This wasn't really her aesthetic, but she could appreciate it. The sunset was her early morning, the deep reds and burnt oranges like those soft pinks and sweet purples of dawn. They were the golden curtains drawn back for the moon's ascent — she could find the appeal in the last hours of sun's burn, at the very least. Her paws burned from the scratch of sand, and the black of her willowy body cut a moving shadow across the golden coast as she moved, searching for dark shadows and muddy holds.

So far, all she saw was beach and forest. She liked forests, she did, but without muddy waters and earthen hollows, they were without a certain sense of power that she couldn't get over. She, as a witch, oracle, and highborn girl, deserved that sort of haven in three whole ways - if that didn't make her long for the comfort of a black bog, what could? For now, she rolled to a quiet stop at the head of the bright red waters that poured over fish and rock in the sunlight, bright orange as magma against the bank. As dark as she was, she stood out like a sore thumb, but Antigone had never had a good sense about dangers or instinct. 

Instead, she fussed over her reflection in the bright water, pawing her forearm over her dark ears and the fur of her cheeks.

Arturo split his time between recruiting outside of his forest home and tending to those he had gathered to join his Family, stocking caches, marking borders and mentoring Chusi. Luckily for him Chusi was not incapable of taking care of herself to some extent and she did not need him as a younger child would have. She was allowed free reign of Ravensblood Forest to romp around as she pleased — though the Ceannasach encouraged her to seek out the other adults and to assist where she could. She was not so young to be helpless and though the expectations were not as strict as they were upon an adult's shoulders he still excepted her contribution where she could understanding that she was still limited in ways that adults were not. She seemed eager enough and he let her fly without worry.

He had followed a red fox's trail outside of his borders, following the winding path of the Totoka River, stained red with the blood orange of the setting sun as it spilled it's ember light upon the lands. Defiant until it sunk entirely beneath the horizon. The trail ended to a borrow with squealing pups in the depths of it and Arturo let out a low breath, taking a few steps away from the fox den, rolling his eyes against the unfortunate development. To kill her would be to cruelly end the lives of the small whelps she bore. While this perhaps would not have bothered another it bothered the Ceannasach who had once been the father of helpless, squealing newborns. He would find another.

He moved on from it, side stepping it with a flick of his tail, his gaze sweeping the waters only to fall upon a sylph in the distance. Tri-colored and appeared to be washing herself in the waters. Ember eyes appraised her from the distance for a few seconds before a soft chuff slipped from betwixt his lips to bring to her attention his presence. The abandoned hunt was forgotten about.

Chuff. Antigone gave one more rub of her paw over her cheek, and only dropped it when she was sure the rogue fur had been tucked into place. Not a bad job, if she said so herself! Nothing a bit of spit and polish couldn't fix. Then, and only then, did she lift the gold burn of her gaze, black ears scooping forward with a poignant little tweak to embellish just how neatly she'd groomed them. Bigger than she, though not really bulky — men weren't his color where she came from. She'd never known a life without black pelts; the 'moontouch' she had, the white in her fur, had made her exotic, but that was as far as it ever went. Maybe someone's wife had been more brown and earthen like he, she couldn't really remember.

Quietly, Antigone dipped the dark crown of her head, eyes bent up under dark lashes. What should she call the black splash on his face? Night-touched? No, too many 't' sounds. A thrill ran through her when she settled on the word - shadowtouched - and realized that she'd just added to her own vernacular, a word of her own invention! There was immortality in that. "Hey," she barely managed, as if remembering she was supposed to speak, and the warm tinge of her voice came quietly, if at all. Lost in that thought, she gave one careful glance down to her reflection before biting at the black of her lip, lifting those bright eyes back to his dark face. "You're φεγγάρι-έπεσε, yeah? I thought I was the first to make it this far from home." And those dark lips bent in a disappointed girlish pout. She could have stomped her foot, if she was childish enough; and she was, but the sand barely made a noise, so why bother?

The young woman was without a doubt beautiful — not quite as striking to him as Kitku's had been — yet that did not diminish the sort of mystical ethereality that for a moment held the gangster captive as he studied her. She smelled, interestingly enough to the Fearghal monarch, like burnt trees and herbs as her scent carried in the space between them upon the soft breeze. She greeted him so softly that he was not sure if he'd truly heard it or not. Her sharp and luminescent gaze was bright as it cut through the darkening evening. When she spoke next Arturo heard it with clarity and the Ceannasach regarded her with quiet contemplation as he processed her words, confused. He did not recognize her and the foreign word that had spilled from her lips so languidly was lost to him.

“I am afraid you are mistaken,” Ceannasach informed her gently, as if she were a wild animal whose ire he was trying to avoid, the deep incantation, smoky reticence of his accented voice soft as he spoke, though loud enough that he knew she would hear it clearly. “I am not from your home.” He added, unsure if he should be speaking it as a reassurance or a subtle apology. Though the pout of her lips left Arturo with the suspicion that it should perhaps be reassurance. “The word you spoke...what did you call me?” Because the gangster was nothing if not a little bit curious and intrigued.

Mistaken? She was about to be indignant - Antigone Demos was never mistaken, thank you - but he clarified her with a considerable sobering truth, and the young witch stared at him in mild disbelief. Why would the night touch him if he wasn't Phyrgian? She knew other wolves were all sorts of monochrome, yes, but - but - she'd made up a word, for tide's sake!

His question, warm and piqued with all good intentions of curiosity, drew her out of her mild surprise (and childish disappointment) with a small purse of her dark lips. "Sorry, I suppose you wouldn't know it. I shouldn't have assumed," and she felt a good heat of embarrassment flush the skin of her cheeks, ears fluttering as she avoided that strong, fiery gaze of his, glancing skyward. "The closest I can get is... moon — moon dropped? Moon-fallen." Though that didn't sound half as poetic. "We don't normally say it out of the tide's tongue, so I don't know if that's exactly right."

"Well, anyway," and she dropped her gaze with a shrug, levelling his taller eyes with a small tilt of her white chin. "If you're not... 'moon-fallen', you wouldn't happen to know the name of this place then?" A hopeful smile spread across her face. She meant the Wilds as a whole, but maybe if she stopped calling this place fire river, the land itself could give her. a clue, too.

Her disbelief was written across her face and for a moment Arturo contemplated if Riptide — but no. She did not smell as if she'd been in Teekon Wilds for long. Even Teekon carried it's own unique scent outside of the packs that conquered it's wilderness; and she did not — as Atoll had — addressed him during her Den Night as Riptide; thus Arturo put the brief contemplation to rest. Albeit with some measure of internal relief. “That is interesting,” The gangster murmured in a contemplative tone, studying her with a renewed fascination. “Why do you call me Moon-Fallen? What does it mean?” Of course he was clever enough to put the two words: moon and fallen together to gather some semblance of a rough idea but it did little to curb his intrigue.

She shrugged and Arturo let it drop then, ears cupping forth, attentive to her question as it left her lips. His weight shifted slightly and his gaze left her to draw in the flame color that danced on the flowing Totoka's waters. “It is called the Totoka River,” Arturo spoke gesturing towards the waters with a jab of his muzzle in it's direction before his salmon pink tongue slid across his lips. “The greater wilderness is called Teekon.” He offered so she had both the specific and general names for her location. He, himself, wasn't sure how he'd come to learn what the locals called the Wilderness but nevertheless he had come to calling it Teekon as those before him ...and as those after him.

Meant? Antigone's ears fluttered backward, letting him carry on speaking before she even gave thought to answer such a question. Moon-fallen. It "meant" nothing; it wasn't even the right word. Even in the middle of all her self-scrutiny (how could one describe it?) she noticed he seemed to acquiesce, that pinpoint of curiosity leaving his face like when she ignored a good bit of gossip or got bored with a conversation. Still, the tip of her tail twitched as he made a show of shuffling, and finally, she dropped her sloping hips to the sand, hoping it conveyed some sort of ease. Antigone was quite skilled in the art of looking content and lazy, if you could believe it.

"Totoka, Teekon," she hummed aloud, amusement in her voice as her gaze followed his down the length of the fiery river. Somebody liked the 'tok' sound. Quiet enveloped her for a good moment, before sudden realization bore her gaze back to his, and her golden eyes vied for his bright orange ones, a handsome reminder of the sun in black fur. "Antigone Demos. I come from Phyrgia - not far from here, but far enough. All I know about the φεγγάρι-έπεσε is that we are as old as the tide and the earth that holds it, and that's why the moon gives us her power." She sat up tall and mocked the way her tutors had once spoken, smiling all the while.

"I don't know why we're moon-fallen, but I thought - we're all black, y'see, and," she tilted her head, letting her gaze drift to the black around his eyes, "I thought you were shadowtouched, like I was moontouched. But I guess not - I just made the word up anyway." Another shrug of her shoulders, smiling with a flush of embarrassment. "I'm one of, like, five wolves who have ever left Phyrgia. So much for my tutors being the best my parents could find, huh?" A poor attempt at a joke, but hey, she was trying!

Arturo watched the motion as she settled casually upon her haunches though for the moment he did not do the same himself. She did not immediately answer his questions instead offering her his name, giving to the realization that he had yet to offer his own name to her. Antigone Demos. She introduced herself to him. This was followed by words of moon power. This reminded Arturo of his mother who believed fervently in her soothsayers and the fey. Despite his Gaelic origins and the tradition of the naming he kept for his children he did not so readily believe in magics as Boadicea had. It made interesting bed time stories for children but Arturo was skeptical about anything that he could not see for himself. She stood tall as she had spoken, smiling as she spoke. Despite his skepticism that the moon harbored any powers he did not speak this aloud. His doubt was his own and not something he intended to rudely share with her. “Arturo Fearghal.” Ceannasach offered her his own name with a gentlemanly bow of his head. The gangster was many things and not many of them good but he took a certain amount of pride in his gentlemanly disposition.

“I see,” Arturo mused when she offered an explanation to his question. “I can be shadowtouched if that is what you want to consider me.” He drew in a soft purl. It made sense to some degree. He was a melanistic coywolf, the colors of a coyote but on the darkest side of the spectrum. He looked like Cynbel his mother had told him only much darker. A soft chuckle left Ceannasach's lips when she joked about tutors though he contemplated if her being one of five wolves to leave her natal pack was true. This was odd for him. Most wolves left their natal packs. He had. His children had all left Quicksilver Hollow, following in his footsteps while his ex-lover and their mother stayed to tend to the aging warrior queen.

To contemplate that wolves rarely left her natal pack (providing that wasn't apart of her joke) was a bizarre thing to the gangster. “Why did you leave then?” Had it been rebellion? Or the want to step out of someone's shadow? Or perhaps she simply desired to travel and experience new things. The possibilities, he realized, were endless. It wasn't any of his business but thus far she had not seemed to mind his curiosity and so long as she allowed him to ask questions he would.

Arturo got an answer, whether it was vague or even the truth at all he didn't know and had no mind to investigate it further. They chatted for a while before they decided to part ways with Arturo heading back to his Ravensblood and Antigone heading where she may.