From a copse of trees, like a writhing bonnet, came a great murder. It rose in his passing as if to herald things to come. But the boy did not lurch through the tangled forest, nor did he creep in any manner. Quite the opposite. The expectation of those flighty creatures did not pan out; they were no doubt under the belief that a wolf meant food, even when it was alone. His dark face arched to watch the black figures migrate to a new roost, and as they settled in to a great tree he only chided them.

Clicking his tongue with a slick smile.

The crows meant something else to the wolf. Tiarnán rarely saw such a large flock of them. To think that they swelled in such a manner because of passing strangers was ridiculous; even the youth could tell there was something grander here. A pack, perhaps. He spent the early evening seeking out tell-tale scents without reprieve. Spring was just coming alive in this area and so it wasn't as dire a time as winter, but the boy still wished to find a place to settle. The great trees of the mountains called to him, urging him closer with their familiarity. He was eager, too eager, and inevitably was drawn away from his quest to find the border's edge when a field of fresh flowers came in to view. Some were mere buds, others a glorious array of tiny petals and bright scents. He happily bound towards them, gleeful and unaware of his trespass.

The boy was a tall creature, a long creature, and yet the flowers that he now coveted rose up like a wave to encompass him. Petals flew off of stems. Claws raked carelessly through the matted roots and soft soil. He was overwhelmed by the scent of them, and burrowed his narrow face in to the bosom of the earth. It was in this frenzied moment that a voice rose up around him. Words he did not recognize, but holding a deep sentiment, made the boy lift his head and pivot to catch the stranger's eye. There was malevolence there. A warning held behind bared fangs.

Tiarnán scurried back from the flowers, urged by instinct to bare his own teeth but resistant as well. It wasn't natural for him. He was no beast, but just a boy. A slender thing without the meaty muscle of the stranger who now accosted him. With an apparent scoff - for he was affronted by this strange behaviour - he lifted his head as if to challenge the ranked wolf. Behind him was a second creature, lurking, sitting, waiting.

"Cé go bhfuil tú?"

He pointedly asked, directing the question along with a coy cock of his muzzle at the two strangers. A moment later - before they could really respond, at least verbally - Tiarnan remembered his initial goal. He almost flattened himself in to the grass. Somehow, his head resisted - remaining poised and dominant while his body folded down. "Oh - wolves pacáiste! Tú i do chónaí anseo." His tail frisked behind him, and he let out a practised whine of desire. Bealtaine mé i mo chónaí anseo freisin?"

Finally he was all the way down, and his tail reluctantly tucked under his belly. He was the epitome of submission, although a fire still flared in his eyes. Something unquenchable - his true colours perhaps. Resistant even as he begged forgiveness.

An odd expression crept upon the stranger's grizzled face, which prompted another whine to issue forth from the boy. Did they not hear him? Was something the matter? He began to straighten up. Maybe it was his curled body that made them nervous? But that didn't make sense. Tiarnan moved towards the standing of the two wolves and opened his mouth as if to speak, to clarify, but was cut short by a rumbling and heavily accented voice. The language that the patient wolf used was strange to Tiarnan. He was not used to it, and so his brow quickly furrowed with a mirrored confusion. This too was brief. The stranger seemed to understand - even attempting to speak the boy's language (or try, which was a welcomed endeavour).

"Ní mór glaoch ar ceannaire." Ah, so these were not the wolves he should have been deferring to after all. With this knowledge Tiarnan appeared to change before their eyes; he rose up to his paws and uncurled his tail from his belly, waving it happily from side to side like a dumbstruck child. This did not last long. Barely had the boy begun to settle - and there she was, coming around the gathering with her belly swinging and a sharp-toothed fury. Tiarnan did not flinch until she was close, and only then did he buckle down again - seeing the woman's flagged tail and indignant, sharp gaze.

"Tá mé cairdiúil! Ciallaíonn mé aon dochar - le do thoil, a dhéanamh di calma síos." He hurriedly willed with a pleading tone, lowering partway before feeling an instinctual pull to run; but he did not. The boy fought his instincts and instead sat with his hindquarters shuddering with energy - fear, adrenaline, the urge to escape. He was no fighter and had not come here to pose a threat. With his gaze locked upon the dark figure's silhouette (and carefully avoiding her eyes), he spoke a bit louder. Hoping that the man who understood him (even in the bare sense that he did) would hear him now, and ease the tension.

"Tá brón orm! Le do thoil, tá mé cara. Cara!"

Clearly this was all a mistake. The dark boy felt his misgivings rise with the adrenaline in his bloodstream, while the fur of his spine prickled with uncertainty. The forest was beautiful here, beautiful, and it sang to him. Who were these creatures that didn't even know how to speak to the trees? With a sense of defeat already surfacing in the boy, he buckled and lay prone against the ground - against all his better judgement - and hoped that the angry woman would calm her tits see him for what he was. Young, stupid, and eager for a home.