Ouroboros Spine some kind of

For @Skoll!

The bard sat upon a big naked rock, looking regal, just a little bit. It was the afternoon by now and the sky was white as daisies, but there was a moon up there somewhere too, occasionally peeking out from behind the clouds. Goldhawk had spotted it twice already. For he was looking for inspiration: inspiration for a song. The Beta was so, so hungry, and his latest catch (such as it was) had gone to the mouths of babes. So yes, he could be spending his energy trying to hunt some more, but right now, right at this very second, what he really needed was to sing. It would up his spirits and get him back on track. It was essential. But so was some kind of muse...

He was easy enough to spot. Perched on a rock like some glorious bird, the wolf's coat looked to be sewn of the sun itself, standing out against the drab backdrop of the stones and slopes about him. It was not something the shadow who watched him was accustomed to seeing; the raiments of home were far more dull, with the he inky black of his own fur as rich as their colors ranged. Though he had paused to consider the novel appearance, he did not linger on it long. He noted the way the wolf seemed to be on the lookout for something, and drew nearer, towed by his own curiosity and by his opportunistic nature.

His approach was quiet by habit, his stopping distance inherently cautious. His presence utterly casual. "Are you expecting something to come this way?" He asked.

Normally he would have stood now, to form some semblance of vague defence against the stranger, but weakness from hunger and lack of muse had him rooted to the spot. Said stranger was a dashing, swarthy passer-by, and sadly not one who brought song to his lips from the get-go. Not expecting, old bean, he admitted. Hoping.

He sighed dramatically and then put a question to the male: do you sing?

For what? his look implored as he gazed on, but he was not answered, and the black wolf swished his tail as instead he was replied to with a question; a peculiar question. "Sing?" he echoed, his dark brows furrowing over his green eyes, his mouth tightening. For a moment he waited, scanning the male's face for some explanation, or some clue that the question had been posed as jest, for all wolves could sing insofar as Skoll knew.

He drew a breath, slow, deep and steady, and inclined his sleek head with his muzzle lifted to the sky. He howled. His song was was not like the cold gravel of his voice; it was smooth, rich, and haunting. It rose up and spread for miles, its message but a simple locator note that said he was here. When he finished, his song descending into a whisper and then nothing, he looked to the golden wolf once more with a lifted brow.

Goldhawk was feeling particularly abstract, because that was the place from which ballads sprung. For this reason he didn't think this stranger — strong and shadowy though he was — much of a threat, simply because he wasn't making any threatening moves. On the contrary, the black wolf obliged when he asked the question, and threw back his head and howled.

The Beta looked at him curiously. Ah of course a howl was a song, but the bard didn't think of it quite in the same way. A song of that kind, hm? I see, I see... and his voice took on a melodious quality.

A song to break the afternoon,
standing there a lone wolf bare,
a voice to echo through the sky —
I wonder just what fuels that cry... ♫

It was the lightest song, the beginning of one, sung in a very pleasant voice that was neither jolly nor sombre, but pensive, as if the song was an exploration or a conversation.

And with that, the bard found his muse.