for the first time in what seems like months, she's not hungry. she'd found the carcass of a raccoon, drawn by the squabbling of birds, and gorged herself until she was sated, the rich meal making her feel sluggish, drowsy. and so she'd found a thicket early yesterday morning, curled up inside and promptly went to sleep.
it is the light that wakes her - bright and near to her nose. she blinks open her gaze to find a brilliant piece of the sun hoovering there, which just as quickly vanishes. she's stunned, remaining completely still as fear sparks; but a second later the light blinks on again, this time outside the thicket.
the girl stands, somewhat surprised by the strength the meal has offered her, and pushes her way out of the thicket. what greets her is inky blackness—she must have slept the whole day—punctured by dozen of blinking, ffloating, wheeling points of light. she gasps softly, enthralled, unwilling to shift a muscle should they vanish.
with ibis' return, okeanos feels a bit more grounded. his relationship with mali may be, well - whatever it is, depending on how that thread goes - but there is at least, always, his sweet, stalwart ibis. still, he's gotten in the habit of wandering a bit, in hopes of finding any potential recruits for their little enclave (and, if he's being honest, to keep an eye out for cam, just in case...)
when the day eventually gives to night, he retires wherever he is, trying to make sense of the stars overheard. he's gotten better at recognizing their patterns, knows how to trace them back to neverwinter, though he doesn't have all the names. he needs a mentor of some sort, he thinks - he's hit the ceiling on the learning he can do by himself, at least when it comes to the stars. healing, at least, can be trial and error (though, perhaps that's less than ideal for his patients). in any case, he'd found himself amongst the fireflies, quite ready to settle for the night, when he catches wind of another wolf nearby.
he can't quite see her, except for the points of light that reflect off her face when the flies blink in and out -- she almost seems to be made of stars. cautiously, so as not to (hopefully) frighten her or scare off the display, he calls, "hey," and adds thoughtfully, "they're beautiful, right?"
something else is out there, someone. the girl freezes, straring out into the speckled darkness, and sights him after a moment. he's considerably bigger than her, though through the dark and whizzing lights, she can't make out his size exactly. instinct and habit would have her slip away, but she remains where she is - perhaps it is the fireflies, which lend a dream-like feeling to this whole encounter, the absurdity of the notion of any harm befalling her here, now.
and so in the silence that stretches out after he speaks, her own careful voice, soft and hoarse with disuse, replies. "yeah," and then, softer still, "I think they're stars that got lost." up there, she thinks at them, up there is where you belong. but she doesn't really, want them to go.
for a moment, he worries he's frightened her, and tries to make himself smaller, hunching against the ground in a manner he hopes is placating. he can't help but smile at her apt description. "you know, i bet you're right," okeanos says, watching as one comes to land, briefly, on his nose. "i wonder if they're happier down here?"
after a pause, he adds, "i'm okeanos. can you tell me your name?"
"I think so," she offers after a moment, gaze watching them as they dance in the still night air. "up there is darkness, and down here, there's so much more." hushed, careful, she almost whispers as she tries not to disturb the tiny lights. one lands on her companion's nose, and a small laugh escapes her, little more than a breath of wind.
"I'm clementine." she offers, watching the firefly as it dances through the aire away from okeanos, determined not to lose track of it.
he smiles, nodding. okeanos doesn't know if up there is only darkness, but there certainly isn't anything to suggest otherwise, only dark sky and pinprick lights. in any case, the girl -- clementine -- is bright like one of the stars, he thinks. he watches her watch the fireflies, hesitant to break the reverie. "clementine," he repeats. "do you live around here?" he asks, reminded of cam, but hopeful she is not so unlucky.
to his question, a soft, "I don't know." to other adults, it had mostly been a yes and a quick slip away in whatever direction took her furthest from them. but she could not believe that any harm could come to her, to anyone, beneath the dancing lights of the fireflies.
her gaze passes over him again, never quite fixating on him for long. "I live in rusalka." she would not say it clearly, but it became obvious, then, just how lost she was. she wouldn't quite admit it to herself, travelling based on vague gut feelings she was sure would solidify eventually. for a while longer, they watch the dancing lights; eventually, clem silently pulls away and goes on her way.