"Wuh-"
Seldom was Shrike lost for words. But as he stood ankle deep in the water and stared below the quivering surface he saw something that caught his attention and stripped all words from his mouth before he could finish the word he was about to say. He'd been drinking, but as per usual, his eyes continuously roved the water's surface, looking here and there, as though the young male was always on a hunt for something. And fortunately for him, his observation skills had found him something that stuck out. Something that he wanted. Something that was pretty beyond words.
It was a piece of quartz, but he couldn't quite see exactly how clear or beautiful it was below the surface- all he could see was the gleam and the extraordinary potential of something that glimmered so brightly below the surface of the water. He waded in deeper, until the water came up to his chest, and began to grasp for the stone with one foot then the other, trying to tease it into water that was shallow enough for him to dip in his muzzle and grab it. But the stone caught against another rock and wouldn't budge. He didn't want to scratch it, digging at it with his claws, so he straddled the thing with his forelegs, breathed in deeply, peered down with an unusually focused look and with a movement swift but reluctant, dropped his head below the surface.
It took him several moments to resurface- he'd opened his eyes several times and had touched the stone with his muzzle a few times before he decided that yes, he had the right one, before he grabbed it and lifted his head out of the water. Cool liquid dripping from his face and down his shoulders, he peered below the surface before he even moved one foot, just to make sure he hadn't grabbed the wrong one. If he waded back to shore and dropped a dud, he might not find the right one again. He was fairly sure he had the smoothe, bright stone, so he waded back to the shore, and with a movement careful and tender, he put down the stone.
It was as brown and opaque as mud.
He gritted his teeth- he'd grabbed the wrong rock. He waded back in quickly, looking here and there- he couldn't see it. He began scrabbling at the rocks below the surface, frustrated, trying to find the one he'd found before, and wanted desperately.
Her skin felt as though it wanted to tear from her body, to expose sinew and bone to the elements, and she thought that might feel better than this; these fraying nerves, and storming emotions and odd stirrings that she could make no logical sense of. She was supposed to stay within the borders of Drageda until the Commander and her party returned— to watch over the claim as her new role demanded. It was what she had desperately wanted, another step closer to leading a pack of her own and bearing children, but try as she might to let the comfort of logic rule her... Magpie presently couldn't find it within herself to care. It was perhaps the Corvidae in her blood, that made her crave new scenery so fiercely, as if a sunset in somewhere new would be a balm on her wounds.
She had come back to the Wilds to seek out her remaining family— to be near them, even— but she never intended to live amongst them. Magpie desired to carve out her own path, and just as she had made the first mark, her niece had encroached upon it; it was petty and illogical, but the Corvidae resented it. And something about Wildfire's hushed words to the Commander haunted her— "I missed you." She didn't know what it meant, or perhaps didn't want to. It was all made worse by Thuringwethil's hot-headed decisions and bull-headed determination to do the exact opposite of what Magpie patiently advised. Not for the first time, she wondered if she truly belonged within the borders of Drageda. It was never intended to be her final home, anyway; and she had told the Commander as much in their first meeting.
As white forepaws crossed over the threshold of the claim, out into the Wilds, a relief spread over the woman. Freedom washed away the cares that were so strongly tied to the tumultuous wolves of Sleeping Dragon, and the peace she craved settled in her chest and pushed the wild emotions aside. Her skin no longer felt like it was about to leap from her body. With no real thought, Magpie treaded south towards the river that had caused so much tension in the region; perhaps to truly test her freedom, or perhaps to see if it contained some sort of magick that caused all the wolves that drank from it to go crazy.
She walked along its banks for a time, until she heard the splashes of a wolf pacing in its depths— occasionally bobbing beneath its surface, far too violently to be fishing, for they'd all be scared away. So far, her theory could not be proven wrong. Brows raised over chartreuse eyes, she hailed the male from a safe distance when his head was visible above the river's surface, "Looking for something?"
Your mind, maybe? she thought silently, a wry smirk touching the edges of her muzzle.
Shrike growled to himself very softly- a barely audible thrum just above the sound of his own breathing, and once in a while his black lips would mouth the words want that. He moved carefully in the water, not wanting to knock too many rocks out of place and inadvertantly bury the rock that he would never again see. He was convinced he was in the right area, and that the rock couldn't possibly have gone far from where he'd been. It was frustrating, as well, as he assured himself that he hadn't disturbed too many rocks in the area when he'd scooped up the one he'd thought was right, so it made absolutely no sense that it shouldn't be exactly where he'd left it.
He was roused from his search somewhat suddenly when a feminine voice posed a question. He looked toward her, water dripping from his chin, his expression anything but shameful. He was still frustrated with himself and with the water for moving the rocks around on him. He wanted the pretty rock. It wasn't fair that it wasn't where it should have been. But his tension lessened slightly when he looked at the female, whose markings brought an amused light to his eyes. She, too, had the markings of a bird- and he sorely hoped that she too had been named for the bird she resembled. He wondered, then, as well, if she resembled the magpie in personality and thus, he felt no shame when he spoke the truth.
"Rock. A shiny one." He said to the attractive female, lifting his gaze to her face to gauge her reaction. Though shrikes weren't really attracted to shiny things, magpies were. Even if her name wasn't magpie, he secretly hoped that she would still be attracted to the idea of looking for something shiny. It would have been too perfect. At least he, named Shrike, wasn't the kind of wolf who impaled his meals on thornbushes, to save them for later- so not all character traits needed to be replicated.
She watched the sparkle of water in sunlight as it ran in rivulets down his muzzle, then fell in droplets back into the river. It helped to focus on the details of something rather than the confusion that ran rampant in her mind, and Magpie felt herself relax. He spoke in short sentences, his tone almost monotonous; she might have thought that he was bored, if not for the way he was attempting to engage her. She could guess at his assumption, but she didn't mind it— for it wasn't entirely untruthful. Magpie had been much more of a collector in her youth, but she still enjoyed decorating her den with beautiful things.
"A shiny rock," she repeated. Then, "What do you need it for?"
Her question was genuine, for most wolves had no use for such things, and there was no hint of judgment in her tone. Awaiting an answer (and perhaps receiving one), her gaze cast over him. His eyes were silver, behind a unique mask of black that made him look almost skeletal, and the rest of him was an unremarkable mix of silver and variegated grey. Not unattractive by any means, but no Summer, either.