Sleeping Dragon In the merry month of June

ooc: maybe some of the natives are willing to make friends?

It had been a few days now, since Foxglove (and Junebell as well) had joined the ranks of Sleeping Dragon, found out that this was not exactly an ordinary pack, but had some sort of weird belief system that she neither understood, nor wanted to get into (though - as Junebell smugly pointed out - you would have to eventually, if you decided to stay). It had irked her a little in the beginning, because she had always praised herself as being perfectly normal, yet later she learned that the danger of becoming "abnormal" in any way was very slight. Because what she could tell from the stolen glances from the shadows at the other wolves - they did not look very extra-ordinary at all.

Oh well... it was probably high time she made friends, but having always held mealtimes in high regard, Foxglove had settled down by the river, holding a half-eaten fish between her forepaws and munching on it, while having a quiet inner conversation with her invisible sister. One could not tell from her face and expression alone that there were two living in one body.

The sun beat down on her back and shoulders as Wildfire crept along the riverbank, seeking the muskrat whose scent filled her nose. She tracked it to a thick growth of cattails but saw no sign of the animal itself. Licking her chops, the trapper lowered her belly to the ground, pushed her head among the weeds and scanned the nearby water. She then settled in for a wait, possibly a long one.

Her patience paid off when movement in the water caught her attention. Wildfire stiffened but did not move, amber eyes watching as a small head popped to the surface. The muskrat made a line toward the shore and her muscles tensed. When it came within striking range, the yearling launched herself toward the shallows, mindless of getting wet. A sharp squeal pierced the air as her jaws grasped the muskrat by the back of the neck, lifted it clear of the water and then applied pressure. Its squirming ceased as she severed its spine, killing it instantly.

Dripping wet, the victorious hunter sprang back onto shore, shook off her pelt and then began trotting toward the volcano. As she moved away from the river, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw a wolf. She slowed, then stopped. Wildfire then changed directions, approaching the stranger warily. Luckily for her, she smelled like the commander, so the Bandrona quickly identified her as a pack mate. She came to stand a few feet away, gently setting her kill down at her feet.

"Hey there," she greeted, only then really becoming aware of the stranger's exotically two-toned markings.

"What the hell do you think is this?!" Foxglove exclaimed, looking down at the half-eaten fish, when some part of the animal's insides had splayed accross her forepaws. "Urgh..." she scrunched up her nose, thus showing, how disgusted she felt, but after another moment of delibaration, picked it up and gulped it down in one take. "Your taste is awful," she told Junebell, who had always gone for more "exotic" (read- horrible) food and therefore made Foxglove suffer.

"I will most likely spend half of the next evening squat..." but she did not finish her sentence, because someone else's greeting (which was not Junebell) made her stop and jump in surprise. She furrowed her brow first, scrutinizing the other's face, trying to decipher, how much the red-pelted wolf had heard and understood. Then as if a magician had waved it's wand, the distrustful expression was changed immediately to one that spoke of open friendliness and cordiality. "Hello to you too!" Wag your tail, wag your tail, you fool! And few sways of her tail accompanied the greeting.

The Bandrona was too caught up in the woman's appearance to notice anything amiss. She was quite fetching, though Wildfire stopped short of finding her attractive. She paused, wondering about that. She had never felt herself drawn to a woman before or since Thuringwethil. Nor had many male wolves appealed to her outside of Floki. She wasn't blind to objective attractiveness, there was simply no draw for her without some sort of deeper connection. She tucked this idle thought into her proverbial back pocket and refocused.

"I'm Wildfire," she introduced, her own black tail waving in a slow, friendly fashion before she took a seat. Absently, she lifted on paw to settle on top of the dead muskrat. "Are you hungry, by any chance?" Wildfire asked, even though she had caught the telltale whiff of fish in the air.

"Foxglove," the dappled wolf returned the greeting and offered a toothy grin at the same time forcing herself not to stare at the muskrat in a way a famished creature does. Even Junebell agreed that a muskrat was a much more favorable meal than the fish and therefore the urge to jump to her feet and just grab the thing right away was very strong. 

"Nah, I have mine," she sighed and for a moment looked like a kid, who had refused chocolate and decided to eat a turnip instead. "Good stuff, by the way," she added, knowing small bits of nonesense sometimes helped to keep the conversation going.

Foxglove declined, though her reluctant tone made Wildfire wonder. Nonetheless, she didn't push it. "I'll cache it then," she announced to nobody in particular. She wasn't hungry herself, having helped herself to a stockpile earlier in the day. She just hadn't been able to pass up the opportunity once presented with the muskrat's scent. Most likely she'd drop it off at the store closest to the rendezvous site, so the pups could have a snack later.

"Isn't a foxglove a kind of flower?" she asked conversationally, making no move to act on her immediately previous declaration. "I used to be a bit of a naturalist and my sister was a healer." Well, Raven had been a medic in training. Who knew where she was now or what she was doing? "I remember her mentioning foxgloves in some kind of medical capacity, though I don't recall details."

"Really?" Foxglove sounded surprised, though this hardly counted as the first time she heard this particular question. Of course she knew, what a foxglove was and what it could do. Poisonous from the roots to the stalks. A heart-mover or stopper, depending on, how much you took, blah, blah, blah... She had heard enough of this during the majority of her first year from her parents and siblings, endured supposedly witty jokes and nasty teasing about it. Enough for a lifetime.

However, she did not let any of this inner turmoil show. Therefore she averted her gaze and shrugged: "I always thought that it was just a stupid name. My parents weren't particularly creative, but I see that yours have. Why Wildfire?"

Wildfire nodded, then glanced off into the distance, squinting at a movement out there. It turned out to be a squirrel bouncing along, surely in search of acorns to stash for the winter. Her amber gaze wandered back to Foxglove as she spoke in turn. The tip of the Bandrona's tail twitched curiously, head tilting ever so slightly to the right.

"My mother's name is Fox," she shared, then replied to the question at hand by saying, "I guess it has to do with the color of my coat. My mom actually calls me Dhole, though. I evidently strongly resemble one. They're wild dogs or something that live in a different part of the world," she explained.

"How long have you been here?" Wildfire wondered next, carrying the conversation naturally. "And what brought you to Sleeping Dragon in particular?"

Apparently there were parents, who were even less creative than Foxglove's (and Junebell's too for that matter). Had their parents followed the same tradition Wildfire's had, the dappled she-wolf would most likely be named Mud-Patch or Wild-dog or... just Dirt. When faced with these options, she was quite satisfied with the unfitting and annoying flower name. Thank you very much. 

"Practical reasons," Foxglove shrugged, not really understanding, why such question was asked. Were there any other reasons people joined certain packs? Perhaps, there were. Or more likely people, who claimed that, were just hypocrites, who wanted to make their deed seem greater than it actually was. "What about you - I suppose you were born elsewhere?" Other people generally weren't much interested in you or your life story, they wanted an excuse to spill their own. And Foxglove, who hated to talk about herself much, was the perfect audience.

10/11: I'm going to conclude and archive since Foxglove went inactive. :)

There was no particular reason Foxglove had chosen Sleeping Dragon. Wildfire tipped her head, pondering that. The pack was so niche, in a way, that it was surprising that a random passerby would join simply for the sake of it. What did Foxglove make of the culture, now that she was here? The Bandrona didn't ask, though, nor did she judge. She just found it all a little thought-provoking.

Upon being asked a question herself, she replied, "You'd be right. I was born in a pack south of here called Redhawk Caldera. My parents still rule there to this day. I spent a little bit of time with another pack not far from there but it didn't work out. Then I wandered here and Thur—Heda—took me in."

She paused there, wondering momentarily if she had said too much or given anything away. The brief moment of panic ebbed away, however, as she was fairly sure none of what she'd said was particularly telling. But just in case, Wildfire changed the subject by asking, "So, what trades do you think you will pursue here?"

They exchanged small talk for a little longer, though Wildfire knew she must get her kill buried in a cache before it started to ripen in the August heat. "I'll see you around," the trapper said to Foxglove before retrieving the carcass and heading off to find a cool, shady stockpile somewhere.