When he had last laid eyes on Indica it had been with the mutual decision to explore the wilds more and to find a pack that might be suitable for them. What he needed was a variant of their mischief while they settled and formed their plans and inevitably, he'd strayed too far away from his goals and ended up out of the wilds without realizing it. It wasn't enough to bring him real distress other than wondering if Indie was looking for him; she'd probably tried to track him down to no avail - or worse yet, she might have ended up on his trail and then gotten even further from him. 

It was his own fault, in a sense, in being too thorough he'd end up too far from where he'd intended to be. Now, it was a goal of trying to find @Indie again. 

It seemed to be a fixation, and in truth, it was. After leaving the Gang behind she had been the one sense of home and the one scrap of normalcy and he had clung to her not out of only his need for the familiar but his need for her. It was utterly different here, with no one to hide from, to be free in a sense that they never had been before. It was like taking a breath too long and getting a little oxygen high, it was a rush of endorphins and sensations that rocked him endlessly to his core. 

If ever he had wondered why they did what they did it only took looking in her eyes to be sure again and to know. It only took being in her presence to feel the power of her very soul and the way that it reached out to compliment his own. It only took a moment of being next to her to feel the charge as the very earth and sky themselves recognized what was between them. The moon had begun to rise, and far off he could hear the distant lap of the waves against the shore. The field was quiet, the world was still. 

Donovan, as ever, was not. He was reclined like a sphinx, contemplating his riddles and making his plans; if not here, then where, would he find her again? 

Indie had never thought of herself as one who possessed a traveler’s soul. The woman was always on the hunt for her next new spectacle, and often times this pursuit brought her far and wide, but she never thirsted for the adventure that came from simply… traversing new landscapes. Some wolves feet itched from inactivity, but not Indie! No, these wolves had a much different motivation than the veiled mummer herself. Her goals took time and dedication to achieve; chasing after fleeting desires would never get her closer to her ultimate desires… whatever those may be at the moment. It was the reason she adhered to a very strict regimen of practice and held herself accountable even when she was without an audience — as she was now.

"We’re at our best when it's from our hips
From our hips we don't give a damn
It just feels good and that's no sin
It's the only way to feel alive
The closest thing to being born again
And when baby comes it's job well done
Roll in the hay, oh roll around the sun"

More than once, her thoughts had turned to the dappled raconteur and where he had slipped away to — if Donovan was hale and heathy and safe. Though she could not conceive of the reasons why he fled after their meeting upon the holy, fragmented remains of the coastal forest, she did not fault him for it. After all, did she not do the same crime unto him, all those many months ago?  She had decamped from the Merry-Andrews, her own guilt nipping at her heels and driving her far, far, far away. But the man had trailed her and warmed her up with promises of golden crown, only to give the vaudevillian a taste of her own bitter medicine; or, perhaps, their reunion had been so hot that they burned and fizzled almost immediately…

— but Indie knew that would never happen. Not to her and her sharp preceptor. 

The woman arrived to an expanse of grass; a honeyed pasture. There was a scent of another, but it was light on the wind and barely registered with her faculties. So, Indie danced on and sung her song.