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The walk back to the Warugaruga territory from IsraKaiyan lands was not terribly long, but the fight had left Ralastor simultaneously on edge, ramped up, and drained. At his side, two of his children (both equally bloodied by the fight) followed obediently, but his attention was not on them. It was instead on the fourth member of their group.

The she-wolf.

Although they had travelled in silence, each contemplating the events at the IsraKaiya border in their own way, Ralastor suddenly interrupted the quiet. "You will join us, then," he said, without looking at the female to whom he spoke. It was a question, but he pronounced it like a statement. It was important to sound sure of himself, even though he was tired and in pain. She was the prize of the day, the main victory. If she had changed her mind since those words before the battle...

Well. She just couldn't be allowed to change her mind, that was all.

Although she said nothing, focusing on moving forward steadily, paw by paw, through the ache of her wounds, Tasso sent a glance at the female. In some ways it would be nice to have a member of the pack that wasn't a brutish male. She didn't like how important the stranger seemed to be to her father, though. The adolescent kept one ear on the conversation, and tried to focus on the thought of getting home at last and being able to sleep.

Displeasure showed in the flick of Ralastor's ears. She would not submit to him? Even after all that? "I probably saved your life. Those two were panting for a fight before I stepped in." He pointed this out with a neutral tone, trying not to sound like a petulant child. He continued walking, though, eyes ahead of him and ears listening for the sounds of the forest. There was always the chance that the other pack would try to take them out while they were separated from the main group. He doubted they were that smart, though - or that determined.

He was distinctly aware of the presence of two of his children. Ralastor knew that they listened, that they judged. It was important they not think a lone female capable of dominating him. "Tasso. Brutus. Scout ahead to make sure there aren't any enemies waiting to jump us at the rendezvous site. Howl me the all-clear if everything is as we left it."

His daughter stared at him imploringly, exhausted and lacking any desire to run ahead, but knew he wasn't looking and wouldn't be impressed by her weakness if he were. After a pause, she muttered, "Yes father," and broke into a trot. If her brother wanted to run, she would keep up with him, but otherwise she would listen to her screaming muscles' plea not to ask any more of them this day.

The alpha male was quiet for a long time, both mulling over her words and waiting for his son and daughter to be out of earshot. When at last he judged they were far enough away, he continued the conversation. "Well, what do you propose, then?" He inhaled slowly, enjoying the scent of enemy blood in their fur almost as much as he enjoyed the distinct aroma of the she-wolf. He still didn't have her name, and that rankled, but he hesitated to ask for it. A second rejection would be impossible to overlook, and he needed her as part of the pack.

"You would be... a valuable ally." He conceded, although they both already knew it. Ralastor couldn't help but feel tense. If she refused to submit, how could she be a pack wolf? He had promised her rank, of course, but that was if she could earn it. Unless she was willing to offer herself as his mate... but then, she had scoffed at that notion the last time they'd talked politics. "The Warugaruga would be happy to have you... but my followers must not be allowed to question whether or not I am capable of keeping them in line."

Weakness. It would show weakness to let this female dominate him. But she seemed less interested in superiority (which was out of the question) than she was in equality. It seemed like a dubious notion to him. Even within a mated pair, was not one the clearly more submissive of the two?

Whether or not he could subdue her physically was not something he wanted to test just then, or even really think about too hard. Instead, he considered the alternatives. "If you take the position," he said, ignoring the accidental double-entendre, "you should be prepared to defend your dominance to the other packmembers in every way. Some will question you with their teeth, others with their words. If you think you can just... step in, and prove to them that you deserve that rank..."

He trailed off. What, then, if she could - if she wanted to? He would have a mate. A... co-ruler, of sorts. Ralastor felt paranoia creep up on his thoughts again; what if she took the position, but not the duties? If she chose to be his partner but not his mate? Surely the whole pack could drive her off, but it would be more more difficult once she was entrenched in the role. "If that is what you want, you will need to do it as my mate," he declared firmly. Let there be no question. She would have his pack if she would have him, but the two were a package deal.

Interesting that it mattered to her. He'd thought she wanted to use him as much as he wanted to use her. She had individual power and reproductive capabilities, he had group power and ambition. It seemed like a fair trade. She wanted more than just a fair trade, though. He knew she was very proud. That must be the source, then, of her need to be more than just a bargaining chip. At least, Ralastor thought, he knew his pack was just a bargaining chip to her.

"A valuable ally, like I said," he reiterated, but as she sped up he slowed down, and they neared one another. The physical proximity reminded him that she was not just any female wolf, as the mother of his first children had been. There was something special about her. Maybe that was what she wanted to hear. "I..." he began, uncertain of where to start.

Ralastor made an attempt to analyze his own feelings. He wanted her - wanted to possess her - to have her - to fight side by side with her. He wanted her brutal intelligence working for him, not against him.

"You told me once that I'm special because of my ambition," he said, approaching it from a different angle. "Unlike the rest of the wolves in this place - the mindless followers, the traditionalists who live and breed and die and never accomplish more than that. You aren't one of them either. I knew that the first time we met - the first time we fought. If I'm going to make something of my life, accomplish the things I strive for, then I need someone like you."

"What are you - " he started to say, and then she was gone. A rush of adrenaline kicked in. She was asking him to chase, and he liked to chase. Of course he did; he was a predator. Seeing the swiftly fleeing hindquarters of any animal triggered an immediate response in him. It was simply instinct.

But as he pursued her, the ache of torn skin and muscles from the earlier fight always at the back of his mind, he felt a building excitement that was not present in the hunt of a prey animal. Oh, he would catch her. And when he did... well, he wasn't sure. But he was anticipating it, and the thought of hunting her down successfully and proving himself capable of the task spurred him to speeds he normally did not accomplish.

This was a language he spoke - the language of the hunt. She could not have spoken a more sultry invitation.

As a flood of hormones set into motion by the perfect storm of predatory and carnal cues roared through his bloodstream, Ralastor pushed himself. Maybe he shouldn't have been running, ignoring the complaints of wounds as they reopened and began to bleed. He let himself think of nothing else but the chase, the very distant sounds that revealed his she-wolf's movement up ahead, the much closer sounds of his own breathing, and the smell of her on the wind.

He slowed but did not stop when the trail grew confused, darting back and forth, but he too knew this territory, knew the location of the water source, and puzzled together her general direction as likely to be pointing that way. Speeding up again and allowing himself to stray from the flickers of wolfsign that remained of her passage, he took a more direct route towards the stream, hoping to cut her off. He heard the splash of her crossing before he could get within sight of her again, and redirected himself to follow the sound, cursing each tree he had to dash around and each shrub that caught at his paws.

Crossing the stream, Ralastor looked around for any indication of where she'd emerged from the water. His eyes failed to produce immediate results, so he turned to his nose. There! That was her scent. He took off again after her, breathing a little more heavily now.

Ralastor began to wear out. The battle had already taken a large toll on his normal reserves of energy; it seemed as if each step were fuelled by little more than will-power. Every time he met with one of the she-wolf's markers, though, a fresh burst of determination and excitement rippled through him. There was something different and thrilling about the smell of her, he noticed for the first time - not like the raw, lusty smell of a female's heat, but much more subtle. It was somehow psychologically exciting, rather than physically. To dance in such a way with a female, even when she was not in season, well... it served no purpose, did it? Logically, there was no point if there would be no resulting pups, but...

But he was driven to catch her. To make her his. She had even asked him to, by initiating the chase. Ralastor would answer her call - a call he understood finally through the clench of an over-worked heart and the burn of over-worked muscles.

Her trickery was not foreign to him, but that did not mean he was immune. The alpha had to stop and retrace his steps a few times, thrown off by the marked trees and the apparent aimlessness of her flight. Eventually, however, the scenery began to stir his memories into life. As he strove to keep up, his senses picked up on a certain combination of inputs (that birdcall, these trees, the smell of an old boundary marking made by the she-wolf) that thrust him back into his adolescence.

Ralastor slowed to a walk, absorbing this place again. Surely this was the path he had walked, hungry and egotistical, as a youth. He knew the area, but not in the same way he knew his own packlands. This was the familiarity of a dream, of a distant but frequent thought. It dawned on him where she was leading him. The dry riverbank where they had met. He smiled, and forced himself to a run once more. So, she had a touch of romanticism in her. Nostalgia tickled him in strange ways as he gave one last push to get to where he hoped she waited.

Meaning permeated this little spot of the lone female's territory. It was where he had faced his first major defeat, at the hands of a woman more ruthless and experienced than he. It had, to some small degree, haunted him a little. Now it would be time to come back and face those ghosts. At last, he came to the spot, and his eyes locked on his quarry. Ralastor stopped and stood, watching with great, great interest, chest heaving.