Massaraq's tumble had left him sore and aching, walking was uncomfortable but possible and he hoped that the bruises and whatever possible less tangible injuries would fade with time. He could not long afford to be hindered alone as he was. Feather tucked behind his ear he had stowed his package somewhere safe so that he might explore the meadows, hoping to find the trail of game that he could hunt even in his state.
His paws struck the earth evenly for all the discomfort held in his shoulders and he was beginning to learn to move more silently over the world.
@Andras
he thought of the pretty little girl often. her eyes felt as if they were a window; a mirror, even, in a way he had never seen before. numbness found them, found him when she answered his stare, and yet inside her was the aching yawn of emotions that had no name.
he wanted her to himself. but these things took time.
for now, the prophet continued to stay hidden. he bathed often, changed the mask of his scent often — one could never be too paranoid. snow crumbles the flatlands, lays waste to the mountaintops in the distance. heretics, heathens and onlookers will have trouble smelling him, surely;
but not seeing him.
Massaraq did not sense with sound nor smell the other until he saw his black fur more stark upon the horizon than Massaraq’s own frosted ruff. He approached openly with a bark, tail wagging yet asserting no dominance. The young wolf had been met with kindness and fairness throughout his travels even when he trespassed and it was in this spirit that he approached.
The figure gained shape as he closed the distance but was still a distance away to Massaraq’s bright blue eyes that had not shifted to another color since birth.
he is not alone.
not a man, but a boy holding a porcelain pelt that shimmers with a dusting of frost. a staggering limp. he is vulnerable — but so is andras.
intrigued, the prophet takes a tentative step closer; shoulders stiff, ears flicked forward, a ribbon of charcoal black whirling into a high flag behind him. the eyes of steel are sharp and questioning, and his lip puckers into a soft show of teeth.
no words need to be shared in order for his status to be known. no longer a leader; but still a father.
The wolf greets him with a show of teeth and high flagging tail and Massaraq watches impassively. His own tail stills but does not stiffen or straighten upward. He neither averted his gaze from the face of the other nor met his eyes to challenge, affable - offering neither dominance nor submission. He gave instead a greeting. “I’m Massaraq.” A subtle query but he was not uncurious. The stranger, for all his bulk, did not looked untouched by winter hardship and a suggestion of mutual aid was on the tip of his tongue.
massaraq. he had never heard such a name. his eyebrows arc in earnest curiosity, and from his nose comes a soft huff of warm breath.
boniface,
a non-name. the anti-father. the bristling guard hairs return to a lay. this is merely a boy — a lost boy. his lips, which had previously been shaped into a scowl, now smooth out in a soft line. you are hurt.
Massaraq nodded at the introduction, Boniface. A name that would have been more out of place in Moonglow and yet they were not there and so it was merely that. His head tilted down to his paws at the mention of his injuries, supposing that he had not fully hidden the stiffness in his movements. And his voice held a hint of embarrassment. "Yeah I took a tumble crossing the mountains." His tail wagged softly. "But I can still run if you'd be willing to have a second set of fangs on a hunt?" Two were better than one on the trail and three better than two, but there were two of them so it was to the stranger, now not stranger, that Massaraq asked the question.
this boy is so simple. andras longed to have such youthful naivete again.
he declines the offer of a hunt with a simple shake of his head. this boy would only weigh him down, he thought. his gaze is hard, but not judgmental.
it would be best for you to return home,
he gestures to the lame limb. for i'm afraid i am no healer. is there somewhere you can go?
At the mention of healing he fixed an embarrassed yet polite smile on his face. It hurt his pride the have his weakness pointed out even if it was true and not malicious. "Thank you anyways. I don't need a healer, I'm just sore, it'll fade in a few days." He said, determined for it to be true.
At the mention of home he answered honestly, because it was instinctive and he had little cause to answer in any way but in his short life. "I...I can't go home yet." And he did not quite manage to keep the hurt from his voice at that. Having to admit it to a near stranger after all, that he had a home but he could not return. What was wrong with him? Inside he steeled himself, though the question lingered. Was it even home if he could not return?