Blackbeak Bluff My mercury's in retrograde

The titan has drifted beyond Drageda's claim. He has taken time to rest following the intensive scouting missions and feels stronger, restored (especially now that he is flea-free once more). Fleetingly Mirabelle crosses his mind as he inadvertently traces their steps, but he does not dwell on her long. Étoille is not a man who is hung up on things often - he will think fondly of her for years to come, but does not see the need to pine.

Instead he decides to focus on his hunting. Étoille has relied largely on his size most of his life, but he feels an itch (non-literal) to take his time today. The squawks and chatter of sea-birds around him keep him alert, darkened gaze trained to his target, a plump gull of some kind. He does not usually attempt to go after fickle creatures like birds - he is not necessarily dexterous, but he feels lighter after his travels. 

After a tense moment, the beast launches forward.

It seemed that every day consisted of nothing, that every waking moment of her life was empty. She spent so much of her time roaming around that she thought that if she were to stand still, she might ceaase to be. Her legs constantly in motion, carrying her like an automaton up and down, up and down the coast, until she was tired enough to rest a little.

Today, she went north from Ravensblood, traveling up the beach where Thelxiope had helped her. She was beyond boredom, beyond ennui: she felt hollow and meaningless, destined for a life without purpose. She had no history, she barely had a name. She had no soul; she was a mere shell.

When she came across the big man, she at first did not notice him, and almost breezed right by. But the movement of his light pelt drew her attention, and she finally came to a halt several tail-lengths away from him, standing with her ears pricked as she watched. He was hunting the fat gulls that called the cliffs home--fairly decent meat, if you could catch one.

Intrigued for once, she sat down and canted her head to one side, waiting to see if the man would make his mark.

rolled a success! B)

There is the screech of birds and feathers flying and his teeth crunch around something fine-boned and flapping, dragging it back down to the earth, his tremendous form reverberating against the ground. Surprised by his own success, the Rauna opens his mouth and allows the dead gull to fall against the ground. He realises he's pleased with himself - a somewhat unusual feeling for him, given his normal state is that of full-ego'd contentment. 

Abruptly the man realises he's not alone, and, leaving the gull on the ground for a moment, turns toward the presence behind him. A woman, one he's not met before - dark furred and oddly-scarred. The way her coat looks patchwork reminds him a little bit of choupinou after the fleas but he does not remark on it, instead picking up and carrying over the gull to ask, "would you like to share?"

She watched as he leapt into the air, his jaws closing round a bird and bringing it back down in a flurry of feathers. Impressed, she nodded in delight, but quickly adjusted her facial features back to neutrality as he noticed her and began to walk her way, his catch in his mouth.

Would you like to share? He had an accent, one she couldn't quite place, and his voice was gentle and kind. "I-I. . .that is. . .thanks, maybe," she stammered. Her voice was hoarse from disuse, and for a moment, her mind struggled for the words she needed. It had been so long since she had spoken to someone else.

Instead, she padded past him, with a quick nod, and focused her attention on another gull, quietly pecking at something on the ground. Slinking towards it, she reaches out with a mighty leap but it flies away; twisting her body upwards, she tries again but is unsuccessful once more. Birds were tricky creatures.

She looked back at the man, a bit flustered but more intrigued than anything. How he had managed to use his burly body to catch these flighty things was something to ponder.

The woman seems to struggle with speech, her words stammered and voice hoarse. He wonders if it's related to her appearance - the remaining marks of some terrible injury. Her answer is polite but somewhat unclear. He doesn't mind, watching her walk past with a mild sort of curiousity. His eyes sweep past her form, following where she's looking, and notes the other gull. 

The strange woman's attempts to catch it are unsuccessful. Unsure what to do now that he's witnessed this, Étoille shifts his weight between massive paws, somewhat awkwardly shrugging. "They are fickle things," he says, not quite trying to be reassuring so much as commenting on a fact. 

The titan is as intrigued by her as she is by he, though for different reasons. He nudges his dead gull again with his nose, wondering if this time she will decide to take his offer.

She laughed at his remark, flicking her ear in recognition of its truth. Wolves were meant to catch much bigger things; smaller predators picked off the birds and squirrels. Still, desperate times. . .and wolves so often found themselves in said times, especially if winter was approaching.

She figured pride shouldn't get in the way of a bite to eat, especially if she was so terrible at snagging the gulls. With a nod of gratitude, she padded back over to the wolf and bent her head, taking a small but satisfying bite of the gull. Her mouth filled suddenly with saliva, and she took care not to let it spill out the corners of her lips, tinged with blood and fat.

Swallowing, she pushed the bird back toward the man, smiling. "We can share," she said huskily, lifting her head again.

She finally partakes in the gull's flesh, offering to share, and he nods before tucking in alongside her. There is not much to it but it is of decent fat and size. Étoille is careful to leave most of it to her. He is not in danger from the coming months of winter - Drageda is robust and healthy and he has weight on his bones to carry him through. The woman, though, seems to be in a much more precarious situation. Or perhaps not - it is hard to assume.

Once the carcass is stripped he sits back, running his tongue along bloody lips. "I am Étoille," the Rauna introduces, and dips his head. "What is your name?" He asks, curiousity blatant in his tone.

She took a couple more dainty bites before stepping back, sitting on her haunches and watching the male as he ate. When he was finished, he rose himself and gave her his name. Ay-twal. It seemed almost anticlimactic, then, to give her name after the beauty of his.

"I don't really have a name," she said cryptically, giving him a mournful look. "But you can call me Snowe."

They sat in silence, the only sound the rushing of the sea and the calling of gulls on the shore. It was a beautifully empty gray and breezy day, and the big male's presence was a comfort against the loneliness that had been creeping up on her for most of her young life.

sorry for the wait! wanna wrap up?

Her introduction is odd. She does not have a name? And yet she gives him one, albeit an ill-fitting one. "Snowe," he echoes. "You chose it for yourself," he guesses, voice gentle, though he does not pry further. He has come out of his shell a bit since joining Drageda, some of his natural curiousity blossoming - but he still does not feel the need to ask for more information than he is given in most circumstances. His interiority is his defining feature.

Still. "In my mother's tongue, we call snow.." he pauses, trying to recall the word, the way it fits in his mouth. "Neige." It is not too far off, he thinks, from noir, like the color of her pelage. The titan shifts, comfortable in her company, and glances out over the sea, imagining what winter will be like here.