Barrow Fields i ain't from 'round here

there was a brisk wind on the day he'd decided to trek across the fields. as much as he'd wanted to hunker down and find somewhere warm and damp, the cajun brute was too compelled by the spell of the saline breeze. it had wrapped itself around him and lured him toward the coast without remorse. buckshot followed, too, because he knew how fearsome the voodoo magic could be if he didn't listen. once he'd struck into the open, though... well, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise with the sense of someone watching from just over the way.

casting his gaze back over his shoulder, the large brute hunkered himself low and prowled forward. this was an attempt to make himself appear as small as was possible, but he knew that was a difficult feat. the feeling never left him; he thought that there were eyes on the back of his skull, just waiting. in order to keep his bravado up, buckshot drew his skull upward and stiffened the muscles in his shoulders and legs. the wind whipped against him like a ferocious laugh. still, he felt like he was being watched.

kestrel had spent the night in the strange field, an obsession with the otherworldy mounds and mist slowly taking hold. she had never been much for stories and had decided long ago that she definitely did not believe in the supernatural or fairy-folk her family had been on about when she was a pup. perhaps it was that she enjoyed the fear, though she would never admit to giving way to such a thing as fear. but this place made your hackles stand on end, and fire-flies shone like serpentine eyes in the fog.

emerging from behind one of the strange hills, kestrel nearly started when a dark silhouette rose up before her— but she dug her heels in and did not give way to submission, doubling down on her natural dominant posture. still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had stumbled upon a much larger predator... what're ya doin fartin about in this mist, laddie? she queried, scolding the beast like an impatient father to a son. nevermind that the dark stranger could ask the same of her.

well, well, he hadn't been expecting that kind of voice to come out of the thick of the fog. it took buckshot by such surprise that he whirled around with a dumbfounded expression and latched his gaze on a lingering cloud in the shape of a crocodile. that was until the shape turned into a wolf. a fine wolf, at that! buck donned a crooked grin and swished his tail behind him. he didn't answer to no one, of course, but he was alway happy to amuse the ladies with his charm.

"ah could ask you da same ting, eh? who made you da keeper o' da mist?" buckshot inquired with a wildly quirked brow. the ghostly hue of his argent gaze settled on the bright cinnamon markings that adorned her body. he'd never seen something like that. then again, there were plenty of wolves who hadn't seen a dappled beast like himself. who was he to judge? a back woods cajun, is who.