kvasir knows he has overreached as soon as he begins to explore the forest in earnest. this is not the darkwoods his mother spoke of; though shadowed with the velveteen darkness of the early morn and made drab by the light drizzle that pitter patters upon the melding leaf and branch canopy above there are no ravens. the otherwordly calls he hears belong to foxes; evidenced by the stench that hangs thick like an awful perfume in the air. the silencer pauses, takes in his surroundings with mismatched eyes, fighting off the burn of disappointment warring as it does with reluctant acceptance. all he has of these wilds is the stories of his parents and he knows it is unfair to expect their memories to be infallible. with a breath he shakes it off and sets forward to continue exploring the damp territory.
It was warmer than it had been lately, which was good. Warmth meant that spring was finally upon them, which meant that herbs would be growing and herbs meant that Evien could take better care of his pack. That was his job, after all, and he was very good at his job, he found.
But today he was just out for a walk, not necessarily to gather anything but instead to just get out of the valley for a while. His pace was slow and languid, taking it easy on his useless left hind leg. Green eyes shut as he passed through a beam of sunlight.
An exhale sounded from somewhere to his left and Evien opened his eyes again, turning his attention toward the noise. Big and snow white and ghostly - a soft chuff escaped Evien as he looked at the larger wolf. "Hey," he called, turning to approach the spectre. "Are you lost?"
a soft chuff sounds from the foliage around him, and soon mismatched gaze settles upon the earthen colored man that emerges from the forest shadows he blends so well into. cursory glimpse is given around, an instinct borne of the fact that the stranger carries the scent of others upon his pelage. thick. fresh. breath passes thru slightly parted lips as the question is posed; the assumption that he is lost grating on the silencer's nerves. it was an innocent enough question and technically he probably was. whatever map his parents stories and directions had been able to conjure into kvasir's mind was half complete and likely outdated. not half as easy to read as the smattering of stars he used to navigate himself here.
i search for my ancestral home. a place called blackfeather woods,
a riposte; not an actual answer to the man's question. or not a direct answer, anyway. heard of it?
Ancestral home of Blackfeather Woods. That sure was a sentence, wasn't it? Evien hummed and shook his head. "No, sorry. Maybe it's on the other side of the mountain or something," he reasoned, tipping his head to the side and surveying the phantom. This guy was a strange one, for sure, but Evien was interested enough. "What's your name?" the boy questioned, tipping his head to the side and looking around. It didn't seem that there were any other wolves with this guy, so he should be safe. Not that the white wolf was showing any real signs of aggression anyway.
the dark pelaged stranger speaks words that only encourage disappointment within the silencer. it fills his mouth with cotton and his chest with stones. he cannot believe that the infamy of his family is not well known within this place. cannot believe that his mother's words would be wrong. but, kvasir convinces himself, perhaps the dark pelaged stranger is as new as he to these wilds. perhaps that is why blackfeather woods holds no real significance to him. it is in thinking this way that kvasir keeps his disappointment and suspicion from crushing him. maybe,
the silencer allows; considering and faraway.
my name...?
kvasir is almost perplexed for a moment, unused to being asked in such a direct manner. does it matter? he wants to ask. i am kvasir.
faithful servant of mephala and silencer. the titles autocomplete themselves in his brain but do not make the push from vocal chords to his lips. instead, they swarm around his chest like contained bees. useless to him here and now. and you are?
If he had known the man's doubts, Evien would have reassured him that he was just new to the area and that the bum leg made it rather difficult to get around. So he was probably the least likely to know of his family of almost all the wolves in the area. But Evien was not a mind reader, so he wasn't able to.
The white wolf seemed almost confused when Evien asked him his name - which Evien had been under the impression was a societal norm. Kvasir was an interesting one - difficult to say. "It's nice to meet you, Kvasir," he responded cordially, nodding his head. "My name is Evien."
"Is there anyone in Bearclaw Valley that you might be searching for? That could help you find your home?" Merrick and Leila had been there for a long time, as far as he understood. Maybe they knew something.