Wapun Meadow the color of blood in the violent setting of a dying sun

@Keen <3

 

the battle that had been fought between the wolves of ursus and the wolves of easthollow had left him feeling dour. the ghost ventured out of the pack that night in search of fresh water to run over his muzzle. the wolf merrit had left him with four scores to the bridge of his nose. they stung every day and often reopened. he had not thought to bother evien with the wound, fearful that he would be wasting the medic’s time with his pathetic injuries.
 
the witch morgana had been the one who had taken the real prize. she was a brilliant fighter, he thought. the savagery in her was unlike any he had ever seen before. though he had only been able to steal a single glance at the dark she-wolf during their fight, what had been seen had been impressive. he wondered how she was faring and scorned himself for thinking of her at all.
 
the ghost wandered into the meadow in search of peace and slumped to the grass when he found a quiet place. the sound of an owl could be heard in the distance, but the only noise to exist in the air around where illidan rested was the sound of cicadas humming their song. he breathed a heavy sigh and let his eyelids flutter heavily with sleep.

There is little for her to do but idly wander in the moments between filling her most basic needs. The familiarity of the meadow lends monotony to this activity, until she finds herself lulled into a state of dim consciousness. She can't say how long she spends like this — only that it ends with the scent of another wolf. A male, young and strong and near. The promise of company, or perhaps another excuse to vent her frustrations, lures her. She follows the trail until it leads her to the sleeping stranger, an impressive wolf painted in grey and black. Hello, She greets quietly, keeping her distance for now. She does not smell Easthollow on him, and that is promising — but that doesn't mean he isn't their ally.

a soft voice pulled him from his sleep.
 
the fluttering of his eyelids for a moment before the glimmer of gold as he locked his sights on the unfamiliar figure that had happened upon him.
 
he should have known better. the ghost drew his head up slightly, wincing at the pain from his wounds. he knew he should not have shown weakness to this unknown entity, but she did not seem intent on causing harm just yet. the haggard young beast drew himself up into a sitting position and regarded her with a weary glance.
 
“i did not intrude on your home, did i?”
 
the ghost’s voice was weary and rough. the question did seem genuine enough, however. illidan felt as though he had fallen into a drunken sleep. the weight of everything that he had carried had finally broken his back, or a portion of his mind. all he could think was that he did not want to be indebted to another and he feared fighting in the state he was in. if he had stumbled into this woman’s home, he would simply have to let her kill him.

As the man looks up, she notices the wounds across his muzzle and the drowsy way he moves; an easier target than he might usually be, perhaps. But she isn't in the mood for that right now. No, She answers when he questions her, surprised by how lonely she feels when she says it. I'm just sort of... staying here right now. My home used to be the pack that way — She gestures toward Easthollow. But... I'm not on good terms with my family anymore. I don't know why I'm hanging around here, or why I'm telling you all of this. Her ears flush with sudden self-consciousness, but her rambling does not stop immediately; rather, it falters and stumbles to a halt. It's been awhile since I've talked to anyone — I guess I'm lonely. Um. Do you... need any help with those cuts?
By the end of it she's burning with shame, and reminded that no matter how hard she works to turn herself into nothing but a hardened killer, she will always be her awkward self at heart. Maybe she should just kill him after all, if only to leave no witnesses to this mess.

so, he was intruding only on a temporary space, but intruding nonetheless.
 
the ghost lifted his head and cupped his ears as she continued to explain where she had originally come from and a cryptic line about having severed her ties there. when she pointed, illidan followed her motion and frowned deeply. she was speaking about the pack they had fought with. the realization sent a prickle of unease down his spine and the hairs along his neck rose warily.
 
“seems we have that in common,” the weary soul remarked to her in a haggard voice. “that former pack of yours is the reason for this state of being,” he then added with a motion to his injured figure. it did not take much to see that he was struggling from the fight and had suffered a great deal since it had taken place.
 
when she asked if he needed help with his wounds, the dark-hooded wolf knit his brow with confusion before lowering his muzzle toward the ground. he would have asked for evien’s help but he had felt like a burden on the pack and feared troubling the healer more than he feared troubling morgana.
 
“are you a healer?”

feeling lonely was something he understood well, something he could empathize with.