Barrow Fields what once was mine

Heat thread! I can change the tag if it becomes necessary.

This stretch of wilderness hadn’t changed much in Moorhen’s absence. She suspected most inconsistencies were the product of her imperfect recall rather than actual change, but here, at least, was a place that was just exactly as she remembered it. The Barrow Field was the quickest and easiest way down into the taiga and valley to the south for wolves disinterested in mountaineering, and Moorhen had passed through it time and again. During her time at Undersea, she’d used this route to visit sister packs or to hunt down large game. It filled the aging seawolf with nostalgia to remember the young girl she’d once been.

Not that she wasn’t still spry midway through her sixth year. Her youthful, whiplike strength had settled into a more enduring musculature. It was enough that she’d braved the mountains again for the first time in years and found them not quite so daunting as she remembered.

Even so, she was glad to come back down to sea level and breathe in the salt air. It was where she’d always felt happiest. Where she’d always been most comfortable. Perhaps one day soon, she’d venture west and find her homeland. Today, she did not want to think about what pack might have laid claim to it in the meantime. Instead she spent the afternoon frisking through the field she’d last run through as a girl.

She was, of course, well aware that her season had come again. It was for this reason that she’d broken off from her traveling companions. No matter how agreeable Meylodi and Void appeared, she had no desire to sit through the tension her current state might bring 
about.

The sea beckoned him again. This journey was his response.

He ambled through tall grasses. He'd missed this air, which only grew saltier as he went forth—

it was then that he sensed he was not alone in this field.

However, the scent of the other was not unknown to him. A part of his brain had been accustomed to it, the familiarity hit him hard. It stopped him in his tracks. How long had it been?

He knew this woman. She was from the fledgling group by the sea. After they had all disbanded, he'd never known what had happened to the rest of them. The memories were fuzzy. All he knew was that he should find her.

Fueled by an unusual determination, he scoured the fields for a sight of her. It took a fair bit of effort, but it didn't take long for him to spy the movement of a wolf in the distance. He quickened his pace and followed her.

Once a few yards away, he stopped, wishing her name would stop eluding him. Instead, he settled for a harsh bark in the hopes she'd turn around.

The voice was not at all familiar to Moorhen; it had been too many years and the other male too small a part of her past. Even so, she wheeled back on her hind legs to spin toward the sound with a little leap and a bark of her own, inviting company without a hint of perplexion. It did not surprise her to have attracted attention, and she was prepared to meet the man with whatever energy he brought with him.

Not one to play coy, Moor trotted forward with her tail whisking in idle interest. The stranger grew less and less strange as she approached, but it was only when she'd drawn close enough to smell him that her features changed, dark brows furrowing in question. Long legs carried her closer still, but her tail had gone high and straight with wariness as she struggled to place familiar scent and features.

"Ironclan," she said at last when she stood before him, looking a little more settled but still uncertain. "Ja?" she asked him, hoping to receive confirmation.

Yes. He answered, nodding as he drew near.

In truth, that was all he wanted to know; to confirm his suspicion that they'd met before. To ruminate on what a grand coincidence this was.

His eyes wandered across her features—as hers did to his—studying, trying to find a memory of anything substantial. They lingered there as he was lost in thought.

He came up empty-handed.

Why come back?

The erne found nothing substantial in her memories about the strange man, either. Not an interaction, not an opinion, and not a name. So she gave a tiny, contrite wag of her tail and went about through the awkward motions of reintroduction. “I am Moorhen,” she told him, hoping he would get the hint and introduce himself in turn. She assumed that he didn’t know her any better than she knew him; she hoped for it, even, because it would be terribly awkward to be remembered better than she could remember in turn.

And, as for why she had returned, the erne let her head tip a little to the side. In thought, but also in silent question. Did she really need a reason why?

“It was time,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “And you? Are you returned or have you lived here all this time?”

tag for reference!

Moorhen, He repeated, then offered his own name. Tahoe.

Still, he couldn't place her. He continued to study her, before his gaze returned to hers.

I can't believe I'd forget a pretty face. He added, a thin, roguish smile on his face. A smile which meant nothing other than trouble, if she were to reciprocate.

He'd be lying if he said he'd forgotten all about @Dehlilah, who had been travelling with him. It had been some time since they'd been apart, possibly a few days or so. He'd left her off somewhere with the promise of return.

He hoped Moor would be none the wiser.

Returned, recently. You've come for the Bay?