There was only so much time a man could spend being aimlessly restless. Étoille was testing that theory now. For so long he'd been content with the way things were and it'd carried him through three years of life, brief stints in packs and brief contact with others moving him forward. The impressions of those he met lingered - the deaf woman, the storyteller, the stricken girl-turned-alpha and her strange, coy-limbed partner, the firey red woman in the meadow - the others, if briefer, if less memorable, but still: none of these met a genuine connection.
He passed the Plateau on the way back to the coast, thinking of the excitable pack founder's offer, and skirted around it. Something was still holding him back. Something as silly as a lack of purpose, maybe. The coast was welcome, warm under his large paws. He traveled a little until he met where the shore was split by a river. His belly rumbled, the sensation grounding him once more in the present. The man would fish a bit, fill his stomach and keep his mind from turning any more.
Mirabelle rose early in the morning, roused by the hunger that gripped her stomach, yet she took no time to stop as she moved urgently into the Teekons — a captive on the run. The war-born lady had been on the move constantly since the implied demise of her fiann, Éireann, and though the empress was tired and dirty she carried on.
She had come across no strangers in this land and she considered it luck; she knew that the fiann that had chased Éireann out of their shared hunting grounds would be looking for her; she was taken as captive and wasn't sure if she was supposed to make it out alive or not.
Either way she was here now, and that was what needed focusing. There was no time or place for panic, it would only get her caught again.. or worse. The pale ice queen shoved the thought aside, continuing along the river. She did not know where she was supposed to go or what she was supposed to do from here; so far away from home! Her stomach gave another growl and she followed the river until it dumped out on a shore, although unfortunately someone was already there.
The first face she had seen since her capture, but it looks like it was not a wolf of the rivaling fiann. She keeps her distance, keeping her head low. Maybe he will ignore her.
She dips her face in the stream, trying to fish but as it turns out, she's lousy at it.
Étoille is by no means a skilled fisherman, but he possesses a natural grace and stillness that leant to the job. The fish are quick beneath him, and it takes a few unsuccessful tries before his jaw closes around the edges of a fat - something-or-other. He never bothered to learn the names of fish.
His large form splashes back out of the river. He tosses the fish on the shore, pressing one large paw over it to tear into the tender flesh. It's a messy action, but somehow refined on him. Étoille eats quickly - nearly finished when he finally notices the company of the white-furred woman. Licking his lips, the beast turns toward her. She seems preoccupied with fishing as he had been. For a moment he hesitates, unsure if announcing himself will make things awkward. Perhaps she'd been aware of him already but was intentionally ignoring him?
Well. It seems she's having trouble. He tilts his head and clears his throat. "More of them this way," Étoille says in his usual rumble, attempting helpful but perhaps coming off condescending.
She seems to take his words kindly. He sits and watches passively as she catches herself a meal. Is it rude, he wonders, to linger, when no real connection had been established between them? Well - but then she speaks to him finally and his unease settles. "Of course," Étoille murmurs, inclining his head. "It is difficult," he agrees after a moment, thinking of his own background. He hadn't seen the sea before his arrival to Gnarled Oaks, but there'd been rivers and streams. Fishing isn't a complete novelty. "I've been by rivers, but the sea is still..." the man trails off. 'New' isn't quite right at this point, with how much time he's squandered walking and looking at it. "I'm still intrigued by it," he finally settles on.
Speaking with others is starting to feel more natural. He glances at the ocean and back to the woman. She's - smaller than him, naturally, and snowy white, and he's not a superstitious man, but if he were he would wonder at the frequency of his encounters with white-furred women. "I am Étoille," the beast introduces himself politely, and lets the flow of conversation fall to her.
Her formality takes the large man by surprise. It makes him feel he is being too casual, and so he returns the gesture with a graceful dip of his own head. "Mirabelle," Étoille repeats. Something about her is striking to him: she's a character of sorts. Like royalty, perhaps. He hums, thinking over her words as he looks back at the shore. "Oui, along those lines," the man agrees. "Once I was told a story of wolves that traveled the sea," he says, a touch absently. "A fable, that is. The details I forget."
He's echoing the conversation he had with Maera, he realises with a touch of embarrassment. Quickly to change the subject, the beast adds, "is your Éireann far from here?"
The man wonders what she could possibly mean by 'unconventional means'. His gaze tears from the ocean back to the woman. He had not been looking closely before; he sees now the grime in her fur, the tenderness she holds herself with. But he is unsure what to make of that information, and he has never been the type to press. "I see," he instead says, plainly curious.
She changes the subject. He dips his head, thoughtful. "Prior to these lands, I was briefly with a pack named Gnarled Oaks. Prior to that, I traveled from much farther north." Étoille has not thought of his home-lands in some time. He thinks about his clumsy words to the wanderer, Ty, his hesitancy to label himself, despite his seemingly endless need to roam. But he wants to stop roaming. He's just gotten too picky, somewhere along the lines. "It would be nice to settle down," he says absently, more to himself than to her. Perhaps it was time.