wave your tail again. "Haha. Alright!" He makes an incoherent noise of fury and stalks stiffly off to messily piss on every tree in the clearing. "This is fun again," you observe to Bel.
"Well, good," you chuckle, "as long as you're having fun. I really do want to swat him upside the head, though. Let me know when -- sir!" You greet his triumphant return from his pissing tour. "What's our next move? You mentioned fortifying! I did not bring an entrenching tool, sir!"
Lord Aconite looks baffled. "What's an entrenching tool?" he asks. "And anyway how would we operate the damn thing like this? We should make a barrier, a wall. We can move sticks around."
"Okay, and how would we use that to our advantage in a fight?" you prompt. You're waiting, probably in vain, for him to connect the dots and realize the guy called 'Captain' might have some combat expertise to share.
"I'm just not really sure how that would work, as a quadruped," you return blandly. "Educate me, sir." Erskin's ear twitches, and a moment later you catch -- not a sound, but a hush, a quietness of squirrels and birds, a sense of curious stealth. Oh my. Things are about to get fun.
"It's a barrier, you huge fucking idiot!" he yells. "We put it between us, and—" "And them?" you enquire, nodding. A grey wolf has peered out of the underbrush, wagging her tail somewhere around her hocks uneasily. One of her sons pokes a nose out around her side. "Who're you guys?" she wants to know. "MEN. ATTACK!" Lord Aconite sets up a flurry of barking, yapping, and jumping up and down. You're reminded of Princess. "KILL THEM. DRIVE THEM ALL SCREAMING BEFORE YOU! EAT THEM!!" "Whoah. He's loud," the lady remarks. Her nearest son contributes: "Haha, he's a dog." "We're not with him," you explain, sidling peaceably sideways towards Bel. "We were, but now we're not." Several more sons and daughters are coming out of cover, flinching tentatively at Lord Aconite's continuous outburst. "We don't like you," the Lady concludes slowly. Deliberately. "I'm sad to hear that," you assure her. You've pressed your shoulder against Bel's, who is staying excellently calm and stolid. She and her kids are eyeing Aconite, who's worked himself up into a prancing, hysterically frothing rage. "That's our duck," one of the daughters says, looking from the duck, to Lord Aconite, to the duck again. Her siblings and mother are pitching from nervous dislike to open hostility. "TRAITORS," Aconite roars. "YOU TREACHEROUS FUCKING BITCH, YOU SET ME UP," and with that he whirls and bites you hard on the nose. "Yow!" you go, more out of surprise than pain. But also pain.
