Larksong Grotto and walkin's what they'll do

taken place after this thread! Late morning.

With the sunflower fresh on her mind, Isabella continued her travels, her speed at a safe trot as she ventured through the terrain.

Tied over with the help of the golden girl, her stomach no longer rumbling, Isabella was now on the quest to find others. More wolves, and perhaps ones that could offer her shelter. While she would've volunteered to travel to Keshi's home with her, Bella thought that would be over-stepping, instead seeking out a pack--willing to take in a dispersal such as herself--on her own.

She was yet to be certain on which scents to follow. There was the pack to the west, with the smell of ocean salt and brine flowing with it, but would it be anything like her home? Isabella knew she couldn't delude herself: she'd never find an exact replica. And she left home for a reason. To meet new people, to experience things she'd never be able to understand before.

It was time to branch out, and so Isabella wouldn't venture towards the western pack, no. She'd find something completely different, maybe opposite, to what her natal pack was like. So, she continued forward, going south. Maybe she'd find something, someone, down there.

His eyes remained on the ground as he walked along the grotto floors, the remains of the rabbit he’d caught clinging to his teeth. He’d never had much trouble hunting in the past, but boy was it a whole world harder by himself. Hunger made the mind highly imaginative a white-tailed deer, perhaps — he’d even do with a fawn if it came down to it. A mere rabbit however? 

It hardly pleased him at all.

Ungrateful as it sounded, it was all he knew. That’s why he’d left. To leave his ignorance behind him. —So for that reason, his nibble of a meal would have to do. In the midst of his thoughts, a new scent arrived underneath his nose.

More hunt? No. That was merely wishful thinking. This was the scent of another wolf. Someone a bit different from him. This wolf didn’t carry the smell of birchwood and snow like Oren did. This was something different.

He lifted his muzzle to get a better sense of what it was he was catching. It was a sea-like scent. Not anything foul. It carried hints of the cold, similar to him. A woman. But who? His gaze travelled across the grotto. 

Nothing. Nothing except for faint paw-prints engraved in the fall leaves. So what did he do? He began to follow them.

The oak-swathed woman continued to trot along, unknowing of the man following her tracks just yet. She took a long, deep breath, drawing the world in through her nose. While her stomach had stopped rumbling, she couldn't lie that she'd be able to travel much faster if she was completely energised--and for that, she'd need to have a proper meal sooner rather than later.

Isabella perked her ears. If she couldn't smell anything, maybe it was hiding, concealing its scent. Perhaps, if it moved, she'd be able to hear it. Anything to fetch something to sink her teeth into. Something worth savouring, she hoped. As she listened, the sound of movement shuffling against fallen leaves caught her attention. The sound came from behind her, and she turned.

The stranger was yet to be close enough to be properly perceived, but searching the winds for scents once again, the wolf-smell drew closer. For a moment, the woman wondered if this was Keshi, curious as to why she would come back. But no, the smell was different. This was a stranger. And so Isabella gave a friendly 'woof' that echoed across the grotto, before sitting herself down, awaiting this newcomer.

The sudden echo through the air caused his ears to perk up. A friendly gesture. 'Hm.' He thought, doubting it was a trick. His pace picked up by a few strides as he drew closer to the source of sound. A brown pelt that blended into the colors surrounding her in a way. She sat centered within the grotto, a clear peace about her as she seemed to wait. He let off a friendly grunt, keeping an appropriate distance until allowed otherwise.

A polite demeanor. She reminded him of the drifting Oakwood that often frequented the sea. He blinked — a sign of good tidings. 

"Greetings. I heard your call, skŭpa. Tell me, is there something you seek from me?" He spoke out. An endearing term, but one meant with respect. A means of kindness.

Her greeting seemed to incite a friendly demeanor from the stranger, one that gave Isabella a sense of relief. So this person seemed to be safe, not a danger to her, nor her travels, it appeared. His distance, too, was a good sign. He did not seem the type to over-step, and Isabella appreciated it. I just wanted to say hello, she answered. Considering you seem to be tracking me. But her tone wasn't at all accusing: her words were accompanied by a soft laugh.


I don't know what that word means--skŭpa--what is that? Her native language was English, and English alone. Aside from the brief tongues that she heard from her mother when she was frustrated. She hoped that this strange word meant something good--it seemed to, with the way the stranger behaved. It is a word from your mother tongue, I assume? Or would it be rude to assume? She hoped not.

A nod followed. "Dear." He clarified. His mother traveled far to join his Sire’s pack. An offering from a struggling unit quite far out. She carried nothing from her homeland but her mother tongue.

 Something she spoke only to Oren. 

"Your nose is sharp. You picked up on me much faster than others would." A compliment of sorts. He took a seat where he stood. "What do they call you?" His head tilted to one side curiously. The image of a small, brown pelted critter suddenly entered his mind as he waited for a reply. A sea otter. The resemblance of the two caused him to let a chuckle slip. 

Oh, dear. Her eyebrows shot up for a moment, temporarily flustered, though quickly she calmed. Her ears twitched as he continued to speak. A slight accent? she wondered. Not my nose. My ears. It seems you have heavy paws, my friend, Isabella spoke in a light, airy tone, her disposition positive after her last encounter. She shot the stranger a smile.

Isabella, she introduced herself, dipping her head in a polite nod. But if you're friendly, you can call me Bella. How about you? Her tail flicked as she watched him sit where he stood. Somewhat amused, she spoke again:

You can come closer, if you like. I won't bite.

He listened to her speak, clearly intrigued by her words. Good ears. Noted.

It didn’t take more than a moment for him to join her where she sat, curling his tail nearly above his paws. "Well, Bella." The name rolled off his tongue. His expression showed amusement. A funny thing, this woman was. "They call me Oren. Unfortunate as it is, I have no fun nicknames." His words hid behind a hushed accent. It was definitely there. Just toned down a bit. He returned her grin.

"Though, most people call me by my last name. Unless they’re rather fond of me." His eyes landed onto hers as he added on the last part. Eye contact had always been his strong suit. A sign of composure, his sire had always told him.

Others might’ve took it as a challenge, but lucky for him — she didn’t bite.

Ah, how sad. Isabella had always loved nicknames. When you lived in such a tight-knit family unit, you were forced to come up with new, sometimes silly nicknames due to the lack of new content in the name department. He came forwards when she invited him, and Isabella smiled. She liked that: he seemed to be a polite man.

Should I be fond of you, Oren? she hummed. With a cheeky grin, she added: Maybe you should tell me your last name, just in case. Personally, my surname is Sparrowbeak, if we're going to be formal. Golden eyes met his—brown, greyer than her own chocolatey pelt, though brown nonetheless. A protectiveness of her own well-being swam beneath the surface, but the surface sparkled with humour.

"Better to be fond than to be bitter, hm?" He replied. Playfully, but truthful. "Sparrowbeak has a much prettier ring to it. Nevertheless, Kosar was the one I was given." A light-hearted sigh followed. "Pitiful compared to yours, isn’t it?" 

Oren couldn’t exactly say that he was particularly insecure about his surname, but it still warranted a small chuckle out of him. "Back home it was much more popular." He added on. Grasping at blades of grass was the term. Even so, he wasn’t wrong about that. Having the name Kosar was something that granted you respect from others up north. Not that it mattered now.

"You believe me, don’t you?"

A swift nod was given in reply to Oren's statement. This snow-caped man was only the second person she'd wandered into within these new lands. She wasn't quite yet prepared to make any enemies. Fond, then.

And he was right: she treasured her surname. It connected her to her family, and Isabella hoped that one day she would pass it along to a whelp of her own. Kosar, she hummed. Oren Kosar. I wouldn't say it's pitiful, no, we just come from different places. I'm sure yours was more than respectable. Bella's tone was reassuring, truthful.

Why would anyone lie about their last name? She laughed. Unless they had something truly pitiful... For a moment, the woman hummed, curious, thinking of what a "pitiful last name" would be. Like... ah... I don't know. Lend a paw? What's the worst surname you've ever heard. I must know, now. Her eyes shone with mischief, a smile plastered upon a pretty face.

His ears tilted sideways in a thinking manner. 'The worse surname, huh?' He thought. "Great question." He nodded. "Worst I’ve ever heard, huh? Well I once met a wolf with the last name Snottmouth." A snort followed.
"Believe it or not." He leaned over, grinning slyly. It was true. Even if he hadn’t put much thought into the wolf’s name until now. Who knew it’d be relevant later on.

"I’d say that’s pretty bad." Oren spoke, silently thanking his ancestors for the surname they’d chosen.

so sorry for the late reply, got so busy! :(

no worries!! <33

Snottmouth, he said, and Isabellas' eyes went wide before she burst out in a fit of laughter. Her chest heaved, and she closed her eyes as happy tears welled in the ducts. She creaked open a single eye, watching him lean closer with a sly grin as her giggles slowly died down. Oh my, she breathed, blinking. That really is awful..!

Snottmouth, when she said it, she could help but let out another short laugh. Well, Oren Kosar, at least you know your surname isn't nearly that bad. Isabella believed herself to be a nice person, but if someone introduced themselves with the lastname snottmouth... she would not be able to take them seriously.

Sparrowbeak really was a pretty name, hm? She was sure of that, now, the former pride she had for it having now been magnified. She could only hope to pass it down some day. Thoughtfully, she hummed for a moment, searching her mind for another question she could ask. These conversations were fun!

Well, have you ever met someone with an awful first name? Isabella had never known many people asides from her family. Perhaps Oren had met others. She'd certainly end up asking for more of his stories.

Her laughter echoed throughout the clearing. It almost seemed contagious, as if the grotto was laughing along. He blinked away a giggle. 'A terrible first name?' He wondered the same. "I’m not so sure about a wolf, but when I was younger me and a friend of mine found a strayed lynx kit." He started. "If I remember it correctly, we named it something silly. Bartholomeow, I’m pretty sure." He cringed as he finished off the sentence. What on earth had they been thinking? 

"Luckily for the feline, its mother found it before the name stuck." He shook his head. "It sucked for us, though." Storytelling seemed to suit him more than he had thought it would. Perhaps it was because not many had cared to listen before.

A weird sort of comfort formed from her amusement. Her own entertainment was somehow entertaining him. 'What an infectious smile.' He said to himself, stifling back laughter. A weird and lucky coincidence, running into her.

Bartholomeow, the lynx kit. The girl giggled once more. She knew that if she were a lynx kit with such a name, she, too, would be grateful for her mother whisking her to safety. Bartholomeow, she repeated, blinking away happy tears with a sigh. Well, if you got in to trouble with the kit's mother, I think you deserved it after creating such a hilariously terrible name..! Her tone was humorous, eyes twinkling.

These stories were wonderful, but she knew that she, soon, would have to consider her trek. Shuffling from where she sat, she came a little closer to the man. One more story? Bella asked, hopeful. Before I have to go. His stories brought out the inner child within her. She hadn't laughed this much in what felt like her entire life, asides from the hilarity of her father's reactions to the pranks she'd pull on him.

Her eyes shone with an almost pleading expression — puppy eyes. How could anyone say no to that? Honey eyes drew anyone right into them.

Another story was all she could possibly ask for.

One more story, huh? Did he even have any good ones? He’d never been asked for something like this before. His mind flipped through pages of his life for a moment longer. There was one he could think of. Just one. "Well, when I was about a year or so .. there was this ravine close to the dens we lived in. My friend from a neighboring pack had convinced me once to get close to it and try to figure out what was down below." He began, amusement gleaming in his eyes as his continued on.

"The problem was that we weren’t allowed down there. Barely even permitted to get close. She didn’t care, though. That’s simply how she was." He paused for a moment. A grin formed. "To make a long story short, we were found out by both of our parents. You wanna know what they decided our punishment would be? We had to carry quail eggs without breaking them. For every egg broken, one embarrassing secret had to be told in front of everyone." His white fur shuddered at the thought. Just the memory alone was embarrassing enough.

He hasn’t realized it back then, but he sure did cause a world of trouble for his pack-mates. It made him feel a twinge of guilt. If he ever saw them again, he’d make sure to apologize. Anyhow, that wouldn’t be happening any time soon.

"You don’t even want to know how many eggs we broke that day. My pelt was stained yellow for weeks."

The thought of the now pristine man being yellow made Isabella smile. It was an unusual punishment, yes, and if she were watching it in the moment, she'd probably find it somewhat harmful, but in the form of a story—where even the teller was grinning—she found herself enjoying the hilarity of it.

Standing once more from where she sat, Isabella moved closer towards Oren, dipping her head in a polite fashion: Thank you for sharing your stories with me, Oren Kosar, she said his name with a wide grin. But unfortunately, I must keep moving. It was a pleasure meeting you.

Part of her hoped that they would one day meet again. So, with a smile and a friendly boop of their noses, should he allow, she'd turn away from the grotto, trotting down south.

exit isabella !! thank you for the thread <3

He returned her kind goodbye, outstretching his neck to touch noses with her. "Goodbye, Isabella Sparrowbeak. I’m glad we had the chance to chat." He replied. Watching her leave felt a tad bit bitter-sweet. Subconsciously, he hoped they would encounter eachother again sometime in the future.

A wish, he supposed.

Oren lingered in the spot they’d sat in for a few moments longer. The sun said its goodbyes, and he figured it was time to do the same. He disappeared deeper into the grotto, the memory of a new friend leaving with him.

Leaving home started to feel like the right decision more and more as time passed. After all, how else would he have met her? He found himself remembering the words of his onyx-pelted friend back home. 

‘There’s more out there. Much more than this. All you have to do is look, Oren.'

And thank you! This was really fun :)