Grouse Thicket cry wolf [malice]

He is, at first, unsure of himself. After all, the very terrain he treads he is uncertain of, does not know how the ground underneath his feet is to move and rumble, whether it groans from the weight of all the world upon it. Ah-ah, these are the things Ysengrin wishes to discover, wishes to weave tales of and spin the stuff of dreams from before he returns home, across the seas, under the watchful gaze of Father-Sun and Mother-Sky. To exotic lands and family undiscovered! He lingers to test the scent in the air only slightly, finding the smells of bird and bone, sharp, serpent eyes tracking movements in the dark.

There! Just barely there he makes out the silhouette of a bird, a grouse - fat in preparation for the coming winter, aye! He is quick, lightning-quick to hustle over, near leaping o'er the ground towards his prey, his reward, his right as wolf and predator. He waits, careful to stay downwind, hungering for the succulent flesh in his jaws, but does not slaver. No, Madir has always said never to drool like an uncouth beast - he is wolf and wolf he must be in thought and speech and action, in daily tasks well done. 

Instead, Ysengrin waits, eyes a-glow in the deep of a thicket, small stature concealing as easily as it betrays the prey. And then, he leaps, crushing in his maw - a graceful kill, perhaps, the clean separation of head from neck. Ah, hunger! He tears into the meat, muzzle bloodstained and silver-grey peering out, ever watching, ever waiting.

@Malice woo thread

Not often she wandered, but when she did, she almost always went to the forest she knew best. It was not far from home, and yet it felt so different, and she could not get enough of the grouse that roamed here and the shade the trees provided. Even in winter, she suspected, she would come here often to get away and free her mind of troubles. Her coat wet and cold from the river, she wandered, not expecting to found a peculiar male hunting. 

He was feeding on one of the animals here, and Malice did not like this. These were Arthendal's hunting grounds, and every grouse stolen from them they could not feed upon in the coldest months. She cleared her throat loudly as she stepped toward him, tail raised and yellow eyes set ablaze not by fury, but by curiosity and disbelieve. 

He tastes success - his eyes alive with need and when he is sated, he is interrupted by a cough, a clearing of throat. Ysengrin looks up, looks around for the source and it is forthcoming indeed - a lady! A lady of soot and ash, large and dark. He thinks, to himself and himself only, of the nature of such a woman but she is not simply woman, no. She holds herself highly, present in the raise of tail, in the gaze that digs through him, in the confidence of her movement.

But he does not tremble. Ysengrin only waits for her to finish her actions, considering, considering, considering. He sees the dominance in her stance and yet he does not flinch - it is well within his rights to be here. Perhaps, from her scent, she hides a pack nearby and she does not wish him to find them. Or perhaps her pack itself finds sustenance here - ah, what a fantasy it be!

Ysen sees, oh, he sees the look in her eyes, the hunger to know in yellow pools, shock of his being here, his feeding. He is careful not to make sudden movements so he turns fluidly, standing over his meal - for it he has worked and he will not give it up so easily, though civil he may be. For now.

"Madam," says he, a short, quick bow. Gentlemanly - he must always embody it, so says his Madir. "A pleasant day. How fare you? And what be your business in these parts?"
@Malice

His eyes were cold, much like those her sister carried, but the fury of a thousand men was within her - it did not let her feel anything. If anything, he intrigued her, even though he was on their hunting grounds they had claimed for at least a month now. Softly she awaited either submission or anger, but neither came. He just stood there, perhaps observing her massive yet regal frame, and so she found it appropriate to study the male she towered over as well.

Mostly the color of storm clouds and bloodstains, he looked perhaps as plain as any. Even with the white mixed in and the slight handsomeness, he was still just an Indian wolf. The only thing that really stood out to the Lady was his tail - or rather, lack off. Her mate and youngest son had suffered the same fate, and she had taken the tail from a trespasser before. For a moment, the possibility of this being the very wolf that had dishonored Moonlit Hills' lands before was big, but then she remembered it had been a female. A female quite fond of her belief in something holy - something more than them all combined.

She did not mind him trying to protect his meal - even though he had (not intentionally) stolen from her family. He had caught it, and she was not hungry. It was as simple as that. She awaited to be spoken to, and at last he did - one of her brows raising as he acted not even slightly nervous. He did not tremble over his words, did not display awareness and left her confused. Who was this man? What was he doing here, besides eating their food? I am not very pleased with your presence here, but for the most part I am doing well. She answered honestly. I came here to wander and to see if settlers were not feeding upon the food on our hunting grounds - it is good that I have decided to come, I see. She said with a nod.

What does the man with no fear seek here? Why did he not tremble like so many before him? She asked, squinting both eyes, one marked by a deep scar.

so he waits, and so ysengrin entertains himself with the idea of biting into the prey at his feet once more. childish frivolity is a thing he has not yet quite grown out of and he quite fancies the thought. but alas! he does not, and ysen politely keeps such dastardly notions away from the lady dear. he studies her - towering pillars he merely passes as legs, distant, amber pits. amusement would fill the boy if he had more to focus on, discovering himself awaiting the lady dear's next words. he is sure that they will come.

ysengrin smiles - short, sweet, almost. oh, the words of the lady! she is delightfully honest with him and the boy breaks out into lilting laughter - he does so appreciate such candor. I am not very pleased with your presence here, but for the most part I am doing well. her voice - it is jagged but smooth all the same and ysen delights. so few now reveal their true feelings, he has chanced upon a polished gem amongst dirt and mineral!

"presence comes and presence goes, madam. this wolf shall not dally here for long, worry not." he listens with fervent attention - such is his desire to discover more about this lady, this cultured woman dwelling upon mud-filled land. I came here to wander and to see if settlers were not feeding upon the food on our hunting grounds - it is good that I have decided to come, I see. she speaks more, drawing yet more quiet, though good-natured, laughter from the boy. a settler! ysengrin dreamweaver is no settler, no - he is a wanderer, a flighty spirit who goes where the wind blows and the streamflow brings him.

"a wise choice then, good lady. a wise choice. and have you yet found evidence of said settlers?" ysen's eyes twinkle with boyish amusement. he has no intention of baiting the lady, of course, but he does not stand down. as far as he is aware of, he places his paws on neutral ground unclaimed. "hunting grounds indeed, though for whom or which pack i should wonder. this child that i am harbours no harmful intentions, merely to satisfy a boy's wanting for a good meal."

the smile returns to his face again.

What does the man with no fear seek here? Why did he not tremble like so many before him?

"need i tremble, need i fear? all i seek is a meal and an introduction to the area."

ysen dips his head, as if wanting to share a tale, a secret from his sack of dreams and then

he bows, dips, lips pulling back to reveal joyous larksong chorus, ysen's laughter and his light heart. he is not afraid, but only awaits the good lady's reply.

He seemed... delighted by her words? She had straight up told she was not happy to see him, and he found joy in that? What a curious being he was - so curious she found herself not angry with him anymore. If anything, she wanted to take him under her wing to guide him somewhere he could tell her everything. Not many before him had sparked this interest within her. Both brows raised at his laughter, wondering what about her was amusing him this much. She did not praise herself for her comedy, even though she attempted it every now and then.

Presence should not dally here at all if they do not want trouble. She returned with a tiny smile, half joking and half serious. When he burst out in laughing once again, she could not help but give him a tiny chuckle. So far, he seemed good with words and very jolly - not really what Arthendal was all about, but close enough.

I thought I was looking upon a possible settler just now - right before me, and my vision is seldom blurry. She nodded at him, finally able to control her expression as she wiped off her smile. Who we are is of no importance to a simple wanderer - only the ones who want to join our retreat have the pleasure of knowing just exactly who we are as a whole, and they have all sworn they would not call out our name to strangers. She pushed. Perhaps this would be of interest to the jolly boy.

You need not fear, you need not tremble, just as so many before you did not - yet they had done so regardless. She said, surprised to see him bowing before her at last. She smiled at him, truly, and motioned for him to rise as his laughter filled also her heart with warm joy.

just thought you should know, your reply made me so happy i couldn't help but write back immediately. i wanted to laugh but it's 11:26 and my family is sleeping XD

Oh, such wonder! Such beauty! Ysengrin cannot help but laugh again and again, joyously, sweetly he nearly sings! His actions have made the lady dear to smile, to grace himself with such magnificence that he bursts into a charming aria, for he is not one to contain his joy. no, ysen is a boy who wishes only to share - and so be it, if this gem has caused reason for his sharing, then he will gladly go out and spread it! Presence should not dally here at all if they do not want trouble.
a-ha! she speaks again, gifting him with yet another sentence, joining in his nightingale melody. and witty, too! truly, he has been graced.
ysen dips his head; acknowledges the return of humourous banter. she is wise as she is lovely, he decides, and in his delight, he forgets the carcass at his feet. why, why waste his time on material things when he can find solace in wit and speech? in the tongue of wolves, sating his ever-present desire for knowledge? why, why, why? his trip here has been worthwhile, and ysengrin beams.
"presence never calls for trouble, and neither do i. i have given you my word, that an hour later you shall not see me in this forest of grouse."
I thought I was looking upon a possible settler just now - right before me, and my vision is seldom blurry. oh, oh, oh... she seeks his answer on if he would make his home here. a lone wolf, he? he has only just reached these lands! but ah - such is the nature of the world, so ysen supposes. and yet, his joyful visage sees momentous sorrow flit across it, quick enough to be unseen except by the most keen-sighted. "indeed not, good madam," ysen admits, "this wolf does not doubt the integrity of your eyes."
he gives a small, curious smile, unlike all the previous bright-eyed ones. "is the nobleborn offering?"
Who we are is of no importance to a simple wanderer - only the ones who want to join our retreat have the pleasure of knowing just exactly who we are as a whole, and they have all sworn they would not call out our name to strangers.
"a simple wanderer, that is this wolf. but even simple wanderers must one day grow their roots. wolves, wolves are not meant to be leaves floating where the wind blows." he is wistful. he already knows his roots, for his roots are in the land-across-time, across the waves that are blue-upon-blue upon blue. but as all trees do, he might send seeds out among new soils and mayhaps they may discover their roots deep here.
"for if it is indeed an outstretched arm, then this wanderer accepts. but i must first finish exploring this land in full. this land, being these parts. already, i wish to wander near the lake... but if the good madam is offering this simple, weary boy soil to grow his roots... i would dearly cherish that."
You need not fear, you need not tremble, just as so many before you did not - yet they had done so regardless, she says, and ysengrin finds his smile returning to his face once more.
"they do not know that trembling is not the only option, then!"

You flatter me just as much as Ysengrin flatters Malice XD

His laughter filled the air once more. Perhaps a grump like Burke would find this annoying, if one did not seem serious about a matter, but Malice knew better. If this wanderer truly did not care for his life and that of hers, he would have defended his meal with violence, only to see that there hid mercy within the Lady of Arthendal. The only lives she would ever want to take was that of the Dark Brothers and all associated with them. Yet, if she were to die here in her home with her family, she would accept that fate too. She blinked a few times as he dipped his head - how come she could get more respect from a stranger than from her own firstborn? Oh, how she wished Pyro had been the first to leave her own body, how she wished she had needed to fear for Vassago's life as they traveled here all the way from the flatlands - carrying their pups in their mouth as they crossed the high mountains in the East.

Just because one cannot see the other, does not mean the other is truly gone - just as with the dead. She told him with a cautious eye on the sky to perhaps spot a sign of her mother approving of her finally admitting this. Did The Wolf feel accused? She had no intention of her words landing like that, and for that she felt sorry. It was clear to see that, even with one scar going across her left eye, she could still see perfectly fine. And this wolf knows that the other would never doubt her eyesight. She tried to apologize.

One ear flicked at his word choice. Nobleborn? Her sons were born noble, and for a certain amount of time had she been it too - but no more was she nobleborn after what she had done to her mother. Even now that she knew her sins, she could never reclaim the title of a true nobleborn - for her guilt and pride stood in the way. She was the Lady of Arthendal, just because they had claimed it. Born for victory, she liked better. The Lady is not sure, yet. She replied honestly. Winter was coming, she knew, but not every soul was fit for the Isle she and her mate ruled.

The wind is a good travel companion nonetheless. Just because one was not made to do a certain thing, does not mean one could or should not do it. She let out a long sigh, a smile crawling on her muzzle as she returned her gaze to the simple wanderer - soon to be one of theirs. She could not keep kidding herself. He was fit, he was young, he could hunt and seemed wiser than most. As much as she wanted to discuss this matter with her mate first, she too could make decisions on her own. How many times had he sneaked a wolf into the Isle without her approval? Surely she could judge as well as her mate.

Why not explore these lands under our protection? Winter is coming, I'm afraid, and wasting precious blood is not my style. She offered with a tiny smile.

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his laughter is light and airy and clear, but it is true of him, and it is true of his emotions. ysen tilts his head to acknowledge - see, this wolf agrees, his actions say - and the lady's words have always managed to light a spark of gladness within his mournful frame. Just because one cannot see the other, does not mean the other is truly gone - just as with the dead. "i have given you my word. should you find it to be false, then rip out my tongue - for i would never lie to a lady." gently, sweetly, he speaks, never once passing judgement, never once condemning. his tone, as always, is smooth, but pleasantly honeyed, as his Madir had trained him to be. silvertongue, she called him - silvertongue that he is!
"the wind sings, but the wind does not speak. the wind runs, but the wind does not crawl. the wind flies, but the wind does not fall. and the wind laughs, but the wind does not weep." even now he rhymes, moves his rhythm to the beat of his mind and the wind that he follows, that he knows himself to be. the youth smiles - a lamb's smile, a child's gaze - but it is a lamb who knows it is to be slaughtered, a child at the precipice of adulthood. "the lady is wise - one does not move with the current to fly."
would she offer the simple wanderer a home, then? ysen only laughs again, high and delighted. "this wolf should find himself in need of thicker hairs to last winter alone - hairs he does not have!" he bows, touching his nose to the feet of the noble-born lady. his queen, his goddess, his weaver of leaden speech. "might the simple wanderer then know the name of his queen?"

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It was pleasant to see someone so comfortable with himself - not submissive, not dominant, just him and his light rumbling of laughter. She blinked a few times, not sure as to what to say. She had never been to talk like this to a stranger, but he did not feel like a stranger no more. He might as well have been part of the family as he had wandered onto these lands without much trouble nor care. I believe taking away the other's ability to speak would be a crime by itself. Quoth she, her voice as a gentle apology taken by the wind. She smiled - her features softening even more so with the other's poem. A man of many words, yet all had meaning. If only everyone thought and spoke as him, the world could be a better place.

You speak melodically, good wanderer. She complimented him, as he did with her. A slightly blush warmed her cheeks, hidden by dark chocolate fur and tan markings - accented by an ugly yet characteristic scar. Her ears perked and her voice rumbled with his - joining him in laughter as he kneeled to her feet. An action she appreciated, but not comfortable so. Not Burke nor her family had treated her as something bigger - something to fear and yet to admire. Malice - Malice Lanius, though the Lady is known as Absinthe outside of the Isle. Quoth she again, silently nudging him to reveal his name as well.  

He smiles simply, for he is only a boy in the presence of his now-Lady and he feels himself almost unworthy of her presence. She would wish his name from his lips! The youth laughs gently now, for his lady is the first he reveals the name he was given to in this strange land. Oh, the land and its natives! Ysen's ears fall flat against his head, his tail tucks itself under his legs as his submission to her. As my lady commands. His voice is not her female grace, but his is willowy; if it had substance it would be described as such.

I am Ysengrin, Ysengrin Dreamweaver. I am at your service lady Absinthe. Child that he is, he knows to keep secrets that are not his. His Malice had an alias as he did; it existed as she had chosen it. For the boy the revealing of Malice is an honour, a honour he would never sully.

Outside the Isle so shall I be known as the Dreamspinner, then, my Lady.

Her sunset orbs wandered over his youthful frame for some more before he agreed to her silent wishes. So he could read - read her wordless thoughts inside the ones said. It was an interesting skill she hoped would one day be perfected by herself, too. Ysengrin was his name, and although it sounded rather foreign, she liked it. It wasn't like anything she had heard before, and a real treat for her vessel that loved exploring other ways and cultures.

Dreamspinner - I assume you can find your way to the isle once you finish your adventure here, yes? She asked, straightening herself out with a wag of her tail.