Deepwood Weald so blissful i press on

The weald welcomed him back with open arms, the branches snaking together overhead. Here sunlight did not quite reach the forest floor like it had in the evergreen wood, but its dappled placement illuminated all he needed to see. The rains had abated for some time now, though always a present possibility as the days stretched past their peak. Unlike his last venture here in the depths of winter fading, the crispness he found came not from the temperature, but the taste and smell of the earth.

Damp earth shifted under his steps as he moved inward, the humidity ever a constant. Conditions here did not constrict him as once before; hunting would be a far cry easier. He had separated from @Nyx again for a stint, never straying too far and never once without mentioning his intentions. Dirge did little to mask where he had gone, doing well to keep his promises that he would not lose her again—it had never needed to be said either, that promise was left unspoken as he wound his way past thick ferns and mossy stones.

A deep breath drew out the scents he sought, the hares and grouse, even the lesser favored stoats and their ilk. He separated them like threads, unsighted tendrils pulled up from the earth and tucked away in narrow paths. It was not particularly grueling work but not quite mindless; whatever he found he would split without dispute with his sister, but it would also be worth the effort he intended to expend. He settled for the hare, putting to memory where paths diverged from the grouse should the former not pan out, and set off with a satisfied chuff to himself.

As the days went on, he became more and more fine with leaving Cortland while he went on hunting or scouting trips. Not completely fine, mind you--he didn't think he ever would be--but mostly fine, at least. In any case, Poet was there if the boy needed anything, and Phocion was never gone for too long. Though today, he strayed even farther than usual, traveling past the glacier and the field to enter the forest, tucked underneath the walls of the quarry.

Game must flourish here, in the cool shadows. It was earlier than he usually was awake, which threw him off a little, but perhaps that was best. He was so comfortable and in tune with the night that sometimes he felt like it affected his hunting for the worse; he was too content, under the stars. Now, his fur bristled slightly, and his eyes held that glint that came from a manic exhaustion--alert, but with sleep pulling at the corners of his senses.

Movement ahead made his head lift suddenly, alert, and his icy gaze sought the source of the subtle noise, so faint among the other sounds of the forest. It wasn't long before a brown-hued male came into view, leaf-dappled pelt camouflaged well in the woods. Knowing that his camouflage was sub-par, at best, Phocion realized he'd be in sight soon, and gave a friendly chuff, so as not to appear shifty.

He kept quiet, otherwise, waiting to see whether the other would acknowledge his presence or simply move on. These woods were big enough for the two of them, after all.

The path ahead wound through the forest and soon was thick with overgrowth. The recent rains had been good for it, if the sight of lush ferns and the towering of flowering shrubs were any indication. It seemed promising that there would be plentiful game, but with that promise came the suggestion that it were likely he would not be alone in his quest. It was that awareness and the preparation of hunting that let his gaze alight on a flash of white frittered away in the brush. A chuff sounded just as swift, and his steps slowed to cautious halt to better regard the caller.

Dirge drew himself up to his full height, his nose working to discern if others were about to make way before him; he discerned if perhaps the quarry he sought were already gone but found nothing to suggest such. Moments ticked by as he found the brilliant touch of tundra blue eyes and met those with curiosity and words unspoken—what was he doing there, hiding away in the brush like a bandit? But knowing that he could have been free to go and simply move on, he would wait to see what happened before continuing his quest or abandoning it altogether.

"Didn't mean to disturb you," Phocion remarked, stepping out from the brush. He cast a rueful look at himself. "But you would have seen me anyway--I am not the most inconspicuous of wolves, especially in the southern climate." He sighed, chuckling a little, before fixing his gaze back on the other again.

"If you're hunting, mind if I join you?" he asked, keeping his body language relaxed and neutral. "Two wolves are always better than one, especially when there's more mouths to feed." He caught the faint smell of others on the man's pelt--though how many others, he couldn't say. He hadn't seen this stranger around before, though he did not stray this far, these days, from Silvertip Mountain. He might just be passing through.

It did not take long fornthe ivory counterpart to speak, and he didnit was in equal parts the obvious and offer. Though his interest was piqued at mention of southern climate—Dirge thought it very much more northern—he gave no indication that it had phased him at all. But given as cold and bitter as more northern ranges had been in his brief skirting of such a place, perhaps the stranger would have faired better there after all. This debate was not much more than a quick deliberation; of course a pale-coated wolf would do better where winter was less keen to follow the shift of time and season.

"Think you can stay hidden well enough to help?" he commented, his assertiveness lingering with hawkish gazing. He could tolerate the assumptions that it was more than just himself and Nyx in these parts, whatever it was that would make the venture more profitable in the end. Foregoing a hare or two in exchange for something larger would certainly lift spirits though and it was distinctly better than some of the questionable scavenging he had resigned to on his own.

"I'd certaintly be loathe to lose my quarry because of your coat, not that you can help that of course," and he couldn't fault him for it, not in good conscience, "but I would prefer the tastes of something more meaty for a change." A thin smile followed the trailing of his voice, ever testing what made anyone tick, what made them bend. It was always hit and miss on marks, but at least he learned.

His mouth tightened in momentary offense, but he didn't let it linger, or get to him too badly. He'd been battling the negatives about his snowy coat all his life; he had done just fine, with it. Sure, he wasn't the best hunter, nor could he ever be a capable rogue, at least not in the green and gray of the south--but he had other skills on his side. Swiftness. Courage.

"I am fast, and I've got guts," Phocion responded, backing those character traits up out loud. "If we find something large to catch, I can do the chasing, you can do the ambush." One ear flicked in casual acceptance. "If you'd rather go it alone, I understand."

The division of labor was more than fair in what was suggested, but Dirge drew it out with a thoughtful sound, head canting to further the illusion he needed to consider their arrangement. As much as he tended to go at things alone, many things were in fact easier with company that much was true. Especially in regards to hunting; it was a fool's errand to think one wolf had high hopes for success against larger game, and suicidal missions were not apart of his repertoire. So his deliberation on the matter was short.

"Why waste the opportunity? The day is young and I'm sure we could find something to make it worth our while," he decided. The forest was bound to have something in it to both whet and sate their appetites. Dirge smiled then at the prospect, already abandoning the idea of hare; it was a long and thin grin, not without its teeth but not so much to seem menancing. Eager, perhaps.

"How are you for tracking—perhaps you've stumbled across such a quarry...?"

He absorbed the question, pursing his lips slightly as he thought on it. He wasn't all that familiar with these woods, but he'd been here once or twice, when he'd first lived on Silvertip. "Most of the forest is too thick for large game, but it thins out at the edges," Phocion said quietly, nodding toward the direction he'd came. "Deer like to take shelter there."

The white priest shrugged. "I'm a fair tracker, but I think my speed will be best utilized here," he replied, cursing that they found themselves deep in the woods, rather than on the open plains, where he could really stretch out. "But let's head toward the edge of the woods, and see what we can find." Phocion's eyes met the other's in a question--will you come?

He stood by idly as the pale-headed wolf went through what was presumably his process. Or perhaps it was an educated guess to where the deer liked to linger, not that Dirge disagreed with it any. It was true that in daylight they would venture to the more open swatches of land, partly to stretch their legs and travel all heads on a swivel and partly to feed; it would make sense for them to head to the fringes and go from there.

Though he saw the unasked question burn bright in smaller wolf's gaze, he did not answer it verbally but rather with the turn of his body towards the way he had come moments before. A toss of his head affirmed the direction he would take and he set off. The particulars of the matter could be worked out once they found something to go off, assuming they would. Dirge was not foolish enough to think this area went unexamined and hunted through; he doubted his temporary companion felt differently.

The weald was safe. Comforting. A place that someone could get lost in, the exact territory that Nyx' heart had yearned for. Through its eery, dappled light the agouti wolfess prowled, truly content for the first time in months, weaving carelessly between its spindly trees with raven-tipped lobes erect, her toxic eyes focused on the path before her.

It was Dirge she trailed, and found him in the company of another. A pale figure, smaller than her brother but undoubtablt masculine; his hueless pelt a sore reminder of her alabaster companion on the coast. She watched quietly from some distance, hidden away by foliage that allowed just enough space to peer through. Following talk of a hunt, Dirge made to turn away and lead the stranger to assume their pursuit of prey.

Nyx chose to reveal herself then, pushing past the ferns and announcing her arrival with a wuff as she quickened her stride to catch up.

It was not much further along the trail he forged that Nyx erupted from the scenery to join them. He was swift to halt briefly, eyes alighting on her golden visage momentarily to place her before a smile spread the length of his muzzle. It did not surprise him that she kept her tabs on him as of late, but he had presumed for a time that she had anyway. A brief introduction between them, the trio set off to seek their quarry... and the rest remained unwritten.

concluding and archiving here since it's been a while.