Zireael was not sure what to do and weighed the options of continuing forth or turning around (which would also be an admittance of his defeat) and make his way back to Oberon Fortress several times. Upon the territories leading into the Wilds there had been a gradual fade of green and life until he was left meandering through skeletal and spindly limbs and remotely barren landscapes broken by the sprouts of green that had begun to push their way, resilient, through the earth. It wasn't entirely dead, the young sparrow mused as he pushed on, deeper into the Wilds, and he could have sworn somewhere out in the distance he heard the click of a venison's joints though he did not pursue it, nor did he break away from his goal to investigate it. He could not feasibly take down a deer by himself, anyway. There was little use wasting his energy on building the temptation if only to see it unsatisfied. None of Tutor's lessons and brutal teachings had ever prepared him for any thing like this. Zireael knew the word for it, of course, and his jowls parted as he thought it with a grim acknowledgment: famine. Though what had caused this particular famine went largely unknown to the sparrow who had ridden the worst of it in the lush territories beyond the Teekon Wilds — the territories beyond that had been brimming with life and in retrospect these Wilds left him wanting and disappointed.
His objective, however, was not food, rather it's opposite. He had begun to follow the sound of a nearby creek until he finally came upon it. The morning was hot, the humidity heavy and almost tangible in the air. He sucked in a breath, tentatively aware of the scent of a pack nearby. It was across the creek and some distance away from him so he did not think he was in danger of being attacked, yet still, Zireael remained rightfully weary. He lowered his head to the creek and began to lap at the cool water, crisp and refreshing. His laps were evenly paced so as to not make himself sick. It worked to sate his thirst but also a small part of him hoped that it might serve to slave off his hunger until he could find something to hunt. For now, however, the water would suffice.
Strangely tired of the intrigue of the Blackfeather Woods, Potema struck out from the dark woods, venturing into the Wilds to assess the state of the land. She headed north, wincing as the darkness of her home blended into the bright lights of the outside world. Potema's eye squinted at the sunlight, and she blinked furiously until her eyes adjusted to the light. Wait..wait...Nope...still all dead. Potema huffed at the unnatural death all around her, frustrated that she had no power over this anomaly. She could do nothing to shape the future events but wait...and wait..
But the time for waiting might be shorter now; her sister had found plants growing once more near the creek, and the white witch figured that, when life would return to Teekon Wilds, it would return first to the shores of creeks and rivers and expand outwards from there. She headed the short distance towards the Otter Creek north of Blackfeather Woods, her single eye scanning the ground beneath her for any source of plant life.
It wasn't until she reached the banks that she found a small seedling sprouting near the shore. In its infancy, Potema couldn't identify the plant's species, but any sign of life was better than nothing. Satisfied for now, the witch bent her head to drink from the Creek, not pausing as she looked up to see an ashen wolf lapping at the water nearby. Her sapphire ocular kept locked on the male warily as she drank her fill, not breaking as she lifted her head up, water dripping from her maw. She licked her lips casually as she prepared to speak. Are you from around here?
Zireael's head lifted at the sound of lapping nearby. Dark ash colored hackles bristled with his unease, a single silver eye studying the pallid figure in the short distance, deciding that if he minded his own business then she might, perhaps, leave him alone. Her scent wafted his way on the soft breeze, telling him that she belonged to the pack on the opposite side of the creek. Still, the creek was big enough for the two of them and he had no quarrel with her. He was inherently suspicious, but curiosity and his right to be there just as much as she kept the swallow rooted to his spot. He continued to lap at the water, not entirely ignoring her presence but not truly acknowledging it, either. She gave him no choice, however, but to acknowledge her when she broke the silence that wrapped around them and spoke; and since he was the only creature around besides herself Zireael was left to assume that it was he she was speaking to.
His own head lifted then, Tutor's teachings ingrained far too deeply, seared into the swallow's makeup to ignore her attempts to socialize with him. He fixed the pallid woman — probably around his own age, if he had to guess — in his silver gaze. Her question was spoken in the common tongue — a dialect that Tutor had taught him to be fluent in, the Elder language was likely not spoken around these parts but still Zireael found old habits hard to break: he could not recall the last time he'd actually spoken the common tongue. “neén” Zireael spoke, taking the liberty to study her. She had one ethereal blue colored iris while the other eye was marred by scars and was a milky color, and a trail of what the swallow assumed to be blood trailing down the side of her muzzle from her wounds. He did not smell blood, poignant as it was but perhaps it was old and he did not give much further thought to it.
He waited for a few more seconds before he offered in the elegantly accented tones, “No,” reaching out to her and responding in the tongue she had addressed him in. “I have only been in these Wilds for a few hours.” Zireael admitted. There was no harm in offering her knowledge that he thought was obvious in and of itself. “What of you?” He returned the courtesy in turn.
Her ears lifted at the foreign word, and immediately Potema was suspicious. While her training at Hag Fen had taught her that not all unfamiliar words were curses you paranoid witch, she was still suspicious. It was within her nature to be. But she kept, or tried to keep, such doubts within her mind rather than on her face.
The wolf had only just arrived in Teekon Wilds, which caused her to wonder: why come here to a barren wasteland barely recovering from a plague? Surely he must be stopping for a mere moment before travelling elsewhere. No sane wolf would just stay here. A long time.
A long time for her at least. What brings you here, then? A drink of water?