Raven's Watch and at once i knew i was not magnificent

@Menta

It was not a great distance that he had traveled that day. The wolfdog had tried his best to remain closer to the coast than he had been before. Should he need to, he would be able to dart back to his sibling near the water in a short amount of time. Nevertheless, the willowy boy had wanted to venture outward to see what lands surrounded them. Though he was not particularly fond of the cliffs, he thought that perhaps if the ravens flocked there, there would be a chance that he could catch sight of some shiny bobble in their midst. Oxtli had always known the creatures to be thrifty, and they would frequently pluck items from the beach to take back to their homes. Although the creatures frightened him somewhat, he knew they were of an intelligent species and that had great potential.
 
With a few careful steps, the wolfdog followed the dark birds as they flocked overhead. The area surrounding the jagged rocks was stunning in itself. Daunting and sharp, the rocks jutted from the earth and soared upwards with a natural ferocity; Amoxtli wished that he could come close to mimicking that intensity. He knew that his doggish appearance often gave way to the sharp words of others. He was not a precocious fighter, or a fiendish ruffian… he was simple and kind, and the willow preferred to listen to the stories of others than to attempt to share his own. Though he lacked the language, it always brightened his day to hear those around him speak.
 
Taking a glance at the sharp angle that stood before him, the Tervuren began to wonder if it would be wise to attempt to climb upwards. He watched the birds float to and fro without much difficulty, and he knew that if he began to stretch his limbs towards their perch, there was a possibility that he would make it and find himself too afraid to clamber back down. His sharp and fiery gaze roamed over the rocks and he breathed a quiet sigh, ears falling flat on his crown.

Cliffs made her nervous.

Cliffs, if nothing else, were not something that Menta was well versed in. For all that she lived in the flats of the mountains, the cream wolf had always spent time away from the jagged posturing of cliffs. She didn't think herself a coward - simply pragmatic, not as stupid as some of her siblings who wanted to dance on the edges and pretend the distance to the ground below didn't make them queasy. What was the point, if you had nothing to prove?

But the birds in this case drew her near -- birds and hunger. The dark ravens surely knew something that she did not, such as where to find even scraps of berries or perhaps even a dead one amongst them (if the latter wasn't too much to hope for.) Menta could see a cluster of them ahead and quickened her pace to see what they were after, even as her paws warned of the increasing untrustworthiness of the rocky ground underneath. It wasn't very long at all before the shape of another creature ahead actually made her mind call out to stop.

He made her more nervous than the ravens or the scene before him, if even only because he was a stranger. The canine was not facing her, looking out beyond to where she was planning on following the now cackling ravens, but she could tell that something was.. off. Menta had seen different wolves come and go - mostly go, chased off for being too close to pack grounds - as she grew up, but their shapes more or less looked the same. The same and therefore a bit different than this male before her.

It only took a moment before she decided to give a soft warning woof from where she stood, more to announce her presence than try and make an aggressive play at his spot. Menta was wary, but generally avoided personal injury if there was no reason for it.

As the wolfdog thought to approach the cliffs, there was a quiet warning that was woofed from behind him, and the beast swung around with his tail tucked tightly to his rear and his eyes wide. Dark mask pointed in her direction, Oxtli peered at her with curious fiery eyes. The woman was pale and rather beautiful in her own right. His dark lips curled upwards in a smile that suggested he would not be of any danger to her. The tail that he had tucked to his back end was lifted and he flagged it to her in a welcoming manner. The ivory woman did appear to be quite cautious of his presence, and this caused the boy to wonder what it had been that had elicited such a worry. Though he did not look as most wolves did, he still carried their blood in his body. And he did not belong to a pack, which should have been a relief for the girl.
 
Glancing upwards to the rocks, Oxtli saw a particularly large raven land against a jutting rock with something sharp clasped between its beak. The wolfdog grew excited at the prospect of having found something that the birds had picked up in their flight. His tail waved faster for a moment before it slowly found stillness. The raven overhead used the object in its mouth as a beater; whacking it against the ground with some force.
 
The Corten boy turned back to lock his eyes squarely with his white-furred companion. With a wide smile curling his face, he motioned with his muzzle for her to approach. It would be safe; he was not a dangerous sort of friend in the light of all this destruction and famine.

Menta's muscles stayed frozen and tense as the male spun around quickly, although she had to also quell what was almost a growl coming up her throat. What had she expected? Of course he also wanted to get a good look at what was now in front of him. Those eyes, those eyes that made her almost try to look right into them as if she wasn't well versed by now in remaining neutral - they had a fire that was almost as unfamiliar to her as the rest of his form.

As he made his own inspections, his lips curled into a smile that was all warmth and no aggression. Menta's own, longer tail swished into a mimicking motion of his, repeating his signal of no harm intended. It wasn't hard to see that he was smaller - and thus as Menta's idiot brain always assumed, much less of a challenge - than her, that whatever wolf type he came from must have been bred to have a completely different purpose than the brute strength her body lended. Perhaps this setting was what he and his family were better at, she figured, although this made her no less curious.

Hello, she tried out just before her yellow eyes followed his towards the rocks. Menta glanced between the raven's activities and this dark fellow, watching his excitement with much more interest once she quickly deduced that that this was not an opportunity for food.

Paws started her forward instinctively once she was beckoned, bringing her closer by a few steps before she consciously realized what she was doing and forced herself to stop several feet away from the male. This was as comfortable as she felt coming, and perhaps even closer yet. Are you familiar with this area? Menta inquired, wondering if perhaps this could be an opportunity to glean information. 

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The gentle fire in his gaze was beautiful as it slowly touched over the shapes of her form and the colors that her coat possessed. The quiet wave of her tassel was a sign that, though she was wary, she was willing to take him for face value and she closed more of the distance between them. She was larger than he, but this was not a remarkable feat; the wolfdog was something of an anomaly in those lands, and he had grown used to being smaller than most others. With his size, he had learned a few tricks, and also had a knack for keeping himself out of trouble. The pallid female was not someone that he felt he should be wary of; if she should try to take his treasure, Amoxtli would simply allow her to leave with whatever they managed to catch… if anything at all. The idea of a physical altercation did not even touch his mind.
 
Her voice, once it struck him, was quiet and pleasant and he bobbed his head in a greeting of his own before attempting a half-hearted whuff that sounded almost as if the wind had been knocked from him. Some had found his lack of a voice an oddity, but others had merely accepted it for what it was. Oxtli had found that it was not entirely a necessity to survive. The Tervuren had his sister, and she was by far the best companion he could have come by. Their shared muteness was even more of a bond than anything else.
 
Fixing the woman with his fiery optics, the wolfdog’s gaze had a sort of twinkle there. When the pale woman inquired to him about his knowledge of the area, the boy flicked his ears backwards and shook his head from side to side. Then, his expression shifted to that of excitement and he flagged his tail to her once or twice before allowing it to waver in place. The expression on his face was a hopeful one. For, while he did not know much of the terrain at that point in time, it did not mean that he couldn’t learn.
 
The raven overhead continued to use the item in its beak as a sort of hammer against the stone. Oxtli shifted his gaze upward toward it and narrowed his brows thoughtfully. He wondered if there would be a way to retrieve it from the dark corvid. With a glance in the direction of his pearl-coated companion, the Tervuren tilted his head to the right and drew his ears forward atop his crown. There was a questioning expression there, as if he were asking the pleasant female ’what do you think of our feathered friend?’   

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sorry she's so daft!

The cream perked and strained her ears forward to catch the small whuff from her companion, wondering now if his otherwise nonvocal communication could be explained by a lost voice. Menta tried giving an encouraging small smile; it had been since she was a child that such a thing happened to her, but she remembered the frustration well. That it could be permanent did not dawn on her.

No knowledge of the area, just like her, he confirmed -- not that she supposed that it mattered now, if he had no way to tell her about it. Menta was not terribly disappointed, although it made her more wary of the potential dangers of the cliff as she took a step close to him. I'm Menta, she offered as courtesy in an effort to show that she was still friendly. Surely an approaching and aggressive wolf wouldn't stop to introduce herself.

Back again his gaze shifted from the inspection of her to the curious black bird. Menta followed suit again, less nervous about their interaction now, and allowed herself to focus on the actions of the raven. It's trying to break it? she suggested, squinting her yellow eyes for a moment before looking back to her unusual looking companion. Truth be told, the sight of him interested her far more than the bird - but he could not offer answers about how and where he came from, and instead gave a tilt of the head.

He seemed to be asking something, although what it was Menta couldn't quite grasp. Do you have something you need to break? she asked dumbly, wondering if perhaps he was looking to this bird for inspiration. The cream wolf supposed she could offer assistance if it was something he could not break alone - break open? a flash of hope and hunger again - but otherwise couldn't see what he would like her to do. 

Oh no! Amoxtli is enjoying her company so much right now. <3

The sheepdog watched as the woman drew her ears forward and caught the raspy breath that had fallen from his lips. It was nothing like the beautiful voice that she possessed, and he found himself drawn to the sound of it more than the treasure that was clasped in the beak of the raven up above. Because he lacked the ability to speak for himself, it did not make him a bitter creature. He had found the lack of a voice an opportunity to listen to the words of those around him. Many stories had been told to the Tervuren because of his listening skills; he only wished – at times – that he could share them with others. But instead, Amoxtli housed the tales inside of him like a quiet storybook with a lock and no key. He could enjoy the memory of them, but could never allow someone to open him up and look inside.
 
The woman introduced herself as Menta and he flagged his tail behind him with an eager expression on his face. Then, as she looked to him somewhat expectantly, he flattened his ears to his skull and found himself at the most difficult part of meeting someone new. While lowering his crown slightly and moving forward as if to nudge underneath her chin, the halfling made a face that suggested she could give him whatever name she wished. It would not have been the first time that someone had simply called him something so that they could communicate with him. Along with the stories that had been shared with the Corten boy, he kept a memory of the names that had been given to him by kind strangers. Menta could be one of them too.
 
More clamoring overhead, and the newly acquainted Menta asked the wolfdog if their feathered friend was attempting to break the treasure in his beak. Amoxtli turned to her with a small smile and nodded his head to her, suggesting that her guess was absolutely correct. If only he could manage to break the bird’s concentration, there was a possibility that the corvid could drop the item down where the two wolves stood. Of course, the Tervuren was not longer worried that the creamy girl beside him would attempt to thieve the treasure away. She had made great effort to ensure that she was a friendly face to the halfling.
 
Another question fell from her lips and it caused the wolfdog to turn to face her with an inquisitive expression on his features. She wanted to know if he needed to break something, but he could not understand what there was he could possibly break. Confusion etched his face and he shook his shaggy head from side to side to tell her that he needn’t break a single thing. Then, with a quiet and ragged whine from the bottom of his throat, he pointed his nose toward the treasure in the bird’s beak and rose upward on his hind legs. Though the sheepdog could not explain to the sweet Menta that he was a purveyor of treasures and all things odd, he could do his very best to answer her questions. Oxtli only hoped that she would not grow tired of his lack of vocal chords and leave him on his own. He very much enjoyed her company.

The mute wolfdog in front of her made what she perceived as a sheepish gesture near her when she gave her own home that made her think of the younger wolves and pups back home, and it put her at at relaxed ease. Whether or not he was actually younger than her, she did not know, but there seemed to be more play and youth in his eyes than she had felt in a while as a lone wolf. Menta smiled at this reminder of one of the more pleasant memories of home and for a moment almost lapsed into the more familiar Italian.

Mute, she reminded herself quickly, not foreign. For he still understood her, and for that she would need to keep with English. He nodded, now, to her question about the bird -- but not his need to break anything. The cream's yellow eyes widened as she watched him seem to reach out now for the raven and its held treasure. Oh! she exclaimed, now thinking that she understood. You want its rock?

Menta was comfortable enough now to take a few steps closer to both him and the raven, her head tilted up to take a better look at the latter. It still fluttered out of the proximity of the boy's reach, and the cream hadn't even needed to think before deciding that she needed to help him to get at what he wanted. Perhaps a bark would startle the bird into dropping its treasure? A leap towards it?

Menta worried that both actions also had the potential for simply scaring it away while still maintaining a hold, so she looked back over at her new friend. How can I help? she asked, hopeful that he had manuevered this before and could somehow communicate his ideas.