The sun was not yet up when Mallaidh woke that morning but it didn't stop her. She stretched, scanned over her adobe, and took a quick inventory that nothing was damaged, missing, or otherwise out of use through the night. The small hole she dug a few days ago lined healthily with moss and a few things resting inside that needed to remain dry were still dry. Soon she would need to put together a roof for it but today was not that day.
Instead, she traveled down the side of the mountain she had yet to explore and found herself on the outside of the territory, lingering toward a meadow that scents—despite the near end of fall—was drawing her near. The flowers were dying, frosted over from the night that diluted the colors that she was sure were beautiful in the spring and summer months. Mallaidh's goal was to search for a specific flower stem and roots that offered pain relief she wanted to bring back for Vienna to help make her more comfortable.
The sun was halfway to noon before she found what she was looking for. A dying orange flower that had three petals left, covered in frozen dew. She sniffed around the ground, her toes digging into the soil to find it still solid. She didn't want to destroy the stem and roots and knew this would take a little bit longer than she expected and yet she didn't know how close to her warning Amekaze had given her.
Having been to Wapun Meadow just recently, though it hadn't been in his plans to originally do so, Nefarious decided to head back that way to see if he could be fortunate enough to stumble something for either of his separate, private stores, one for medicinal and one for the toxic plants, that struck a chord of familiarity within him. The struggle to adapt to what was indigenous to the Wilds and what was universal from both regions was a real one, though Nefarious had little doubt that he would adapt. Lacking the solid advantage of having a Master, someone who had been at the trade for much longer made the processes admittedly slower than the shaman would have liked. The world, though, rarely did as anyone wanted it too. Life wasn't as easy as that, as it had no right to be. If it was easy than there would be no defining characteristics of anyone. In Nefarious' mind, the trails and obstacles that life had a tendency to throw in the path of those who inhabited it spoke a lot about others. How they chose to overcome them, whether they gave up and settled for less than what they wanted, or if they took it as a personal challenge and rose above, enduring hardships so that they could reach the pinnacle of their happiness. It defined others, and sometimes not in a way that was all endearing. Some became assholes, and some were so humble that it physically hurt to watch them degrade themselves at every turn. Janelle “Anka” had been like that: self depreciating. It was an unusual characteristic given Suluk's own arrogance and status as single father. His sister's humbleness had seemed to make those who knew her love her. Compliments had came easily from her lips, sincere despite their occurrences, though she would never take a compliment for herself.
Nefarious had ceased in his steps, tucking his previously wandering thoughts away, to sniff at a plant that struck him as familiar. It had appeared to be familiar, though in reality, he came to the quick conclusion that it wasn't. In this, he found fault in his previous objectives, that his plan to find what struck him as familiar was flawed and ignorant at the very least. Just because something looked similar to something that he knew very well did not make it the same thing. It's properties could be the direct opposite of what it's similar looking plant was: he could mean to heal someone and accidentally kill them simply because he had been carelessly ambitious. There were instances when the shaman would take a dark path and use his knowledge to make enemies ill or in the worst case scenario snuff out their life with poisons and chicanery. Voodoo and Shamanism wasn't inherently evil, though it was often wrongly assumed to be such. A weapon did not kill of it's own free will — it's purpose depended solely upon the one that wielded it, and this had been the basis for Nefarious' belief in his practice since he was old enough to understand it. He was neutral, a balance between Atka and Sos, between good and evil, darkness and light. The same went for his practices: it was neutral, not swayed either way in particular, but not unwilling to be the hero or the villain as the situation demanded for it. The world wasn't so starkly black and white and someone had to occupy the shades of gray in-between.
Nefarious had caught the scent of the other before he saw her, though shortly after her scent had wafted his way he glimpsed up, analyzing it as his black, leathery nostrils flared, deducing that she, like him, was a pack wolf as well though the Kesuk did not recognize the scent that clung to her. For a few silent heartbeats he allowed his pumpkin orange gaze to study her with mild intrigue, blissfully unaware of the grievances between their packs, before he let out a soft chuff to announce his presence to the tawny female, unaware if she had sensed him there by that point, or not.