Silver Moraine lover lay me down inside the garden soil

and just like that, the nereids were gone as quickly as they had come. 

It was something that shook Indie to her core, how the sirens had flourished and then simply… ceased to be. Indie usually had more foresight and more cunning than this! She had left herself exposed, distracted — and now, without a plan b. Indie mentally berated herself for letting herself be swept by the dazzlement and charm of the nereids women — the strength of Akantha, the youthful ineptitude of Kalika and the subtle sensuality of Salish — it had all blinded her from seeing the truth.

and now she was left alone. Indie huffed. Again.

When the islands had been abandoned, surrendered back to the mother they held so dear, Indie too made her departure. At first, the vaudevillian traveled alongside the tide, heading north towards the lands of Thuringwethil — but when the cliffs were in sight, the maverick suddenly turned away and made her way inland. Indie was determined not to be a victim of circumstance. She created her own destiny — so, no, she would not go begging or pander to Drageda’s chieftess. Instead, Indie would strike out down her own path… not the one that laid itself in front of her.

The veiled chanteuse found herself in a great moraine of stone and upturned earth; it was not the most beautiful of areas but Indie liked its strength. It was like a road, carved into the earth, shepherding her along and making ease of her travel. There were small peaks and undulations in the pathway, from which she leapt and cavorted about — attempting to making a bit of merriment in the midst of what was a most undesirable situation. 

A red tongue lolled out of his white maw, with clear drops of water still dripping from his chin. He'd just passed a little creek, and had stopped to slake his thirst before carrying on, a little lighter than he was used to, but in good enough spirits, still.

It'd been several months since he'd first set out, and though he'd yet to come across anything that held substantial interest, there was now a scent of wolf about the land; soon enough, he'd meet another of his kind.

Trotting along the morraine, he found himself looking around at the scattered evergreens that grew along the edges of the wide road he'd found himself upon. When he'd first seen the strange passageway, he'd been a bit worried about what following it might mean; the Elkbone pack had not been terribly superstitious, but neither had they been used to strange happenings or unnatural landscapes (King was not aware that this was neither of those things). But the first step into the gravel had not harmed him, and neither had the second. Unperturbed, King had walked on, and on, and on and on until he caught sight of the dark figure ahead of him.

Only the did he stop, and stare a bit, and - finally - pace forward with a fair amount of caution, his tail waving like a flag behind him; proud, but not unfriendly.

There was fun to be had in the moraine, but not enough to satisfy Indie. While many of her cohorts nurtured an appreciation for solitude [and none more than the nereids themselves], the hoyden was more of a social creature, a troubadour at heart — and an entertainer only prospered when the audiences were thick and the applause rolled deep. Seclusion meant consistency and Indie thrived in the contrary, appreciating the fluidity of navigating conversations and relationships like a finely honed craft. And though the woman wished she could be wildly independent like so many other wolves she had met [self assurance without the validation of others did sound nice], it was a part of her that was unchanging so Indie made quick work of collecting dazzling cronies to fill in for her own shortcomings. 

Afterall, labored imperfections bore no amelioration and she would spend no time on such fruitless efforts.

So Indie was not necessarily [i]happy to find herself here, but this too was an unchangeable fact and the chanteuse tried to make the best of it. She sang and she danced — and for fleeting moments, she felt the thrill of flirting with the dangerous unknown, but it was quickly surrenerded to a thirst for control. Then she continued on and, to Indie’s delight, was intercepted by a man. He said nothing but the shewolf was aware of him immediately and drew her chin to rest on obsidian shoulder and simply looked at him. Powerful lungs drew breath but the stranger was downwind but she could scry no scent from the dry inland air. Returning his advances, Indie stepped a few paces forward and called out over the expanse between them. ”Ahoy!” the chanteuse chimed, letting the word sit on her lips for a moment and feeling the residual tingle.

King paused for a moment, his ears flickering uncertainly at the sound of the unfamiliar word. But, a moment later, he'd decided it was a greeting of some sort, and answered in kind: "Hey!" he barked, striding forward to close the distance between them. King halted only a few yards from her, leaving the decision on just how close they'd be up to her. While she'd sounded friendly enough, King was a bit nervous about meeting this stranger - the first in this land. "You're the first wolf I've seen for weeks," he told her, tail swishing to show that this was a good thing, in his opinion.

Greetings out of the way, King studied the dark woman, comparing her to others that he'd known. She did not seem to be a different sort of wolf than him - something his mother and father had warned him about, before he set off on this adventure. Dreamgirl had told him not to gawk, and Mountaineer had laughed as he told him about a certain kind of wolf called a 'pug', which was smaller than a puppy and had a face like a rock had fallen on it.

Looking at the stranger, now, King decided that they'd just been messing with him. The woman looked perfectly normal.

The interloper came closer, but not by much — he kept distance between them, but Indie did not feel that it was needed. After all, what type of useful communication could happen over wide distances? With sweeping movement of sooty limbs, Indie picked her path of least resistance between boulders and uprooted flora to come face to face with the silvered man. In truth, he had been the first wolf she’d seen in quite some time, too. 

But he didn’t need to know such things, so Indie lifted a paw and stifled a chuckle before questioning “Am I?” The woman raised her head, regarding him carefully. He seemed friendly enough and not at all devious — he was alone after all, and solitary wolves rarely needed master deviousnesses — but Indie knew better than most that looks could be deceiving.  As such, Indie needed a better view.

So the vaudevillian looked to her side and found a piece of broken earth that rose many feet but seemed ascendable. Without a word, her dextrous feet met the stone and Indie nimbly leapt to its apex. From her newfound elevation, the inky woman looked down her pointed nose at the man below. “You must be lonely, then.” It was more of an assertion than a question, because she certainly was feeling isolated nowadays — and if this man was too, well, Indie was more than happy to offer diversion. 

[font=cambria]Despite his own intention of drawing closer, King still stiffened when the woman surged forward and found a place from which she could easily leap upon him. He shifted uncomfortably, but did not otherwise protest her new position. She seemed friendly enough, despite the predatory glint in her eyes. (King began to wonder if she was very hungry - he hadn't had much luck with hunting yet in these lands.)

"No," he quickly denied, ears pricking at her question. Men didn't get lonely - that was for girls. Besides, he didn't want her to think him pathetic, or weak, or that he needed something from her. He could take care of himself, and he could last a few weeks in the wilderness without someone to keep him company.

But he was lonely.

"What's your name?" he asked her. And then, remembering his manners - "I'm King."

”No?” she questioned delightfully, appreciate the innocence of his dishonesty. She easily saw through his facade, as she did with most others she encounters — especially men, who were exceedingly simple and transparent. Food, territory, company… it was all the male kind ever wanted. It made sense, as wolves were pack animals, meant to commune with others and work together for mutual success. As such, Indie worked best as a part of a team — but her successes, sometimes, were not so mutual. 

The inky chanteuse chuckled and lowered her head to be closer to King despite her newfound elevation. ”I’m Indie,” she greeted, returning her decorum with an elaborate bow and sweep of her finely-sculpted maw. This custom had grown on her during her time as a Nereid, as the matriarch had a commanding presence and such formality only seemed appropriate. But now she loved the pomp of it, the reaction it procured, the twist and arc of her body; she curtsied often and at any given opportunity. 

She regarded the man from her vantage point. He was young, but grown; seemingly naive, but somehow had struck out on his own. In her mind, the woman thumbed through her catalogue of characters but could find none that fit this stranger. The femme fatale that Kjalarr had met, the siren the drudges knew, nor Salish’s wilting flower would do. Perhaps King was a playful, unencumbered soul — perhaps they affiliate over a sense of levity.

”Well, if you are not lonely, then you will not mind if I leave.” Her lips pulled back into a teasing smile and the mummer’s aurulent gaze flashed, alluding to her feigned seriousness. Without waiting for a response, Indie turned on her feathered heels and made to leave, preparing to jump down from the promontory — but not without an ancillary toss of her mane, and moments later, her gaze smoldered over one shoulder to look  down upon him. ”αντιο σας.” she dismissed, summoning the foreign word of the sirens, well practiced upon her dexterous tongue and sounding as natural as if she had been raised upon themyscira herself. Indie hoped he was not too pure, and might be able to see through her small game.

Indie.

King shot the woman a sidelong glance, thinking that he quite liked the name, and wondering if there was a right way to say so. She was pretty, and although she made him a bit nervous, King was willing to make allowances. He'd never been quite so alone as he was right then, and even a scary, homely companion might've seemed like an attractive choice. Perhaps a well-worded compliment would sway the woman to his side?

But before he'd mustered the courage, King's game was turned on him, and he was summarily dismissed. The young male balked, a bit startled at this sudden turn of events, and gazed after Indie with a disappointed look on his face. But it seemed she had no use for his company, and so King was determined to go on pretending he had no use for hers.

Without responding, he kept on the way he'd been going, allowing the dark woman to drift further and further from his presence, but not entirely from his mind.

  The mummer had misread her audience, so it seemed! King had misunderstood the current brand of sarcasm she employed and took her feigned departure as truth. Had he called out to her or remarked on her unceremonious leave, Indie would have easily conceded her act or amended the mask she created just for King — but he did not, and Indie could not help but peer over her shoulder as the silvered figure of the young man faded against the hues of the moraine. Perhaps they would meet again — and if they did, the vaudevillian would be better prepared — but until that day, Indie would continue to travel and seek out her next stage.