Neverwinter Forest There's no luck except where there's discipline

AW <3

It was peaceful here in the forest. Dimly lit, the scarce spring sun seldom peeking through the conifers. . .but peaceful. Faolán felt this great calm overcoming his senses as he quietly padded through the woods, and he closed his orange eyes for a split second, filled with bliss.

His father had taught him to fight, to hunt, to be assertive, but he had also taught Faolán the gentler things in life. How to be in tune with nature. How to make the best of a bad situation. "Is féidir leat teacht i gcónaí solas sa dorchadas." Neverwinter's pack of wolves was hungry, with young pups and more on the way. Yet Faolán could see small bits of greenery on the forest floor beginning to sprout, replacing the plants that had been destroyed by the bugs. There. There was that light. And in this place, this quiet, almost sacred place, true peace could be found. The herds would return. They would survive.

"Thig an nathair as an toll
Là donn Brìde,
Ged robh trì troighean dhen t-sneachd
Air leac an làir."

The words slipped from his lips before he even realized they came, and Faolán's fur stood on end at the sound of them. He had not prayed to his family's gods since he had left Moraine Lake. . .yet, somehow, the prayer seemed appropriate at this time, in this place. While it was an invocation made normally in mid-winter, where there was no life to be found, Faolán found it fitting for his locust-devastated surroundings. His orange eyes fixed on the green sapling in front of him. "An nathair," he whispered softly, and moved along, careful not to trod on the small baby plant.

The smell of prey caught his nostrils, strong and pungent, and he lowered his black body to the crowd, scanning his surroundings for the source of the scent. That source happened to be a tiny brown shrew, scuttling around in some fallen branches and rooting its nose around in the dirt, probably searching for insects to eat. Not knowing it, itself, could be a meal here in a few seconds.

"Hello, there," Faolán chuckled, his voice barely louder than a breath, and pounced.

Kieran found an aggressive streak he hadn't known in sometime at the birth of his babes. Any new faces he didn't know was quick to raise his ire and he was testy at the least. Lucky for the male that he smelled near him, it was a scent he recognized. Otherwise, he would have sent him on his way with a nip to his tail. With that in mind, Kieran set off to meet this newcomer. After all, he wanted to know who was there to meet his brood. No one would dare go near them, without meeting the Mahoghany male first. Kieran chuffed so as to not startle the male or his prey, as it was clear he was hunting and then he waited. His body tightly wound, the famine showing clear on his body. Though he had lost some of his weight, it did nothing to hide his bulk, but rather accentuated the muscles born from years of being hearty and hale.

Before he could pounce, some other creature from above made a squawking sound--likely a bird--and the shrew dove into its hole, intent on hiding. Faolán shook his head ruefully and looked up, trying to find whatever had spoiled his hunt. Perhaps if he stuck around, the shrew would eventually reemerge. He was just about to settle back on his haunches and wait when he remembered that he had heard a quiet greeting from behind.

He turned to face the other wolf, who was big, hale and hearty, a deep-reddish brown color with intense green eyes. His stance made his higher rank and standing in the pack clear, and Faolán lowered his head in respect to the male, smiling in greeting.

"Hello," he said lightly. "I don't believe we've had the chance to meet. My name is Faolán." The other wolf had the smell of pups on him; he must be the father of the pack's young ones.

Kieran shook his head as the shrew disappeared below. It was a shame the younger male had lost his meal. It would likely be the only thing he had to eat today. With the way the famine was, there wasn't very much and they were having to go far and wide to gather what they could to eat. It was making him nervous.

Kieran dipped his chin in hello and blinked. He had forgotten, what it was like to demand respect, he hadn't in sometime. He hadn't even meant to give off the air of one who wanted it, he had just been worried of his young ones and set out to meet those he didn't know.

Kieran spoke softly. howaya. Kieran tilted his ears forward and moved closer to catch the youth's words. Well met Faolan. Scon am Kieran O'Malley.

Faolán's ears pricked in absolute intrigue as he took in the words spoken to him. It wasn't what they contained, no. . .the mahogany wolf had the lilt of his father, his brothers. A stronger brogue, surely, but there it was. The sound of it gave him a small pang of homesickness, the image of his family brought suddenly to mind by Kieran's speech.

"Pleased to meet you, Kieran," Faolán responded with a smile. "I--" His voice broke, tone astonished. His smile grew wider, into a grin, his eyes fixed on the large male's face. "I'm sorry if this is forward of me, but do you. . .mind telling me where you come from?" He chuckled in amazement. "It's just that. . .your voice, your accent. . .it sounds like my family's. Like mine. I haven't heard anything like it in. . .so long."

Kieran wasn't expecting to meet another wolf with the same brogue as he, and he wasn't expecting to be asked about it either. So he was taken aback when the other wolf spoke, and for a brief moment his heart panged against his chest as he thought. Was this a wolf from the ones that had ruined his life before? Had they come back to reap more havoc on his fractured and glued heart, especially with pups so soon. He tilted one ear forward and one back to catch the younger males words, and he shook his head. There was no way this youth was old enough to know anything about his former life or station.

Oi came from a place far away from 'ere. Me family came from de older lands, migrated 'ere. A wee pack av me own family. An' Yer?

The brogue was music to his ears, instantly soothing him, as if he were a young pup again listening to his mother sing and tell tales. Faolán was puzzled by a flash of alarm in Kieran's eyes, but it soon faded, the mahogany male resuming his usual stoic look.

"I'm from the north, myself," he answered. "Though father told me his grandfather settled there from a place far away. Perhaps it's where you came from as well."

His ears flicked in curiosity. "You're the father of the new pups, correct?" he asked. "I haven't had the chance to meet them. How many are there?" Faolán loved pups, those little wriggling bundles of joy. They never failed to provide entertainment and happiness, and he enjoyed keeping their company.

Kieran often felt self-conscious about his brogue. Only because often more times than he cared to count, others couldn't understand him. Though many were getting better as they spent more time around him. And even he himself was beginning to become quicker at speaking the common tongue, though he taught his children or planned to teach his children his home language.

Kieran dipped his head. And perked his ear forward. Perhaps so'tiz. Many came from de auld country.

Kieran chuckled softly and nodded his head. Aye scon are. dare are four av dem, two av each. rian, szabala, eimear an' dublin.

He shifted and smiled to himself as he thought of the little bundles of joy that had graced his life. He couldn't thank for a better mother or better life for them at the moment. He was a proud father, that was for certain.

The old country. That sounded right. His father had not used those words, himself, but perhaps the traditions had faded as future generations settled into their new home. Kieran did have the same inflections, the same speech, as he did, though certainly more pronounced.

Faolan smiled as the mahogany wolf gave the names of his pups. "They sound lovely," he complimented. "I'd love to meet them sometime." He kept his voice gently neutral; he would not want Kieran to get the wrong impression of his intentions toward his children.

Kieran himself was beginnign to lose some of the charms from his former life. The names of things weren't coming as quick to him, adn his way of life was fading little by little in his memory. The brogue would always stay and many of the memories, but not as fresh and needy.

Kieran dipped his head. [hover=I imagine we'll need a pupsitter when we aren't around. And I hope them to have familial ties with all in the pack.]Oi imagine we'll nade a pupsitter whaen we ain't raun. an' oi 'ope dem ter 'av familial ties wi' al' in de pack. He looked to the boy waiting for an answer to his backwards question, if the boy could even figure it out. Kieran wasn't sure if he had been clear enough.