Totoka River dancing with the waves
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#1
for @Mirabelle ! whoosh

 There was only so much time a man could spend being aimlessly restless. Étoille was testing that theory now. For so long he'd been content with the way things were and it'd carried him through three years of life, brief stints in packs and brief contact with others moving him forward. The impressions of those he met lingered - the deaf woman, the storyteller, the stricken girl-turned-alpha and her strange, coy-limbed partner, the firey red woman in the meadow - the others, if briefer, if less memorable, but still: none of these met a genuine connection. 

 He passed the Plateau on the way back to the coast, thinking of the excitable pack founder's offer, and skirted around it. Something was still holding him back. Something as silly as a lack of purpose, maybe. The coast was welcome, warm under his large paws. He traveled a little until he met where the shore was split by a river. His belly rumbled, the sensation grounding him once more in the present. The man would fish a bit, fill his stomach and keep his mind from turning any more.
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#2

Mirabelle rose early in the morning, roused by the hunger that gripped her stomach, yet she took no time to stop as she moved urgently into the Teekons — a captive on the run.  The war-born lady had been on the move constantly since the implied demise of her fiann, Éireann, and though the empress was tired and dirty she carried on.

She had come across no strangers in this land and she considered it luck; she knew that the fiann that had chased Éireann out of their shared hunting grounds would be looking for her; she was taken as captive and wasn't sure if she was supposed to make it out alive or not.

Either way she was here now, and that was what needed focusing.  There was no time or place for panic, it would only get her caught again.. or worse.  The pale ice queen shoved the thought aside, continuing along the river.  She did not know where she was supposed to go or what she was supposed to do from here; so far away from home!  Her stomach gave another growl and she followed the river until it dumped out on a shore, although unfortunately someone was already there.

The first face she had seen since her capture, but it looks like it was not a wolf of the rivaling fiann.  She keeps her distance, keeping her head low.  Maybe he will ignore her.

She dips her face in the stream, trying to fish but as it turns out, she's lousy at it.

 
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#3
Étoille is by no means a skilled fisherman, but he possesses a natural grace and stillness that leant to the job. The fish are quick beneath him, and it takes a few unsuccessful tries before his jaw closes around the edges of a fat - something-or-other. He never bothered to learn the names of fish.

His large form splashes back out of the river. He tosses the fish on the shore, pressing one large paw over it to tear into the tender flesh. It's a messy action, but somehow refined on him. Étoille eats quickly - nearly finished when he finally notices the company of the white-furred woman. Licking his lips, the beast turns toward her. She seems preoccupied with fishing as he had been. For a moment he hesitates, unsure if announcing himself will make things awkward. Perhaps she'd been aware of him already but was intentionally ignoring him?

Well. It seems she's having trouble. He tilts his head and clears his throat. "More of them this way," Étoille says in his usual rumble, attempting helpful but perhaps coming off condescending.
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#4
The stranger breaks the silence and at his words the dark-eyed fawn hesitates, flicking her whiskers in consideration.  He had beckoned her towards him, tempting her with the offer of food.  But he had seemed to be doing well on his own, catching his own share of fish.. why would he be lying to her?  Perhaps she was being too cautious.

Raising her nose to the air, she whiffed tentatively; he did not smell of anyone she knew, enemy or friend.  She made her way over to where the man had indicated, moving cautiously before continuing to make a fool of herself in front of him.  Growing up in the valleys she was used to rabbits and ungulates — fishing was an entirely different rodeo.  The water they lived in clogged her nares and impaired her vision.  The willowy fawn huffed in frustration before pushing her face underwater once more, finally grasping a wriggling fish.

Boy, they were stronger than she expected!  But she held tight, carrying it triumphantly to land before devouring her kill in the blink of an eye.  Once her stomach was full she thought to acknowledge the stranger. Thank you very much for the advice, it is appreciated.  I come from a land where we do not have these creatures, catching them is different than hunting rabbit or deer.
 
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#5
She seems to take his words kindly. He sits and watches passively as she catches herself a meal. Is it rude, he wonders, to linger, when no real connection had been established between them? Well - but then she speaks to him finally and his unease settles. "Of course," Étoille murmurs, inclining his head. "It is difficult," he agrees after a moment, thinking of his own background. He hadn't seen the sea before his arrival to Gnarled Oaks, but there'd  been rivers and streams. Fishing isn't a complete novelty. "I've been by rivers, but the sea is still..." the man trails off. 'New' isn't quite right at this point, with how much time he's squandered walking and looking at it. "I'm still intrigued by it," he finally settles on. 

Speaking with others is starting to feel more natural. He glances at the ocean and back to the woman. She's - smaller than him, naturally, and snowy white, and he's not a superstitious man, but if he were he would wonder at the frequency of his encounters with white-furred women. "I am Étoille," the beast introduces himself politely, and lets the flow of conversation fall to her.
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#6

She gives him a ceremonious bow at his introduction. Perhaps she should be more cautious, but she feels that the man is no threat; she cannot smell home anywhere on him which both saddens and comforts her.  I am Mirabelle Melisende of Éireann.  The fawn weighs his words carefully.  The sea scared her but she understood that food and protection often came with its looming presence.  Certainly, it is intriguing.  Powerful, tumultuous, dangerous yet enchantingly beautiful, is it not?

Mostly she is speaking to herself, but if he deemed her with a reply she'd listen intently.  She begins to groom the dirt and grime off of her cream pelt for the first time since her escape.  Ideally she would use this time to care for herself and rest, under the protection of another individual's presence.

 
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#7
Her formality takes the large man by surprise. It makes him feel he is being too casual, and so he returns the gesture with a graceful dip of his own head. "Mirabelle," Étoille repeats. Something about her is striking to him: she's a character of sorts. Like royalty, perhaps. He hums, thinking over her words as he looks back at the shore. "Oui, along those lines," the man agrees. "Once I was told a story of wolves that traveled the sea," he says, a touch absently. "A fable, that is. The details I forget." 

He's echoing the conversation he had with Maera, he realises with a touch of embarrassment. Quickly to change the subject, the beast adds, "is your Éireann far from here?"
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#8
messing around with speech aesthetics and stuff.  sorry for the inconsistencies.

She wonders if perhaps she is being too forward, and if the customs of the fianna of inis fáil were not those of the lands she was in.  Still it is better to be too formal and have to tone it down rather than not be formal enough; she'd rather intimidate someone than insult one of importance.

The story he tells her piques her interest but as he does not remember the details she does not press for them.  The fae makes note of it however — she will be sure to ask anyone else she meets if they know of any sea-fables.

It is, she muses yet her voice is troubled and wavering.  I did not arrive in these lands by conventional means.  I am.. not sure of how far Éireann is from here, but I do know it is not nearby.

Her brows come together as she wonders just how much she should risk saying; it had been weeks since she had been anywhere near her captors, yet still she did not want to divulge much more; she may have said too much already. Where do you come from, Étoille?


 
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#9
The man wonders what she could possibly mean by 'unconventional means'. His gaze tears from the ocean back to the woman. He had not been looking closely before; he sees now the grime in her fur, the tenderness she holds herself with. But he is unsure what to make of that information, and he has never been the type to press. "I see," he instead says, plainly curious. 

She changes the subject. He dips his head, thoughtful. "Prior to these lands, I was briefly with a pack named Gnarled Oaks. Prior to that, I traveled from much farther north." Étoille has not thought of his home-lands in some time. He thinks about his clumsy words to the wanderer, Ty, his hesitancy to label himself, despite his seemingly endless need to roam. But he wants to stop roaming. He's just gotten too picky, somewhere along the lines. "It would be nice to settle down,"  he says absently, more to himself than to her. Perhaps it was time.
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#10

For now she is unwilling to give him the information he seeks.  Perhaps if they spent more time together, if she knew him well enough she would feel safe enough to fold, but these secrets must be kept tight for now.  

Mira had never heard of the pack he was with beforehand, but a girl of the North herself she felt some kind of kinship.  His last comment she lingers on — would she ever be able to settle down, or would she always be on the run like this?  

The wolf lets out a plaintive Mm... as she weighs her options.  She certainly did not want to travel alone anymore, but she also did not know if she could truly settle down.  It would be nice.  If you like, I could travel with you, she offers, hiding her own motives, but if he would prefer solitude she would be unoffended.

 
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#11
Normally the man would prefer his solitude. But clearly something wasn't working for him. Étoille still did not entirely know what to make of this snowy woman with the mysterious past, but she would certainly not be a liability. After a few moments of contemplative silence, he hums. "Oui," he says, "yes. Thank you." 

Étoille glances further up the coast, looks back at her. "Shall we follow the coast North, then," he says, not quite a question (as it never is), but offering nonetheless a space for her to change course if she wishes.

do you wanna wrap this thread & start a new one closer to drag? :3c
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#12

Yes, please!

Her muscles are tense as she waits for an answer, near-black gaze resting on the giant. Finally he gives her the go-ahead, and a breath escapes her as she realizes that she'd been holding it in.

It wasn't like she was looking for a personal bodyguard, but it was much safer for the woman to adopt a traveling companion than to be alone.  Her gaze meets his and she gives a subtle nod, shaking the sand off of her pelt and heading up the coast.