beneath the light of the mid-day sun the blackfoot forest ( though taarlok does not know it's name ) is sun-dappled and fairytale-esque. yet, he suspects that it does not always maintain such a glittering and magical presence in the night. he can smell the various scent trails of the foxes, slumbering in their dens now so they can prowl the night hours. their cries are piercing and sound like they came straight from someone's nightmare and, in his experience, foxes tend to be vocal. regardless, it matters little. he doesn't intend to linger too long and thus does not suspect that he'll experience this forest in the night. at least, not tonight at any rate. light, easily compacted snow crunches beneath the weight of his paws as he moves through the woodland, dodging low hanging branches and tangles of moss and thorny underbrush as he maneuvers the unfamiliar territory. his pace is leisurely, un-rushed as he attempts to vaguely map out the forest. his only purpose thus far is to keep moving, keep exploring. there is an allure to the unbridled freedom that is gifted with being a lone wolf and for now taarlok throughly enjoys the liberties and plans to take complete advantage of them while he has them.

she had returned to the forest in a quiet rage.  her anger was always silent, brooding, and when she had tantrums they were often not punctuated by the various vocalizations that others sported.  they were eerily silent as she went to work on destroying whatever unfortunate thing had her focus.

today, she was violently ripping at a tree.  at first she had worked the bark with her teeth in a frenzy, but soon thereafter blood had started to trickle down the back of her throat.  she had since moved on to her paws and dug at its base, bleeding still, using the wide trunk as a wolven version of a punching bag.

she was frustrated.  she wanted nothing more than to be able to understand her packmates yet she could not articulate herself in a manner that any but xan and akuma had been able to decipher.

more than frustrated, she was desperate. she felt vulnerable.  at any time, someone could come to the valley and tell xan lies and she'd have no way to tell him that it wasn't true.   

maybe she would feel better if she could find a squirrel, grab the thing by its bushy tail and whack it against the tree a few times — crunch! — but food was scarce and none were to be found.

hmph.

an ungodly noise begun — or perhaps he'd begun to hear it the closer he drew to the sound and had whatever was happening had been happening for some time prior to his meandering in that general direction, it was hard to say — startling taarlok out of his thoughts that had, admittedly, wandered. his ears cupped forth atop his skull alert only to swivel back with thinly veiled annoyance as he is given a very brief reprieve for the noise only for a similar noise to start up soon afterwards. how was a man to hear himself think with all that ungodly ruckus? he wasn't.

the closer the imperial drew to the origin of the noise his ears tapered back to rest against the curvature of his skull as if it would block it out. it didn't just as taarlok suspected it wouldn't. initially he planned to skirt past, maybe throw a glance to see who and why was causing such uproar among the previously quiet forest before moving on as if he wasn't even there but his plans changed. his steps slow to a cease as she comes into view, slashing at the tree with her claws. mercurial gaze flickers upwards ever-so-slightly where the rough bark of the tree had been mangled away to reveal younger bark smooth except for where teeth? ( he suspects ) had mutilated it. "my god," he draws, tone raised with the clear intent of grabbing her attention even as fury induced as it is. though the imperial values his pretty face far too much to have it mauled in such a brutal manner he just can't seem to help himself ( rip ).

"what has that poor tree ever done to you?" in lieu of the annoyance he'd been feeling build up his richly accented timbre of lacquered velvet dripping honey held muted amusement. taarlok hid his initial annoyance well even as it prickled at his skin. forced smiles that appear genuine and teeth hiding barbed tongue has always been his forte and the imperial slips on the familiar guise of appearing as something else than what he really is without difficulty. he might be annoyed at her but he deigned her not to know it; and that masquerade was a ( potentially ) deadly dance he'd always been particularly skilled at.

she is pulled from her frenzy by a voice, and once its source was revealed to her she halted completely, her delicate jaw parted though no sound came out.

it was like looking at her reflection, only this mirror image had longer fur and his eyes, instead of mismatched, were a cold and reflective moonbeam silver.

she was only awestruck for a moment before the smell of her own blood and further vocalizations from the stranger pull her back to the situation at hand.  

while taarlok had spent much of his life twisting carefully produced lies, the wolf with no name had spent her entire life without the capability to understand those around her.  she relied partially on tone and inflection, yes, but most of all she relied on her sense of smell.

and her sense of smell said this man is a lying liar who lies.  either way — annoyance, amusement, neither emotion was something she wanted directed at her.

hallo, she demands, with a tone of 'what do you want' in lieu of friendly greeting.

she faces him, the smell of blood pungent upon the air. he does not doubt it's hers because it certainly isn't his. he ponders — likely not long to remain so — what led her to succumb to the desire ...urge? to maul the poor, innocent tree. to inflict damage upon not just it but also her own body? he bids his tongue to still ( for the moment, anyway ) thinking it best he get a feel for her and judges whether his beautiful face might end up her next victim before proceeding to satisfy his curiosities. she does not answer his question and though taarlok offers a tight press of his lips for the briefest of moments he responds with a well lacquered smile. he is used to this game. of pretend, of lies. it's one of his favorites, after all. they look alike, he notes absently, both not pure blood wolf and likely of a similar breed of dog. he assumes, at any rate. she makes a demand with a simple word — close enough to the common tongue that taarlok easily can assume what she means and then dissect deeper so that he's reading between the lines, picking up on what was left unsaid. oh darling, he tsk's at her internally. he asked first and glamazons ( obviously ) came first. "hello." he offers her facilely. he would not answer her unspoken demand until she explains the unattractive mess she made out of both the tree and herself.

taarlok lives by a simple motto in his life: if it doesn't affect me then it doesn't matter. it's unfortunate and extremely selfish of him ( alas, he's always been very self-indulgent ever since he was a tiny cub ) but it's worked in his favor thus far. their shared similarities does not go unnoticed by him — it shouldn't considering they are mutts and in a place that smells as if it is predominately pure wolf is something of a concern — but he doesn't capitalize upon it. what he does focus upon is her apparent inclination to test him. he watches with narrowed eyes and an expression that conveys 'hoe, don't do it' as her paw rises, braces against the tree and rakes down it. she meets his gaze and taarlok lets out an annoyed huff only to visibly cringe at the noise. ...what a strange woman, taarlok can't help but think. "hmm," the imperial contemplates and chides all in one noise. "you're one of those masochistic women, aren't you?" it seems to be so, at least, as far as he can see or cares to see, at any rate.

she is a bizarre creature.

she watches him as he watches her, and having gotten the reaction that she desired from him, she softens.  the tree is forgotten immediately after, and although she does not like the tone he has taken with her she does not care to make it known.  

hallo, she repeats, nicer this time, and painstakingly goes through the gestures to ask for a name again.