Honeyed Pasture sworn before a light of knife's edge white

tag for reference!

Cortland's healing has progressed to a point where Poet feels comfortable straying from close by. There is a feeling inside her stomach, growing bigger by the day, and she is not ready to confront it nor name it. But proximity to her two companions does not help abate it, and so she excuses herself to @Phocion, professing a need for space once more. Of course she'll be back, and soon, she assured him. And an excursion from the mountainside is an opportunity to find others to bring to their cause. (Although... evangelicalism, admittedly, is not something within her wheelhouse.)

First she moves west, pointedly away from the direction of Bearclaw or from chance encounters with dear Sif. Her heart needs neither burdens. Her legs carry her into the pasture, where she disappears underneath the cover of grass. With a slightly guilty feeling she can't shake, the ex-priestess finds her thoughts returning to a dear old friend she's not used since before she joined Bearclaw... but with the warmer days, perhaps she can find some while she's out.

From south of Moonspear, Atlantis moves north. There’s no particular direction in his feet, as it’s always been since he’d left home, and his chance encounter with an interesting woman hasn’t changed it. Most days he thinks about his family but the swarthy woman easily pulls his thoughts her way. It would be easy to cut his journey short and retreat back to the mountain but what justice does that do his family? He’d left to explore, as his DeMonte blood calls for, and if there is nothing out there for him, he knows where to go.
 
His travels turn lonely since he parts his only friend in these wilds and moves through one place to the next. Lingering long in any one place isn’t in his forte, eager to see what the world has to offer him. By the time he smells wolf, he doesn’t necessarily see her. Brows knit together and he glances over the tall grass, lifting his head high to try and see. In the distance, he sees the tall grasses sway with cartoonish movements and he moves in that direction. Grass stands higher than his shoulder by this point and he loses sight ahead, and he certainly hasn’t given up. With a slight point of his nose, he releases a low, localized call for the stranger.

There is naught to be found in the tall grasses beyond relative peace, which is a acceptable outcome. Poet drifts through the stalks, wondering if she's alone in the pasture or if there are others near she can't sense. The idea is oddly appealing: a sort of connection through the earth, communually occupied space without the baggage of conversation. 

Her theory is proven right (sort-of) by the call near-by. She can smell him too, mixed in amongst the paths of others long since gone, and returns his call with one of her own, low and dulcet. Her height does not offer much help in attempting to locate him (or herself), dwarfed by the grass at this junction, though she carefully tries to pick a path toward the sound of his call. "I'm afraid I may run into you, literally," Poet calls playfully as she moves forward.

His call is quickly returned, turning a little in the direction he assumes he heard it. It’s a strange feeling not being able to see where things are coming from now. The further he moves in, the taller the grass seems to be over his head, and while he’s not a small wolf by any means, the thick of summer growth has proven too much for him.
 
But, ah! There she is. He turns when he hears the voice, a chuckle of his own slipping through the high stalks. “I promise I won’t bite,” she tells her, slowing to a stop and hoping for the best.

They draw closer until finally scent can replace the work of sound, Poet slowing her steps as she senses their proximity. A laugh eases out of her as she returns "I might," feeling somewhat playful. Close, surely... her head appears between golden stalks abruptly in front of him (or more likely, somewhat to his side), just short of actually touching him. 

"There," she says, pulling the stalks in front of her out of the way and trapping them underneath her as she sits, "we've found each other." Poet offers a smile, raising an eyebrow in a quiet so now what?

He snorts when she confesses she might be the one to bite, a smile forming upon his features. At least she’s honest. The playfulness doesn’t go unnoticed and it drives him to find her a little sooner. When he hears the swish in grasses ahead, he comes to a stop and waits for her to break through the barrier and enters his space. He tries to keep himself smooth and pointed back through the grass to give her space lest she truly want to take a chunk out of him.
 
“Want to bite me?” he asks with a smirk, tail waving, causing the tall grasses behind him to swish back and forth.

She does not expect his response, her expression both surprised and pleased. She has not yet put her finger on her feelings for Phocion despite the beginning stirrings of something beyond platonic, but even if she had, it is rare she gets a chance to indulge in being mischevious, having been tossed from one trial to another since stealing the breath from Beneath-Night's.

Poet rolls her shoulders, stretching out briefly as she pretends to consider his question with a degree of solemnity, her expression a lazy smirk. "Have you earned that..?" she teases, quirking an eyebrow up.

His playfulness is matched and one brow rises, rolling his shoulder and leaning his head.  It takes a gamble running into another wolf but it’s been miles and miles since he’s last scent marker notation and there’s always some level of relief from tension when his newest companion is friendly. It has taken some getting used to when he’s so been familiar with the other wolves for most of his life. Things weren’t terribly hard but he’s given up the easy life and maybe she does want to bite him.
 
Maybe he wants her to.
 
“I’ve probably done at thing or two to deserve it,” he says, smirk widening. A front leg tremors and he dares to taunt her, lifting his chin a little and bouncing back. “But then again, there’s a reason I’ve come this far without punishment,” he offers, turning and darting through the grass.

A light laugh eases out of her, the sound high and foreign. For a moment the rest of her world is blurred, narrowed to one playful, easy moment, a thing she often denies herself. Today it is easy and so she does not question it. "Did I say punishment?" Poet teases him, another laugh stolen as he darts away into the grass. Despite herself she picks herself up and takes after him, disappearing into the golden blades behind him. The grass remains tall and obstinate, his scent woven amongst the stalks barely enough for her to keep on his tail. For now that's fine enough for her, the chase invigorating as she darts forward, hoping to catch him but not minding if it is fruitless at the moment.

Whether or not he hears the question remains unclear but a grin splits his muzzle and he speeds up a little, pressing through the grasses with ease. He doesn’t have a clue where he’s going, only glimpses of the terrain through the lope is what he has to go on. For a while, he can allow himself to feel the spirit of freedom instead of purpose and make all the best efforts to lose his newest companion.

Suddenly, he takes a sharp curve and circles back before burying himself into the ground and panting heavily. The grass above him begins to still and he looks out, scenting the air for any clue where she’d gone.