Firefly Glen there is no prize to perfection,

AW!

the warm weather brought the gift of his soothed leg. with the loss of the bitter cold, the healer was able to move around easier. farther and without the need for frequent stops to rest. he was slow still; he always would be, but he felt freer. and so, his journey took him westward through the expanse of forneskja. dense woods slowly gave way to the rough pastures he had yet to explore. flowers were already either sprouted or blooming, now that their stalks are able to break through the soil.

he is a man that's learned to appreciate beauty, and the pastures were no exception. their wildflower fields stretching for miles, tall grass that swayed. the backdrop of towering mountains in the distance. he carves through flowers and blades of grass alike, eyes of silver wide with awe. there was so much potential here. new herbs to forage, prey to document and watch. and now, a please for tranquility. 

his own slice of heaven. for now, he sits amongst the flowers drifting with the winds, exhaling a tired, appreciative sigh.

She found herself thinking of @Hakumele this morning as she reinforced some markings along the eastern border. Pie’s teeth clenched slightly, remembering the awkward confrontation with his daughter. That had been the last time she’d seen him, despite his promise to say goodbye. It rankled, though she found herself worrying more than anything. He had simply disappeared without a word. Had something happened to him?

But like all the others who vanished from the mountainside, Tiuttuk couldn’t afford to go looking for him. She sighed as she dipped her hips, sprinkling urine on a fresh patch of bluegrass. Her questions would remain unanswered, unless he reappeared. Pie didn’t know how she would feel if he did. She didn’t think she would ever truly understand those who could just walk away like Moonspear and its people meant nothing.

She paused to glance upward, where the pale sky grew dim with gathering rainclouds. She saw thunderheads to the east, the westerly wind blowing scents of spring into her nose as it swept across the wilderness between the distant mountain ranges. Among them was the strong scent of a wolf, which drew her toward the neighboring glen, though a crosswind made it hard to pinpoint his location.

“Greetings!” she called into the increasingly blustery air. “I’m trying to find you but the winds are working against me.”

The “where are you?” was implied as she rolled to a stop beside a stream already swollen from the spring melt. If it rained, it might flood its banks and turn the glen into a mudpit. Treepie frowned thoughtfully, ears pricked in hopes of a reply.

a heavy shift with the wind—the breeze carves through long, inky tresses. ruffling the state of his fur, though he does not fuss over it quite yet. instead, he enjoys the gusts. it brings with it floral scents; soft and reminiscent. 

and then it brings the carry of a voice. hardly able to withstand the blow of the current; a mere wisp. for a moment he wonders if he'd even truly heard it. brows furrow as the healer looks to and fro. the tall glades of grass sway and dance, and for just a second they break into a path that leads to an unfamiliar woman. 

he isn't the most...outgoing man. his muscles tense now, knowing he isn't alone. withers prick with a mild annoyance now that his peace and quiet is gone. with a sigh, he stands. hobbles through the sea of green until he finds her. 

a young, spritely thing. small enough that a gust of wind might blow her away. hardly a threat, and yet it doesn't quite soothe his wariness. 

"greetings," he murmurs. voice light, not unfriendly but not exactly welcoming. "you are not of forneskja...who are you?"

No reply came. Treepie didn’t move from the stream, deciding the stranger must not want to meet. That was fine, though now that she’d wandered away from her marking route, she kept walking alongside the water. The incoming rainstorm would wash away the markers, so she may as well wait until afterward to resume.

Someone emerged from the nearby undergrowth, causing Pie to start. She eyed the small wolf, his fur dusky. She thought she detected a slight limp right before he stopped; perhaps it was only her imagination. Her yellow eyes met with his silver ones as he spoke a word she’d never heard before in her life.

No, she agreed, pivoting slightly to face him more directly, I’m not. I’m from Moonspear. She motioned toward the mountain with her muzzle. I am its second-in-command, Tiuttuk Ostrega.

This time, it was the “who are you?” that was left implied. She tipped her head slightly, eyes inquisitive as she wondered about this Forneskja he’d mentioned. Pie was a homebody, not particularly aware of neighbors who weren’t kin, but she wondered if perhaps it was a settlement nearby.

moonspear. brows pinch for a moment or two as the man mulls over the name in his mind. it seemed vaguely familiar, as if it was on just the tip of his tongue. and then a spark of recognition. before seiðkona had gone missing—a reality that still aches—she had taught him much. 

she had mentioned once, forneskja's neighbors. had spoken with nothing but gentle, amicable truth when referencing them. "ah, you are a neighbor." his hum is low, perhaps more pleasant. he knows nothing much more, other than moonspear are allowed to walk freely amongst forneskja's lands. 

and so, he calms. eyes of alabaster less sharp and calculating, now soften with an edge of curiosity. her title is in a tongue he doesn't recognize, but it matters not. "i am cicero. healer for forneskja." he introduced himself with a formal, fleeting bow of his head. 

his gaze flickers upward—a frown pulling at his lips as the storm clouds begin to roll in. it meant the valley would soon be bathed in mud, thwarting his efforts of foraging. "let us talk somewhere out of the rain?" he motioned toward the treeline with amicable invitation.