Golden Glade Home on the Remains

He'd been following the scent for about an hour.  The wind had wafted just right to give him the inkling that it was there, but it had been a pain to nail down something so faint as the breezes shifted as if to taunt him.  It wasn't very strong and it was still fresh and new, but it was the scent of death and it was so very enticing to a hungry wolf such as himself.  It was approaching two months since he'd left home, and though he'd done ok for himself since then, he was missing having a full stomach almost every night more than anything.  He had to keep moving.  He'd passed between and around the odd pack here and there but he was running out of land to roam.  Eventually he'd have to stop.

First, though, was food.  The trail was stronger now, and after another minute or two more wandering beneath the dying canopy, he found what he was looking for.  A crow had died and fallen from its perch, landing in a lump beneath a branch.  Maybe it was actually a small raven, he wasn't sure, but just the fact it was free food made it seem enormous, despite how little meat would likely be on its bones.  Still, it was something.  The cold temperatures had kept insect activity to a minimum and he'd been lucky to find it before someone else.  Fortune favored him.  Quixote lifted the bird in his maw, giving the hard to-bend bird a good shake to dislodge leaves and bugs and trotted a dozen feet away to settle down and begin plucking the feathers from its breast.  He pondered for a moment if it was late enough to be called dinner, and given the softening of the shadows, it probably was.  Either way, it had definitely been served to him in a manner that was nature's equivalent of a silver platter.

:p

for once the newly-named vailë does not head for the cedar sweep for his usual brood. he is a little bored of it and its stale offerings but he still hesitates to go much farther, and so decides to move west behind the summit into the fiery glade. it's still nowhere near as good as king elk forest, don't get him wrong, but it's a little gloomier and doomier and, well, he kind of likes that.

not that he has much to be gloomy and doomy about, besides the usual. weirdly he misses uka of all people - at least it'd be easy to get into it with the jerk, work off some of this nervous energy about mato. really he should be celebrating what with finally having earned the title vailë (though his work isn't done, not yet). yeah, that's what this is. a celebratory brood. 

he wonders how much farther arthendal's old territory is from here. not that he could justify his little historical trip just now, with their numbers so thinned.

night is starting to fall around him and delight wonders if he should head back home when he smells another nearby. curiously he pads forward after the scent, finding the black-furred stranger and the - was that a raven? "isn't that kinda bad luck?" delight says, in lieu a hello, though his voice is devoid of its usual snide flair.

O hai. :P

He could hear someone walking through the brush and slowed his own movements, listening carefully until he was able to get eyes on the one approaching.  Quixote had stopped eating and was all ready to bare his fangs and snarl to ward off potential thieves, but what exited the other wolf's maw caused him to hold off on his more aggressive response.  Quixote was not the type to believe in superstitions and hadn't even given the matter a thought.  He'd rather take the 'risk' and not border starving.  Obviously his tone was a bit of a scoff, Considering it was quite dead to start with, if bad luck brought me dinner, I'm fine with that.  Was prey here so lush that those wandering about were keen on ignoring free food because of some weird belief in bad luck?  It wasn't like he dug up a grave or anything either.  Life was life and if he didn't eat it, something else would.  Quixote assumed the other had also followed the scent of the dead bird, hadn't even thought that he might have been the target himself.  So what, do you want a wing or something?  Not that he was likely to share, but if it meant he'd get to keep 90% of the kill -- even though nature itself killed the bird -- why not.

jeez, it seems everyone's got a thing right now. the vailë bristles slightly in response, more annoyed than defensive. "i'm just saying," he huffs a little, silver eyes flitting from the stranger's face to the carcass, "it's not like i'm stopping you from eating it or whatever." yeah, fine! delight's not even particularly superstitious, really, it was just an observation. 

the guy offers some to him and the androgyne squints, tilting his head slightly. "uh, no, i'm good. you look like you need it more." delight wouldn't call himself picky but he also wouldn't go around munching on weird ravens' wings. besides, he's sort of fascinated with the stranger's attitude (and also, offended, but mostly interested now).

Defensive little bugger, Quixote mused.  Well, at least this guy wasn't going to start preaching something about how him eating a corvid was the end of the world, seems like.  Good, and with that he dipped his head and ripped off a chunk of flesh from the plucked black bird. Gulping it down with all the crude manners of a bachelor who simply didn't give a damn, he licked his lips and continued, So what did you want, then?  Right on to business, no fuss no laboriously ranting away to dodge questions.  He couldn't fathom why this wolf had shown up other than to investigate what was a reasonably delicious corpse.  It wasn't like corvid was among the standard flavors he was accustomed to.

Quixote only now took a better look at this wolf.  Scrawny guy -- he'd have thought they were a female if his nose didn't tell him otherwise.  Maybe they did need the crow more than him and just didn't want to admit otherwise.  That was about all the mental effort he put into it.  Pack wolf, seemed like?  Had to be if a few sharp words didn't roll off his back like water off a duck. That or younger than he looked, someone who hasn't been chewed on by the world as much.  It wasn't like Quixote was much of an old dog, himself, but maybe older mentally.  He took another bite, waiting for a response.

he sits, nose crinkling slightly at the display. not that wolves have much of a mealside manner to begin with, but still. a little decency would be nice. nevermind delight's the one making the decision to stick around - not his fault the guy is so damn curious. 

as if reading his thoughts, the messy stranger calls him out. "oh, uh," delight fumbles, "nothing, really. just kinda stumbled onto you." he manages not to add and i thought you were kinda weird, though it's plain on his dark-furred face. "you from around here?" the singing-sunlight tries. there, he's making an effort toward polite conversation. he's not all prickly. all the time.

One of the great things about the corvids was that they likely weren't going to have stomachs full of gross half-decayed green stuff that needed to be removed before consuming.  Meat and bugs were far more likely, so as he gets to the last few strips outside the ribcage.  The internal organs were only a short crunch away, and easily eaten after that.  There wasn't much more left to the bird, though he'd likely pick through it a bit later, for now he turned more of his attention to the stranger.  Local?  Whatever he was.  Not unless I've gone in a loop.  That would mean his sense of direction was super awful, but thankfully for him, it wasn't.  The air sometimes smells like I'll hit the ocean soon.  Suppose I'll have to turn then.  Stop.  Something.  He didn't really have much of a plan beyond that.  Nowhere so far had really called him to stay, but then again maybe Quixote was looking for something that wasn't ever going to answer.  Perhaps it was all a fantasy and he'd just have to settle for whatever seemed best.  It was far more likely that now that he had opportunities before him, he just didn't know what he wanted.

"huh," he says, finally looking away from the minature-scale carnage. "i met someone else who came from the coast recently," he says. he still kind of hopes she'll come back by, like she said she would. he thinks this guys a little less intriguing. "so you're just... wanderin' around with no real end game?" delight asks, judgement absent from his tone, only curious. he probably would have done something similar if mato and bri hadn't found him when they did. maybe that's why he's so in love attached to the morwinyon. 

well, that doesn't matter. his gaze draws back to the stranger, slightly relieved he's finished his meal. "what are you gonna do about winter?" he asks, a little pointedly - might as well feel the guy out, even if he has misgivings.

Though the eclipse had caused him to leave, he'd kept it to himself thus far.  He didn't know how far it had been visible, but it was a strange enough event that he did feel it was one of the few cases that the world was warning them of something. In the end it also resulted in him questioning if he actually should be suspicious of those that claimed to wield magic and prophecy. This stranger in front of him, though? He seemed about as threatening as a deer mouse. He rolled a shoulder in a shrug. He never did anything with too much of a plan. Never stopped me before. Sure. Being on his own was a little different, but the world told him to move and so he did.

Since Quixote hadn't spent too much time drinking in the scenery when he was busily hunting down the bird corpse, he looked away from the other wolf and dragged his gaze across the world around them. Find something here or turn back to look there are pretty much the choices, he stated. It's not like there were many other options. So far, luck hadn't forced his hand. What was he to do with his newfound freedom? How many bridges would he burn finding what was right?  If this guy was representing the sorts of wolves he'd find here, it was worlds apart from the pack he'd left.  The lands themselves seemed fine from what little he could see now and had explored previously, but if nobody had a real edge to them, it might not be his place.  Just what he'd need would be to find a whole chunk of the planet that might actually be insulted by his snarking about.

Well.  The seasons hadn't turned entirely.  Winter still had yet to arrive.  No emergencies yet.

the vailë seizes the stranger up. "well, my pack is pretty close by," he finally says, "if you decide to stick around. and my name's delight," he adds. truth be told he doesnt really feel like it's worth the effort to try and recruit this guy, but he'd be remiss to not at least offer. polite and all that. 

but he doesn't want to end the conversation - not yet. his opinion of the stranger isn't low, per se, just slightly off-put - and to be far, delight is almost always slightly off-put. the androgyne rearranges himself, sitting with his tail curled 'round his white-tipped toes. "so, where're you from, then?" he asks with genuine curiosity - see, he's not all bluster-and-brood.

Quixote, he started, shifting his weight, taking one paw off the bird and folding it beneath him. It was only polite to answer questions... Well, ones that aren't obnoxious at least. From the east.  Northeast?  Thereabouts. Either way, many days' walk.  Lots of family in the pack.  Large group.  He was leaving out other details, obviously, like how they acted, but figured for the most part it probably covered the majority of what anyone was curious about, and unless someone was planning on wandering back there, he figured it was unimportant to be more specific.  He was no longer a member, he left, and now he was here.

Quixote tipped his head slightly towards the other wolf, Tell me of yours.  Well, that wasn't much of a polite question.  Quixote was just not exactly one for little social niceties.  His tone wasn't desperate or anything either, just an equal bit of even-toned curiosity.  Delight didn't have to worry about Quixote following him home... Yet, at least.  He did need to figure out his options, after all, and time wasn't going to do him any favors.

he eyes quixote, clearly unimpressed with the lack of detail - he's a storyteller, he can't help it. well. it's none of his business, and the guy asks about his pack, so delight shrugs and moves on. "we're called tindömé," he says, and twists slightly to point with his nose in the direction the forest lay, past the summit. "we claim king elk's forest to the south of here, and we're nontraditionally structured - based around trades." the singing-sunlight tilts his head, studying quixote's face for a reaction - somehow he does not think the stranger would be too impressed by the actual king elk and so he holds off on bringing him up for now.

If only Quixote knew he'd be hearing more about trades or skills later on, and how much being forced to nail himself down to one title would irk him.  Without the bonds of his birth pack, he didn't know what to do with himself yet.  He wasn't a storyteller, as noted, and he wasn't one to so quickly dedicate himself to one job title.  For being as old as he was, some parts of him still seemed rather like a pup.

Anyway, he nodded, filing away the rough location in the back of his mind.  Weird thing to name a forest.  A bunch of extra large dinner hangs out there? Seems convenient.  No wonder Delight didn't come questing for the crow.. Available jumbo elk!  That part was tempting at least.  Join the pack for good food... Not an awful idea.  It never even crossed his mind that it might refer to a single, semi-mythical individual. That would be silly, after all.  Yeah, maybe it was a good thing Quixote wasn't likely going to be there on the packlands soon.. He'd probably try and eat that King Elk dude.  Admit, though, it really did sound better than crow.  Or a lot of things.

he blinks. "no, that's," he starts, then stops, sighs, rolls his shoulder. "it's named after the king elk, the wolf killer. we share the forest with him." the vailë emphasizes wolf killer, expression turned intense. it's not like he can really fault the guy for being cavalier - but you bet he does anyway. "i mean there are other elk in the forest. he's - the king elk - is just not - prey." something tells him quixote isn't gonna be able to wrap his mind around that little idea, he thinks as he eyes the mangled crow carcass. well: whatever.

Potentially last post from me. :P  Was a fun way to get started as Qui!

Delight was right, in a way.  But what Quixote was seeing was something that Delight himself seemed to be willfully blind to.  It was one of those things that would cause him to reach out with a mental sharpie and draw a thick line through the pack as an option.  As the other continued, Quixote's expression cooled, his brow furrowed. The guy sounded like some sort of fanatic -- a lower key one, sure, but the fact was he wasn't being logical at all.  So you're telling me that your pack made their home in a place that is pointedly dangerous not because of the environment, but because of a prey animal.  A potentially unpredictable prey animal that could either be trapped by its antlers in summer or killed when it loses them in winter.  A prey animal that has, assumedly, murdered its share of wolves and pranced on with no punishment.  He hoped at least he'd leave the other wolf at least questioning this blind obedience a little.  It made no sense!  As he continued, Quixote got to his feet, I hope that none of your packmates are planning on having pups in that environment.  It's irresponsible.  As far as he was concerned, things were pretty much over.  Quixote couldn't trust himself to hold a civilized conversation with someone so blind to what he saw as obvious.  Instead, he dipped his head as if to excuse himself and scooped up the remains of the crow to finish later.  He was all prepared to leave unless for some reason he was stopped.

sounds good! i hope their paths cross again, eventually, haha

he is right: quixote does not get their relationship with the king elk, or the idea of him at all. "he's not really a wolf-killer, it's just a name," the vailë starts to explain, voice irritable, but sighs and gives up on the whole idea. if there's one thing delight can't stand, it's condescension, especially from a guy who's clearly got no prospects. "oh, shut up," he says and  rolls his eyes (even as his heart does a little flip-flop at the idea of pups - are bri and mato thinking about..?). he watches quixote pack up and move away, waiting until the stranger's a bit further out to call: "good luck not starving to death," voice derisive - and then turns on his heels and heads back to his home.