she likes to think about the first time she's truly gained the upper hand over Vaati. beneath him, fangs on his throat. she did not bite down. she could have.
cassiopeia watches the man as she presses all his bulk against the wind, moving with gaze slanted and steps heavy. she wonders if vaati was a fluke. she wants to know if she can do it again, wants a test. she thinks a moment before moving in a wide circle around the male, low and undiscernable amongst the shadows and rocks, until she found herself somewhere before him and made for his general direction, a chuff forcing it's way from her muzzle when he came back into sight. she moved the close the distance between them, windwhipped and faced with all the bitter cold beinf exposed on the ridge offered.
this Vetty may make thinks harder, she considers, but so be it. she has no desire to maim the man, really, she does have a sense of justice, after all. he is merely a test of herself and men in general. she does not reply to his apologies, instead calling out through the storm. "I am lost. I'm looking for shelter." the words themeselves were stiff, but her tone was easy and slipped from her tongue like water. she paused, wavering, in front of the man. this was oft where the pieces of delicate beauty inherited from her mother became useful, at least, from experience, and she blinked at the male as ice and snow threatened to blind her now and again.
the wind pushed through her fur once more, and true discomfort began now that she stood out in the open. her pelt was hardly good protection, spiked against the chill and already stiffened with snow and ice. the storm sought to carve its way through the mountains and the wolves who stood here were pale targets amongst the unyeilding rock. the male spoke now of a group; it was not her intention to shelter with others but she did not refute his words. it would be stupid to back away now, when there were faces to learn and knowledge to gain, however insignificant.
she dipped her head, the movement slightly exageratted as she sought to be seen amongst the driving winds. she'd follow him whereever he mat lead, pliable in her motives and actions, yet. it would be more enjoyable than weathering out this storm in solitude, in any case. he asks now for her name, and she does not answer for a moment while the wind screams through the rock. here, perhaps, would be where some would give another title. she does not care for false pretenses and accepts that all her deeds, no matter how dirty, should be attributed to her proper title. "cassiopeia." she doesn't offer much else besides, for surely the wind will steal away much of what she attempts to say.
There was too much damn wind howlin' goin' on for him to even imagine having any sorta conversation. Be real funny should she not have heard anything he said. Hell, had she not, he wouldn't even be mad. And after looking around, he'd come to realize that his blockhead ass wasn't even in front of Shadewood- what was he don' tryin' ta call himself recruitin? This lady was free ta do whatever the hell it was she wanted.
"C'mon then, Casseh," his baritones tried competing with the air 'round them. The rustler tried to angle himself where the majority of the wind poured, an attempt to shield the lady from the hardcore aspect of the bite. He had enough bulk to make it so, but even the wind could be finicky and just change course just to piss him off. It was then he aimed to lead them to one of the overhanging ridges, where of course there was a decently dug out cavern in the stone. Just barely high enough for ear tips to be tucked in, it was near enough for them both to fit in, but they'd be snug. Rather than make her feel uncomfortable, he gave her the den-like crevice.
"Names' Morgan," his breath was chilled just as it left his deep throat. "And Morgan ain't too fond a' weather like this," he gave a light chuckle, trying to be a bit friendlier than his typical sarcastic self is.
I DIDN'T REMEMBER THAT THIS WAS CLEARLY NOT IN SHADEWOOD OR EVEN NEAR IT'S BORDERS FORGIVE PLS xDDDDD
if her nerves were stretched when he'd refered to her as cassie, they were stretched further still when he refered to himself in the third person. her original aim in approaching him had been lost and she'd no desire to find it. he was decent in his actions, perhaps, but she'd no desire to be here for long. the wind forestalled any attempt at escape, however, and she supposed it was her own doing that had put her in this mess. she was led to a crevice in the rock, where she curled up tightly near the far end, leaving enough room should he choose to enter. "thanks," she offered, but the wind grew fierce and like some of his own words, it may have been lost in the wind.