Cedar Sweep i'll follow the sounds of wings

she is a flicker of flame, a memory of what fall once was. the colours have faded from the world, now, leaving browns and greys and the dull green of coniferous boughs. snow spots the hinterlands, half-melted and dingy, and the world seems weary. clutched in her jaws is a jay, moments ago loud and raucous. its feathers clung to her muzzle and chest as she moves south, searching for a place to quietly eat her meal. 

she has been alone for many months now, hardly speaking to others. the girl has learned much of the world, wandering as she always seems to, now. she is a yearling now, all sharp angles, willowy and bearing the flaming pelt that she was destined to wear. but still the druidess is alone, and as she crouches now to snap through the cooling body of the jay, she is confident in the knowledge that this is perfectly fine.

The squat trees of the forest had proved a welcoming sight for sore eyes. Winter—rather, winter winds—had stripped all but a few trees bare of their vibrant leaves. They laid where they fell, slow decay diminishing their color to that of the earth. Dirge slipped between the needled boughs effortlessly, taking in the quiet ambiance. His ears were attuned for the sounds that would differ; perhaps a hare or grouse would stir and entice him.

Winter had begun to thin him out, a not so unseen outcome. Though his summery stamina had shed itself along with the warmer season, he persisted with the same unwavering steps that had brought him to the wilderness weeks before. There was still so much to be seen, the endless urge to discover and seek drove him where sense did not. A more sensible wolf would have already sought refuge somewhere. At least that was the thought he had when things grew dire, and thankfully this was not one of those times.

A subtle crack through the expanse ahead lent him pause then; Dirge drew in a breath to test the air and let it go in a breathy plume. A few more careful steps forward revealed much of what he couldn't ascertain—the red plume of a she-wolf and the fluff of feathers of some bird she had made a meal. Though hunger gnawed at him, what she had was far too meager. Of course, she probably needed it more than he did anyway.

"Careful of the bones," he said to her in lieu of a better opener.

She picked carefully at her catch, stripping the feathers of the stomach and picking at the meagre flesh. She would enjoy the tiny meal as it lasted, eating carefully to pull every last nutrient from the jay. She had gotten through most of the body when approaching footsteps sent alarm coursing through her, and she tugged quickly a wing from the body, attempting to much it as quickly as possible. 

The male turned the corner just as one of the bones lodged behind her teeth, having her flinch and swallow the tough wing dryly. She offered him a put-out glare as she worked her jaws, pawing at her fangs until the bloodied bone slipped out, landing at her paws as she scrunched up her face in pain, forgetting to address the male in lieu of the more pressing issue of her poor gums.

Too little, too late.

Dirge had a momentary wince as the very thing happened. It was a hazard of eating such things, particularly the smaller they were. Bird bomes splintered too easily for his liking, but given the sparse options they had as of late, beggars couldn't be choosers. The she-wolf dispatched of the bone with haste, the glare cast away, and Dirge merely retained his distance beneath the bare boughs.

"Some lessons are better learned the hard way," he went on to say, as though commentary was necessary. She didn't need the narration, but for want of better words he continued. "Catch that one by surprise? Seems it wanted you to know it didn't want to be a meal after all." His gaze set to the bird, all blue and grey and well, bloodied. Too little too late indeed.

Gradually her expression softened as the hurt faded, though her mouth still throbbed. The male didn't seem fazed by her glare, and while he didn't seem to be a threat, she was wary all the same, skin prickling.  She was silent until he finished speaking, breaking her silence to offer only a "yes," adding after a moment of thought, "can't find anything else." The girl didn't think it would have been this bad, the winter, driving away the prey and making her sharper, leaner. It was her first, and her first alone, though she would seek to remedy the second soon enough.

Winter was notorious for dwindling everything, this Dirge knew. Though he had been fortunate enough to grow in a warmer climate, here was another story. It was no surprise to him that the bird had been her prime choice, as larger game remained out of the reach of solo hunters, and smaller game much more difficult to find and capture with the ever-changing terrain and conditions.

He nodded to her words—he had been there too. Scavenging had its perks, but it was less savory and filling. There were few things that stood out and ahead of something warm and fresh and of course the added satisfaction of a swift kill. Winter was not a kind season for them, but then again it was equal in its unkindness towards those that banded together.

"And with a pack nearby I don't imagine we'll find much else. No doubt they've run the deer thin," and just as possible, the deer and elk were smart enough to migrate away. "I can't say I've seen an impressive amount of them still alive. Even the bones are getting harder to find."

The girl's ears flick forward at what information the male offers, echoing after a beat, "pack?" She is intrigued, though it is intrigue mixed with dread, for surely visiting a pack would encounter social interaction with large numbers of unfamiliar wolves.  The other explains that food here is scarce than she thought, and her brow creases. "what do you do, to survive?" she asked, amending a moment later, "survive winter. never seen winter before." Her words came more often and with greater confidence, now, that she had judged the male to be no threat, and, rather, friendly.

Her voice seemed hushed on first recall, words echoing in the wake of his prattling that Dirge only took in the gravity of her situation when she had poised queries of her own. Such queries were stilted, attached together only by timing and context and his surprise was imperceptible. Why, every wolf knew how to survive, he wanted to say and press on, going along in such a way that he could segway to more meaningful avenues to serve his own good. But the look or lack thereof that had settled onto her features played at their shared youth, though he was willing to wager she more an adolescent than he ever had been.

"We survive by whatever ways we must," he answered almost a moment too late. He would have betrayed his nonchalance. "For some, that's scavenging. Bones, birds, whatever we can lay teeth to. Others try their luck with the packs, or in this case a pack, which I believe is... somewhere off that way," he went on, then gesturing loosely over his shoulder with his snout to shore up answers. "I haven't laid eyes on them, but their borders are broad enough to smell on a windy day." He didn't intend to either, not unless necessity deemed it. His experience with packs were limited to his natal home, and that was not a memory he cared to relive yet.

His gaze settled on her once again.

"What's your name, little songbird?"

AS they must, he said. She'd been fortunate enough to avoid eating carrion thus far, but the threat of having to eat the rotten meat had her stomach roll. When he mentioned a pack, she glanced in the general direction he indicated and offered a contemplative hum, wondering if she'd try her luck. Blinking, turning back to the male, she answered easily now. "anatha. yours?" A little smile played at her muzzle at the moniker he offered her, it was nice, this simple, positive interaction. With practice, she'd get better at this.

Anatha. It seemed a simple name, but unusual enough he thought it exotic to a degree. It was the type of name easy enough to roll the length of his tongue and surprisingly natural. It did not have the harshness or weight of others. It was light, the accompaniment to the moniker he had given her. How fitting, he thought.

"Dirge," he told her His own name had a meaning he did not know, but the roughness was not lost on him. He always offered it in a way that tried to cast light on it. There was little he could do to change it, and truth be told he wasn't keen on adopting a different name. The thought had simply not occured to him.

"How long have been wandering on your own?"

And the two talked for a bit more before parting.