sagacity. [au]

[Pyro]

SAGACITY:
when you have it, when you don't, how you get it, and the people who can give it to you.

This fanfiction is set in an alternate universe. It will feature several characters from forest of fate but focus -mainly- on the adventures and mishaps of Sootnose and Owlheart. AKA Everett Sooty and Virgil Ohart. Hold onto your socks folks, because things might get weird.

ONE.
Track, make camp, don't sleep. Track, make camp, don't sleep.

Tracking consumed the hot hours of the day. Making camp was now second nature. Not sleeping a must for survival. In routine there was predictability, never good when one was following a psycho, but in that routine was comfort, and it was this routine which helped Everett Sooty keep his sanity as he tracked his mother's murderer. Possibly his father's too. He wasn't sure. Mother was never too open on the subject of his father's disappearance. More than willing to tell him how great Parson was, how strong, but ask that forbidden question, 'if he was so great, then why did he leave us', and it was upstairs and lights out. Everett was too old now for lights out.

But too young to see his mother's mangled body. Chest slashed, throat blown out. No one was ever old enough to see that.

It was sick luck that gave Everett the light of a waxing, now full moon to track by, and just plain good luck that the man he was following was too stupid to cover his trail. It was cockiness. Stupidity or cockiness, maybe both. Either way it only made him hate the man even more. And it gave him his own cockiness. He'd been worried that his father's old colt, the only thing the man had left behind, wouldn't match up to the murder's shotgun (what else could have done that to his mother?), but if he could pull the trigger before the murderer could...Well. Hopefully he was as slow in body as he was, apparently, in mind.

The aforementioned colt was in Everett's hands now as he examined a particularly deep-set boot print. He held back a curse--Mother had taught him better-- as he came to the conclusion that the man had started running. That meant that somehow he'd caught on to the fact that someone was tailing him. If only he had that chestnut thoroughbred from the auction. But murder-man had killed the stallion too, and had the gall to eat some of it. Raw, if the lack of scorch marks and ashes on the ground were anything to go by.

"No, nothing gentlemanly about you."

The murderer had probably never heard of a suit, let alone worn one. That his mother could have been killed by such a vile, low berth, poor excuse for a--rustling. Everett looked up from the print, glancing at his surroundings. He could have sworn he heard a--aha! There it was again. Cocking his gun, he rose, looking at his surroundings once more with greater scrutiny. He could hear a distinct low growl now, one that sent shivers up his spine and made him clutch his father's colt all the harder. A wolf. It had to be. Of all the luck...he hadn't seen any signs of one in the area. Or had he been too focused on tracking down his mother's murder to notice anything else? He jerked around to face where the growl was coming from, turned to stare at...at a man.

A man with boots.

A man with the hungry, eerie grin of someone who's just killed. Who's pleased they're about to kill again.

"You know, you look just like your daddy. I'd know 'is face anywhere." The stranger edged closer, still grinning. "Betcha you're wonderin' how's it come about I knew your daddy."

"My father was an honorable leader. He would never have associated with scum such as you."

Stranger laughed- a harsh, grating sound. "Your pretty momma never told you? Shame. I woulda thought she'd be more honest. You wanter know what your daddy was? Really was?"

Silence.

" 'im was a wolf of a man, if you get my meanin'. Just like me." More laughter, and stony silence from Everett. "And your daddy killed my daddy. My daddy was honorable too, you know. 'E just didn't partick'lerly like the way your daddy was leading. So 'e rose up. And 'e was killed. Your daddy was nothin' but a self-righteous murderer. Didn't wanna lose 'is prrreciousssss followers."

"Obviously, grief has driven you insane. My condolences for your loss. That does not absolve you from guilt, however. You murdered my mother."

"I did." Stranger moved even closer now, narrowing his eyes. "It was only fair. Cause 'im pain back. 'E didn't feel a thing. I'm goin' a make sure 'e does. And when you meet your daddy in the Pit, you tell 'im it was Lobo what sent you."

Lobo's chest bulged and he clawed at it, ripping the flesh away to reveal tawny fur as he fell to his knees. His head twisted in shape, elongating, becoming more canine by the second, as he both grew and dwindled in size. He was scrawny. Raggedy. And he scared the everliving shit out of Everett.

The would-be avenger fell backwards, scrambling to get away from the monster before him. oh sure he'd heard about werewolves, but to think that one was here. Here. The image of his mother's throat flashed in his mind; not blown out but torn.

Torn.

This. Beast. This vile beast killed his mother, and he was running away. No, his pride would not stand for that. He dived to the side as the aptly named 'Lobo' lunged for him and began firing. And firing. And firing. Six shots gone like nothing, and though Lobo bled from where those bullets had slammed into him, he was disturbingly unaffected, jubilant even.

"Oh dear--that didn't work out for you at all."

Everett fumbled in the pockets of his pants for more ammo, trying not to panic as the wolf-beast stalked closer and closer, seeming to relish each step. The creature rose to its hind-legs, tall as a grizzly, and smiled. A large, clawed paw came smashing down, and it was only a lucky dodge that saved Everett from being cut open like a thanksgiving turkey. Or perhaps not so lucky. It put Everett in range of the creature's other paw, which Lobo gladly proceeded to slash him with. He struggled, but to no avail. He was pinned. Relief from the onslaught only came when Lobo rose up once more for the killing blow.

"I'm gonna rip your throat ou' jus' like I did your pretty momma's."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, son." the slow drawl surprised both man and beast, but it was only the beast who turned to face the newcomer.

"Stay ou' of this, Ranger."

Oh height of impropriety.

"Fraid I can't do that."

As the pain from Everett's wounds pushed him toward the bliss of unconsciousness, he saw Lobo move away from him and toward the new stranger.

There was a gun shot.

Then nothing.

[Pyro]

SAGACITY:
when you have it, when you don't, how you get it, and the people who can give it to you.

TWO.
After being mauled by a werewolf, knocked out, and God knows what else, the last thing Everett wanted to do was wake up to a wide ol' grin full of all the happiness and vitality that he lacked. But he did. Because you can't always get what you want.

"Are you....are you the...damn that's a nice smile you got there."

That made the man smile even wider, a feat Everett had not thought possible even in his groggy delirium. Dear lord, was this the man that had rescued him? How could he be so...so cheerful? If he had to owe a debt to someone, why couldn't that someone be a little more....not like this? He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and struggled to a sitting position. He was in a bed. Okay. So he'd been moved. Smiley-man didn't look like he had the strength in him to do that, and one glance around the small room didn't reveal any guns to his slightly-less dozy eyes. "You aren't the...ranger are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it; I'm the doctor." the doctor took Everett's hand in a rough (and uninvited) shake. "Doctor Daniel Crowe."

"I take it by your...treatment of my arm that I'm all healed up? Ready to go?" If the man before him was not the ranger then he saw no reason to continue staying in such an uncomfortable situation.

"Yes...you healed up pretty fast. Might have wanted to study your case if I wasn't used to this sort of thing by now. Kinda makes me yearn for a normal one, but all Virgil, Rhea, and Cinder ever bring me are well..." He frowned a bit, and paused as though he were thinking things over. "I don't mind really. It's just not what I expected when I went into this profession."

"Study?" Everett rose from the bed, wary. He'd tuned out at that word. It brought to mind...well. Daniel's near-never fading grin made the things the word brought to mind very unpleasant.

"Well yes. Not many humans-"

"Humans?"

"-could recover from such extensive damage in only a week. I mean, I thought I was gonna lose you a couple times. Had to call in Finch from Austin. Of course, by the time he showed up you'd stabilized and we were all scratchin' our heads about it."

"But why would you want to study that?"

"Cause after you stabilized your wounds just up and disappeared."

The whole conversation made Everett want to tear his hair out. And slap that infuriating grin off Daniel's face. "After I stabilized."

"Yeah you probably wouldn't remember all that thrashin' about seein' as you were out for most of it. And of course, you definitely wouldn't remember those couple of times I had to resuscitate you." He came closer to Everett, peering at his face with concerned eyes. "You want some lavender? You look a little unsettled." Couldn't blame him.

"Unsettled? Unsettled? Well of course I'm unsettled you just told me I'm some kind of medical miracle or- or-"

"No, not a medical miracle. Non-mundanes do this sort of thing all the time."

"Non?"

"Non-mundane, yes. You know, not human? Or well, I mean, not really-"

"I know what a non-mundane is, Doctor. I just don't know what it has to do with me."

A hand grabbed Everett by the shoulder and pushed him down onto the bed. "Ease up there jumpy, you're stressin' Crowe." A familiar drawl.

"No, Virgil, he's my patient. He has every right to ask me questions."

Shrug. "Whatever you say, doc."

This was the man. This was the man who had saved him. Everett looked him over, inconspicuously; he hadn't even heard him come in. The man screamed ranger in every sense of the god-awful word. Scars, ill-kept stubble, dirty. His rescuer -apparently- lacked the common decency to take off his muddy boots before entering someone's home. But it was easier to see this man as having saved him than...Crowe. He tried to rise but the hand kept him down. The man-Virgil the doctor had called him, looked down, stern. "Just stay there partner, we got some talkin' t'do. Gimme a chair, would ya, doctor?"

Everett could tell it was going to be a long talk. It stung his pride to no end to think that he needed to be talked to, not with, to, but some respect was owed to his rescuer. And well, there was still that hand on his shoulder that could no doubt cause all sorts of damage.

"Well then, partner let's talk. It's about time I got some answers that make sense."