It is easy enough to cut through the woods. The terrain becomes steep, and what starts as an overgrowth of ferns peters out to bare, red earth as well as patches of dry mud—the kind which has clear patterning throughout it, and a pass overtop with a few deep breaths helps Scintilla determine why. It is a wallow; a group of pigs had, at some point during the previous rainfall, transformed this pathway in to their own space. They are not here now, but their tracks patchwork the earth in a haphazard, obvious way.
He considers these marks a moment, breathes deeply of the rich earth-scent that has become a rubbery sort of dry mud expanse, and then marches on, and up. From the greenery that remains, along the curvature of a ridge, until he cannot go any further without somehow sprouting hooves. Scintilla coughs softly and shakes his head to clear his senses, licking his lips—and tasting the air—as a breeze blusters through the fur of his cheeks.
Where to next?
For the very first time, she'd left
@Blossom with
@Boone; she'd fussed over her daughter endlessly in preparation, seeing to it that she had her favorite foods at the ready, a comfortable place to nap, toys to keep her occupied. She warned Boone of her daughter's general obliviousness, her tendency to drop on the spot into sleep when she was tired, her penchant for chewing on whatever plant she found available. She tried to think of everything. But finally there were no more preparations to be made, and so Reverie reluctantly parted from the pair in search of a new adventure.
It would only be a few hours, but Reverie worried anyway. It wasn't that she didn't trust Boone; she did, enough to have followed him from Kvarsheim, enough to have married him. But to be parted from Blossom was always a nerve-wracking experience for her, even when she'd been able to leave her daughter in the loving care of her family at the Stone Circle.
In the end it was the sight of a pretty stranger which finally distracted her from her anxiety, a man in dark furs with striking starlit eyes. Guilt flashed through her as she made her approach, but that didn't stop her. It never had. The only difference now was that she did not feel quite so neglected, desperate for some kind of attention. Boone had never rejected her. Still, that familiar flutter began in her chest as she called out with eyes bright and tail swaying behind her.
Hello!
Reverie began, wondering immediately if perhaps this man was looking to settle. She could bring him home — for their pack, of course. No other reason.
A call sounds in the descending dark which opposed the gloom of the evening in every way: a bright, welcoming, feminine voice. He turns his attention in the direction of the voice and twitches an ear, but he does not hear anything else, and instead spots the gilded figure of a woman approaching. She looked to be fashioned of the dawn itself.
As she came closer, Scintilla did his best to keep his wits sharp. He studied her with quick glances, attentive to the long shadows of the trees, and his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of her—and that scent, it was not singular. She had companions somewhere, he'd discerned. Did they wait in the shadows? He could not know for sure, but the likelihood of someone like this who gave off such warmth and welcome, and somehow imbued the air with softness, so he was put at-ease enough to lessen his guard.
The man cleared his throat, murmuring a greeting of, Hello,
which could only be described as shy. He did not move closer, but neither did he flee. If anything, he was conflicted about what to do next. His eyes averted for a second as he looked at his feet, and then—as if remembering how conversations were meant to work—and added, ...am I, ah, intruding?
His shyness appealed to her; Reverie had always held a certain affinity for men of a softer make than what she was accustomed to, drawn to what she viewed as unexpected sensitivity. In a way it reminded her of her first husband, though he had not been so shy at first. She stepped closer, tail still moving in a slow back-and-forth at her hocks.
Oh, no you aren't,
She assured him with a quick shake of her head for emphasis. I um, I'm Reverie. I'm settling in a forest nearby with my family. A willow forest.
Reverie gestured with her muzzle in the direction of the place they would call home. Are you a traveler?
She wondered next; a common question for her these days, born of some mixture of envy and delight at the prospect. Reverie still intended to travel, but would never again be able to range quite as far from her home as she had before. There was too much tying her here to be left behind for more than a day or two at a time. Still, she loved to hear about the travels of others, and so she awaited his response with bated breath.
He had been right in his deductions that she was not alone, but his further assumption that this was her land was rebuffed by her answer. A small bobbing of his head came with his understanding. She mentioned a willow forest and his bobbing stopped, although there remained a ponderous expression on his face. Scintilla couldn't recall having passed anything of the sort - yet it must have been nearby, or she would not be here.
Her question made the corners of his mouth twitch. There was a sleepiness to his expression then, a dulling of his eyes, but only for half a heartbeat. I am—my name is Scintilla,
he answered.
I come from a family of nomads,
he admitted to her, unsure as to why he would bring up the sore subject. Something about this woman's presence softened him enough to indulge the both of them with such nostalgia. He did not speak further on that, though.
What sort of place is it? Your willows?
Here, he reclined to sit carefully — pantherine, sculpted, with his rugged silver shoulders trying to release their natural tension.