Ravensblood Forest Each time unknown words come to mind

@Constantine / @Screech, but AW :)

Her breath felt heavy. It had to be the smoke she had inhaled during the fire still clinging to her lungs. She sniffed at herself. She had not bathed yet, and the stench of burning fur and wood still surrounded her. She did not wish to bath. You never knew when an enemy might attack you, and what were you going to do with your eyes closed, enjoying water washing off the dirt? She had to find somewhere safe, somewhere secluded and enclosed by rock or something. Perhaps William would've found a good place, but she could not count on his guidance anymore. Lost to the war he went, his last words directed at what others called his pet.

The smell of pack she had learned to recognize all too well hit her like a canon would the surface of wet ground. Her doll-like features perked up, but her face remained rather gloomy and emotionless. With painfully slow steps did she approach their border. Standing there, she peered into the distance. There was something strange about standing somewhere where war wasn't raging. The smell of dead bodies was nowhere to be found.

She lingered for a bit, unsure of what to do, before she called to anyone near. She didn't know what would come her way, so her burned, scarred and smelly form was tensed up, feet far apart for a sturdier appearance.

Remaining vague re: his thread at Sheepeater Cliff.

He had turned tail and gone back to the forest in the long run, and hastened to find some semblance of normalcy following his return. Merely knowing of Rannoch's whereabouts to the south-east had lifted his spirits; he felt certain that Redshank's dislike of him was unfounded and only further solidified his sense of connection to the older boy. To know that Liffey was there too was a great thing, but he had left before allowing himself to reconnect in full.

When the forest came in to view, Screech dutifully scoped the border. He mostly did this so that he looked good if anyone caught him returning from his day trip - but their numbers were small and Screech assumed he would not have been missed. He relieved himself beneath a fir tree, then decided to slink further inside of the forest on the hunt for a cache - but a scent upon the air triggered the opposite. He had never been around fire before and the heavy scent of smoke was intriguing, so he put off finding a snack and headed towards the origin of the scent.

Screech was no tracker; it took him longer than it ought've to find the feminine figure loitering on their outskirts. She looked like she'd been to hell and back, and perhaps that is what caused Screech to observe her a moment longer before he advanced through the trees, and called out, Who're you?

She felt nothing waiting on some kind of reply. No anxiety or nervousness. Her days spent waiting for the enemy to advance had given her quite a lot of patience. She had never minded waiting. The longer she had to wait, the more moments were spend not dying or fighting. Bright blue eyes peered through the trees, cluttered together much like their forces had been a few moons ago. She remembered little of the battle, only that it was so cold she could hardly feel the ripping of her skin anymore. Even now did she barely feel how broken she was, numbed by the travels.

When indeed someone came to greet her, she bowed as soon as it was apparent he was not going to attack her. He was a beautiful mix of gray, she found, just the pits of his forelimbs something more colorful. His wounds were not scary or unsettling for her. She had seen many with broken bones, ears torn off, tails lost to battle... if it was only an eye he was missing, he should count himself lucky.

They have called me Wallflower. She answered him in a monotone voice. It was not proper to ask questions, and so she waited for another question to come to her instead.

There is something lacking about this stranger that Screech finds to be unsettling, but he doesn't comment on it. He is rather surprised at how easily she speaks, and the way with which she dips her head. The boy is not an important figure in the pack but for the briefest of moments she is stroking his ego, and since he is in high spirits after his reunion with family, this goes a long way.

He has a part to play here. A role to fill. It is not a role Screech is accustomed to since his inception in to the pack (or, one would suppose, since the conception of the pack itself) but he is learning quickly. The dull look in her eyes could be from fatigue, but she seems healthy enough, just off. The scent of smoke is so heavy upon her that he feels like gagging.

Instead Screech slips closer, bolstered by the way she defers to him and shows no sign of aggression. He gets a better look. They? He murmurs during his investigation - Where do you come from, Wallflower?

Her tail hung stiffly between her hind limbs, tips of the fur there blackened by the fire that had chased her out of the forest and out of the battle. She had not returned to Falling Grace - you couldn't if your commander had fallen under your supervision, she found. Sometimes she wondered if she were the one that should have perished then, but there was little evidence for it. When the stranger stepped closer, her mind returned to the moment.

My master. She answers him. No one else had bothered naming her. She quite liked it, her name, for it referred to something pretty. Falling Grace, unit 2 under the command of William Blair. She explained in detail, for surely these strange lands knew about the war her group had been brewing. Or... perhaps she had strayed too far from the lands nearby.

If there was ever a time that Screech felt like a fish out of water, this might've topped it. The girl spoke with that same monotonous tone, deadpan-serious, and the information did not initially translate for the boy. He scrutinized her for that; being ignorant of most things occuring throughout the Wilds, it goes without saying that the world outside was something of a mystery that he didn't even consider. The Teekon was everything - but evidently, this girl had come from somewhere much worse.

If she had a master, though, then perhaps she was not alone. This is the thought that raises further suspicion within the already mistrusting Redhawk. The fur of his spine raises, his winter coat puffing up as he took a glance to her flank, then quickly looked to either side of the area, as if his one eye would discern bodies hidden throughout the fringe of the territory. He assumed she was some kind of warrior but that was the limit to his understanding - the names were meaningless. He would find Constantine later and ask him if the name William Blair meant anything.

That's an odd name for a pack. His garbled gravel-pit of a voice made this statement much like she made her own: without much intended inflection, making an observation more than anything. Why don't you smell like wolves? There's something else on you - I've never smelled it before, but this was his curiosity getting the better of him; he should've been better than that. Sussed out her true purpose for being here, away from a pack that she served. Before she could respond he cut in again and demanded, What is it you want?

Unlike Screech, she felt rather comfortable with her current situation. Though having never done anything like this, the girl was always up for some kind of challenge to prove herself. It was this very motivation that had gotten her into her unit and position next to William, and it appeared to prove useful far more often than her ability to, let's say, hunt.

As much as she hoped William would have escaped the fire with her, his remains lay somewhere in the probably still smoldering forest. Who knows how many had perished - Wallflower had not even looked back after being told to run. She did not know why the stranger looked around, but felt it to be rude to do the same.

She blinked at his observation. Perhaps she had just gotten used to the name, how it sounded, and never thought about its meaning. Their warriors had indeed fallen from grace, so perhaps it was just fitting. When she opened her mouth to answer his first question, he intercepted with yet another one. The latter was far harder to answer. She had never been asked such a thing. "wanting" wasn't something she could afford back then. Fire. From the forest fire I escaped. She answered, not knowing what other scent would still be so strong to erase the traces of her unit members and, especially, William.

She fell quiet then. She could hardly comprehend what wanting was. She frowned and looked down a bit. I... I want to know what "I love you" means. She answered, unsure if this was the kind of wanting that could be given by another. Her knees trembled, and before she knew it, she sunk to the ground - exhausted.

A forest fire? He still did not entirely understand, but he didn't have to. What came next from her was the most complicated question and while she sank in to herself, collapsed to the ground, he stepped back as if the question appalled him. He had no idea where that had come from - and Screech was finally realizing that this girl had been through something truly horrible. Something he could not help her with. But she was alive, healthy (for the most part), and maybe Constantine could help her.

Screech stared at her for a long minute but did not speak. He finally lifted his head and called for @Constantine when words evaded him too long, and then he settled back upon his haunches, watching her with a furrowed brow. He had nothing he could say; he was overwhelmed by the sight of her and the strangeness of their meeting. After some time had passed he did break the quiet, but with a murmured: Wait here, I've called for my leader.

She really hadn't noticed how much strain she had put on her body. Though her mind felt fine, it seemed her vessel could no longer go on until it was replenished. She tried getting back up immediately, which resulted in another strained tremble straight to the ground. But, she did not panic. She tried to feel where it hurt the most, the blood on her paws barely noticeable due to all the filth that had gathered in the wounds there. Her muscles stung more than back when she fought in the seemingly endless advance before the winter had started. That was unusual.

There was also a strange sense of hurt near her chest, something she felt was more like a physical pain. She tried to shift her chest, but the hurt did not stop. She left that pain be. Though it had stopped smoking, her tail was in poor condition and she felt that, under her thick (somewhat arctic, who knew what her parents had been?) pelt, numerous cuts had been placed - the blood mixing with the dirt from her unwashed body.

Shortly; she was a mess. And it would not amaze her to find out this group did not want to deal with her. When the stranger called for his commander, she waited in silence, blue eyes checking every now and then to see if a figure might emerge from the forest.

A frown pressed upon the wolf’s swarthy features – he was familiar with the stench of fire and destruction – a smell that stirred at his chest in a bout of panic as he thought of the dead sequoia trees in Donnelaith. He made to investigate -- and when the familiar voice of Screech echoed not far off, the shadowrunner realized he had been closer than he had thought.
 
He came upon his pack mate. The grey boy was proving to be an asset, despite his missing eye, and while Constantine offered a brief nod to Screech, his gaze was not long straying to the fallen form of the pale she-wolf. The smoky smell came from her – offering why it had been so faint to the Regal. Pausing, he took her in – exhausted, blackened fur in places where it was likely she had avoided what would be a painful death. “Where are you from?” His fiery gaze drifted between them both, waiting to be filled in on the details of this interlude.

The girl was silent.

Then, Constantine arrived. Screech welcomed him with a swish of his tail and a small dip to his head; but when the dark leader requested information from the odd girl, Screech cut in before she could speak her in her strange way. Save her some energy. A pack called Falling Grace, from what I could understand. He leaned in to pass the next bit to Constantine without disrupting the girl, lest she overhear the uncertainty in his voice: She mentioned someone named Blair? I think she was a warrior.

As he settled back, Screech took up a position on Constatine's flank and waited to see how things would play out.

When the crisps of frosted bedding and leafs grew louder she knew the gray male's commander had come. She watched the darker male with wide blue eyes, greeting his subordinate like nothing she had ever seen from a commander. No aggression, just recognition, and even for that she usually had to work hard. When the focus shifted upon her, she tried to stand once again, doing her very best to bow before letting herself sink again. She opened her mouth to answer him, but the gray boy was quick to cut in and she was left baffled.

Unit 2 - front liner. William Blair was my commander. She added shakily, feeling it to be embarrassing that a stranger was telling her story. She knew that back where she came from, not answering a question truthfully could result in an unthinkable punishment. She looked at the orange-eyed leader then, ears draping over her skull.

Unit 2. Front liner. Screech’s assumption seemed correct, though it was a strange name to him. As if they had been faceless. Even when he had spent the time with the proud warriors of Tartok, they had not felt so cold in name. Anore, they had called him, after his father. For the wind. He blinked then, pulling himself from these thoughts before he could dwell upon whether or not Lasher would find pride in his son’s life thus far.
 
“What’s your name?” He was more interested in who she was, rather than hearing about a commander whose name meant nothing to him. Falling Grace. He withheld any assumptions of her previous life, instead, his eyes rove over the burns upon her, and his gaze softened. The pack was new and without a healer – not only that, but given the winter, they had no collection of herbs or plants in which to aide her that he knew of. But his family had been druids – healers, at that, and he was not without some minor knowledge. But first, he needed more from her.. and then a place for her to rest.

Feel free to skip Screech whenever!

Screech knew the answer to this too, but he refrained from saying anything. Constantine was focused on the injured girl and it wasn't really his place to speak up for her. He remained quiet and shifted his weight, already antsy to keep patrolling now that he was an unnecessary body among the trio; but he lingered, and watched the girl for her response.

For a moment did she expect the gray male to fill in the blanks for her like he had done previously. Her gaze lingered on him for a bit, but when there came nothing she decided it was alright for her to answer. They called me Wallflower. She answered. A tool was not fit for a last name. Not honorable enough to have a say in who they truly wanted to be or have the chance to name their offspring after them one day. Wallflower had always accepted this as part of life.

She coughed then with an apologetic look on her face, never looking directly into the commander's eyes.

He studied her quietly – Wallflower, she called herself. “Constantine,” he finally offered, not once indicating what he thought of the scenario one way or another. It seemed the forest drew the injured to them, and with a small pause, he gave a nod to Screech, quietly releasing the boy from their presence if he was hoping to continue whatever he had been doing before.
 
“You are welcome to stay and rest, Wallflower, if you wish. Have some food – rest. Your talents can be of some use if you choose to stay.” He paused then, beginning to turn his stocky form toward the territory. “Follow me – I’ll find you something from one of the caches.” They didn’t have much. They were a fledgling pack, and a small one at that – but they would spare something for the woman.

Doe-eyed, she watched the two men. Mute. She felt mute in their company. Commander Constantine, as he had called himself, seemed rather kind. He reminded her, perhaps too much, of commander William. She stared at him, mouth slightly open, entranced for a moment.

My talents? She asked hoarsely. Did she have any? She did as she was told, but a talent was something you took pride in, right? Was following commands a talent? Thank you... She said honestly, the words foreign on her tongue. Eating alone would be preferred. She noted, a tremble in her voice.

She seemed confused by his words, and while he studied her quietly, he did not comment on it further. If she did not consider potential battle a talent or skill, they would find something else for her to work toward. For now, she would need rest – it would be pointless to overwhelm her further.
 
His nose drifted to the ground, and after he came upon one of the caches, the swarthy Regal unbired the catch, nudging it to the direction of the pale girl. “Eat. Rest and restore yourself,” he murmured, his gaze intense as he studied her. With a final nod, he shifted his weight, beginning to move away and allowing her space. “When you feel better, we can talk.” With that, the Mayfair granted her request to eat alone.. and hoped she would at least catch some sleep.