Thar Shaddin

She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a little twinge of regret at his words. Life as kids and teenagers had been so simple. Demyan had his friends and she had hers, but they always had each other's back, always. When he had betrayed the clan that constant reassurance had been ripped from her and she'd turned hard. She knew she had changed, but if Nadejda had changed, then Demyan had done a complete turnaround from what he was. Where was the black wolf, dark and night and fierce as the northern wind? Where was his fire and his bite? It was probably in the same place her sweetness and compassion had gone, she thought grimly.

Demyan seemed to have calmed down slightly. At least he wasn't snapping and snarling at her like some feral thing anymore. There used to be a dignity about him when he got into a fight, not just barking at her like some rabid dog. And they had never fought. Nadejda had never been on the receiving end of his fury, though she had watched others cower like mongrels afraid of their master's hand when he glanced at them. Where was his power?

"No," she demurred quietly, looking away from him. "Not a different sister. Just a sister who has changed, and perhaps not for the better. I know we can't go back to that relationship that we had, I do know that. But I need you to know something too. I never betrayed you. I know you think I did, but it wasn't me. They'd followed you, before they knew you'd bred with the falcon. You know they would have come down on you much sooner if they had known you'd bred with her, but they didn't know that. I didn't tell them. I didn't tell them anything."

Nadejda darted another quick look at him and for an instant she felt like they were small again and she was looking to him for protection. Which was foolish beyond all belief - he was an outcast and she was the leader of Kharityn. She didn't need protection from some feral, beaten dog. And yet... and yet... Nadejda closed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, feeling cold all of a sudden.

His head snapped to the side, something of his old fire coursing through his bones. The power he had once commanded, the respect, rang through his voice as he spoke. Narrowed eyes flickered between wolf and man as he looked at her. This was a vision, however weak, however faded, of the son of one of the Twelve, Demyan Kharityn, the Black Wolf of a pure house. His teeth may have been worn down, his claws blunted, but fire still flashed through him sometimes. His spirit still would rise, and the old blood ran true. It was just a matter of tugging his tail the right way.

"If you ever speak of her again, you will show her some respect. Her name was not 'falcon', just like yours isn't 'puppy'. Her name was Zoya. And if you ever want any shred of any decency and respect between us as it should be between those that share the same bloodlines, then you will refer to her by that name." He rose to his full height, his voice steady, his tone commanding. He had never in his life spoken to her like this, had never talked to his sister like a master talks to a dog that refused to heel. But that was then. This was now. That life was over, and she was offered no protection by his love. "You want me around, for whatever reason in your mind? That's fine. I have no desire to do this for your love, or because it's what you want. The only reason I will even entertain this, is so that my presence grates on the nerves of those that would wish me dead." So that's it's like a razor blade being scraped over our fathers sense of honour and propriety. "And you will never, ever, mention my children. You will never ask me any questions about them, you will never inquire to my feelings about them, and the minute you do, I will wash the floors of your hall in the blood of those you order to stop me as I leave this city and let the betrayal of your orders take me."

He felt very tired all of the sudden. His body had went through more than it was used to, on far less nourishment than was needed to survive, and he found himself fighting very hard to keep from passing out. Not until she was gone. Then he would find a little corner somewhere, and he would find some clothes, and he would get a little bit of sleep. Then he would have to find what bartender would still take trade of some kind, even his flesh, for a bit of what he needed to survive. His voice had changed once again, now bored, tired, weary far beyond his years and lifestyle would ever allow him to be.

"Those are my rules Nadejda. You can always order me to do whatever you wish, on pain of my death, but those are my demands, my rules for whatever attempt at a relationship between us that you desire." But it will never be the same, and I would die before I allowed it to be. He scratched at a bug bite, picking a flea from his skin and flicking it away disinterestedly. There were more, there was always more, until he decided to buy the harsh soap from some trader. And with the obvious discomfort the men and women of Kharityn would have at the way he looked, he might just hold it off for a while longer. Small things could equal happiness too.

She hadn't known the falcon's name. It hadn't seemed important. It wasn't really - the falcon was dead and the dead meant nothing to Nadejda at this point. She cared for the living, her pack and her family. Everyone else, living or dead, could go hang. But if it was important to Demyan, she would restrain herself from referring to the falcon. And anyway, at least that had gotten a rise out of him. Something of the old Demyan had shown up in his eyes, all fire and righteous fury. Exactly what she needed.

"Fine then," she shrugged. "All those things you ask will be as you wish. And you were right - there are things I need of you. Things I do not believe you will like. Contrary to what you think, I will not force you against your will. But the pack has changed. Kharityn stirs. It wants to rise against Dveshiniy and Jorvyk. I am doing my best to hold it in check, but after mother and father passed I have had very little support. We cannot go to war with the other clans. It would rip Zhaltev apart, and I will not see that happen, not while I have breath in my body and fur on my bones."

Nadejda paused for a moment, then heaved a sigh. "The Wild Hunt approaches. I need to use it to show Kharityn that I am in control, absolutely and totally. That there will be no questioning of my leadership, and that there will be no mutterings about purifying Zhaltev. I need my brother beside me, if only because you cannot kill me and I can trust that. I need to present Kharityn with a show of strength, and I cannot do it alone and there is no one in the pack I can trust enough. So come back for whatever reason you desire, but if you can, come back. Your little sister still needs you."

She looked at him for a moment longer, this poor sad creature who had once been one of the top wolves. Then Nadejda turned and strode away, ramrod straight. No signs of weakness. She had told him, practically begged him, how much she needed him by her side. That would have to be enough. He would not see her cry, though her eyes were stinging with the unfamiliar feeling of tears.

Her words flowed around him, but he only really heard a few of them. 'After mother and father passed'. after mother and father passed after mother and father passed after mother and father passed after mother and father passed after mother and father passed. The words rang around his head, bouncing across the empty spaces in his brain that he had burned memories from out of sheer force of will. He didn't care about his father. That iron presence wouldn't be missed by him. His earliest memories of his father was the man yelling for his wife to take their son from his study, he was busy with work for the clan. And his father was always like that. But his mother... she was gone? And of course no one had told him, there was no need to find him and tell him, no need to let the outcast know that she was gone. He still remembered her scent, vanilla with a hint of the spiced oil she used for sore muscles. Cloves. Something like that.

And she was gone? She had been everything to a young Demyan. His rock, the person that he could lay all the troubles that a young man could have, the pressures of the family, the thought that he was a terrible brother because as more responsibility was heaped on him, he had less time for Nadejda. His legs wobbled under him, and he collapsed against the wall, the wolf in him wanting to whine and howl. Demyan wasn't much different. He wanted to cry, to see his mother one last time. To just talk to her, even if all she offered was condemnation. He couldn't remember what her voice sounded like. His hand gripped his hair frantically, trying to remember. What had his mothers voice sounded like? He could remember everything about his father, from his iron flecked beard to his baritone voice that was hard like stone, never showing any emotion. Demyan couldn't remember his mothers face. All he could remember was how she smelled, how her arms felt when she hugged him at the end of the lunches they had together. That was all he could remember. Why did he have to remember the one that he hated, instead of the one he loved?

When he came back to himself, he heard her say that his little sister needed him. Did he want to be indebted to her? To be at her side for what she needed? Would she treat it like they were family again, instead of just because she had asked it of him? But at the end, he could ask her for a favor, right? To end it for him, since he was too scared to do it on his own. Surely someone in the clan would fulfill that wish for him, to clear the stain from them, and he could move on. Finally. But why? Why was he even entertaining this?

"She's your sister Demyan. No matter how much your are away for whatever your father wants, she'll always love you, because you're her older brother. Now eat. You're far too skinny."

Something. Not quite right, something told him that wasn't her voice, not the way it sounded, but it had been something his mother had said to him once. He had been frustrated, had been away for two weeks, and had missed Nadejda's birthday. He had bought her a present while he was gone, but he was still angry that he hadn't been there, had instead been somewhere else so that he could take care of something his father wanted. And he had talked to his mother about it, pacing around, like a caged animal. And she had stood, and placed her cool hands on his cheeks, and smiled as he told him that. Then she had kissed his forehead and made him sit so that he could eat. That had to be why he was entertaining this. For her. Not Nadejda, certainly not for the clan, but for his mother. He still couldn't believe she was gone. But he straightened up, and wiped his face, to make sure no tears were falling from his eyes. That would be for later, far from her, far from any of her wolves. In his little den, surrounded by the burnt remains of his family, another ghost to add to the memories.

"Nadejda." His voice was broken, but he cleared his throat, putting some iron into it. Like his father. If he had to remember him instead, he could at least imitate his voice for strength when he needed it. "If I'm going to help you... I'm going to need a bath."

She had gotten so close to the end of the alley she had thought he would refuse her. It wouldn't be surprising. If he'd killed her lover she would probably still want to kill him in return... then again, the years had turned her cold and she could contemplate things like that. Deep in her heart, she knew she would never actually be able to kill him, but she could at least toy with the idea. Gods, what had he seen in the falcon? How could he have betrayed the clan like that? How deep must have been the love he felt for her been? How terrifying would that be, to love that deeply.

Nadejda knew it wasn't lust for the falcon. Lust would be the love-them-and-leave-them style of many of her packmates. True relationships were rare in Kharityn - emotions and blood ran too hot for anything like monogamy. Nadejda herself had had her share of lust and brief, fire-filled romances, but as the pack leader she had too much at stake to throw it all away on some wannabe alpha male. And anyway, she doubted any of them could keep up with her for long. She was the leader for a reason.

When he did speak up, she stifled an almost-sob of relief, then scowled at herself. She didn't need to cry with relief that he was with her, that would be absolutely embarrassing. A bath he certainly did need though. "A bath you can have," she nodded, turning around halfway to look at him out of the corner of her eye. What a sad, pathetic thing he had become. Hopefully he could at least look the part of fearless sidekick, even if his mental state was nowhere near what she needed. At least he wouldn't back down, and she doubted he would let her be killed on his watch. That was all she needed from him, at least for now. Someone to have her back.

"We will go to one of the inns for your bath," she said. "And a good meal, I think. I shall need to plan our entrance to announce your return." Nothing too dramatic - she would never be accused of being theatrical. But a show of power was never to be sniffed at.

"I need some money." He rasped the words out, shambling towards her to follow her. "I have to buy some things." He looked down at his nakedness, a smirk playing across his features. "Clothing, for one. Something to kill the fleas as well." His smile was a rictus grin, dull teeth gleaming in the weak sunlight.

"Though it would be hilarious to give your little pack fleas, I don't want to share anything else with Kharityn." Even if it harms them. And let her announce his return. He would almost want to do it himself, dressed in clean clothing for once, throwing open the great doors of the clan hall and letting them think that they could step to him ever, let them be beat back by his sheer force of will and knowledge that he had survived this long alone, and that the pack couldn't bring him down before, how could they now? But that was too antagonistic, and though that was what he wanted, his sister would no doubt have a different idea of how it needed to be taken care of.

He wondered, briefly, how she would feel if she knew that he was using her. He was using her as his lead in, the scent that he would follow to find his prey. And what did he care about blood ties and all that? He would help his sister if that's what she wanted, and then he would find Boris Kharityn. He knew he was the one that had betrayed him, that had followed him, that had lead the clan to his loved ones. And when Nadejda wasn't looking, Demyan was going to split his throat from ear to ear, and then split his rotten carcass from the throat cuts down to the groin, and feed his entrails to the carrion birds that lived in the city. And he was going to love every moment of it. And Nadejda was helping him, whether she knew it or not.

"I'm also going to need to stop by my home, and I need liquor." He snorted, pursing his cracked lips, "If I don't have it, I won't be able to do much besides shake, and I'm sure that will scare anyone off that's trying to hurt you."

She kept her face a blank mask as she led the way, her strides quick and ground-eating as she took them to the docks through the lesser-used back streets. The best place to get clothing cheaply was at some of the pawn shops along the waterfront. It would be used, worn-in, and smell like a thousand different people. Once she got him back to Kharityn Hall there would be no hiding him, but she would prefer not to parade her estranged brother through the streets like an animal on a leash before he had at least had a chance to wash most of the fleas off of him.

That gave Nadejda an idea, and she bit her lip hard to cover a sudden smile. He needed a bath and she desperately needed a laugh. "Money will be easy enough," she nodded. "Clothing I will get for you. At least something more than those rags. We can get you a proper wardrobe after you have been formally returned to the clan. For now I shall just get something better than those... clothes." Her lip curled with distaste on the last word, like she was uncertain that what he was wearing could actually be considered clothing.

She took him to the edge of the docks, raising en eyebrow at a fisherman who didn't move his cart out of her way quickly enough. Even with her trying to be subtle about her being in the city, Nadejda had a commanding presence and it was clear many of the people they passed knew exactly who she was. The man with her was affording a second glance and a recoil of revulsion at times, but mostly folk just scrambled to get out of Nadejda Kharityn's way.

"Now," she said briskly, stopping and turning to face him with a flick of her pale hair, "I believe you mentioned a bath?" She couldn't hide the brief flash of humor in her eyes as she reached out quickly and shoved his shoulder, hard, aiming to push him into the cold salt water under their feet.

A snarl ripped from his lips, fingers turning into claws as he grabbed her by the shoulder, half off the docks before his grip slipped, falling into the freezing waters. He fought his way up through the frigid waters, angry as the boots that were loose on his feet filled with water and slipped from him. That was the only maintained piece of clothing that he owned, because good boots were important in the cold of Zhaltev, shifter or not. Salt water burnt his open scabs and bites, burned his eyes as he rapidly tried to blink it out. What would she have done if he dropped down in here and one of the water shifters had taken a bite out of him? He'd never even have had to go back to the surface, just staid down here and slowly been turned into some blubber full whales shit.

He burst through the surface of the water, sucking down a huge breath of air. Then he spotted her on the dock where she had pushed him off, and he wanted very badly to drag her down into the water with him. It was fucking freezing! He clawed his way back to the side of the dock, matted hair fallen across his face before he slicked it back, blowing salt water out of his beard as he stared her down.

"That wasn't funny Nadejda!"

For a brief moment, he looked like her brother again. Eyes sharp, commanding, like she had played some prank on him in Kharityn hall and he was angry at her for doing so. Maybe because she had embarrassed him in front of someone their father had ordered that he impress, or the clan leader had told him to talk to. But that was gone as he pushed himself up on shaking arms, sitting on the dock and glaring down at his feet. His feet were probably the cleanest part about him, but now they were going to get dirty.

He was sulking as he said it, eyes flickering up at her, "I lost my boots." He looked back down at his feet, "I liked those boots. They were good boots."

She winced as he clawed at her before going into the water. She supposed she deserved that. Her shirt was torn and she looked in distaste at the small beads of blood coming from the claw marks, but then turned her attention back to her brother. He had stayed under for just a second too long before he came sputtering up to the surface and she couldn't help the small giggle that happened. He looked wet-cat mad, though she thought, with another tiny giggle, that he was really wet-wolf mad.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, mastering herself slowly. "I thought it was fairly amusing." She shrugged delicately. "At least from up here."

He hauled himself out of the water and she looked down at him, feeling a small measure of regret once she saw how his wet clothing clung to him. He was maybe half the size he'd been the last time she had seen him, with his muscles gone and being underfed. She shook off her cloak and offered it to him, smothering a sigh for the pure white reindeer hide that was going to get filthy. Ah well. It would just be another reason to get him properly clean, though the dip in the Balshoi Morey should have rid him of most of the fleas, at least.

"I will buy you new boots, Demyan," she said, stumbling only slightly over his name. She wanted to call him Demy - that was his name - but with him in this state, he was as liable to bite her as he was to cry. Or at least, that's how she felt. Maybe it was just her. Maybe he wasn't as confused by all of this as she was. Even just standing next to him was confusing, because she had missed her big brother desperately, and all he had done was hate her.

"And that's why people don't like you," He muttered to himself mostly, "Because you find joy in others misfortune."

He turned his nose up at the reindeer furs, pressing the water out of his hair and beard. He didn't want to surround himself with the smell of her, of the clan, of feelings of warmth and refinement. "I don't want that." And he really did not want the cloak. He was having enough problems accepting the offer she had made, that he had agreed to. Why was he doing this? Revenge. That was why. That was what he was after. He had people to make pay. He ripped a shred of shirt away, wrapping it around his feet. That would help, for now.

His fingers touched the braided hair cord and feather around his neck, and he stroked the wet feather for a moment. If he had lost that... he really wouldn't have came up from the waters. He would have made himself stay down there, until he found it or died first. He sighed softly, kissing the feather. Then he tore away another scrap of shirt, wrapping it around his bare foot. Demyan worked himself to his feet, shivering as a cold gust of wind blew. Shaking it off, like he had done may times before, he started to shamble towards his home.

"Are you coming? I won't have tea to offer, but you can at least stand in my living room while I gather my things."