Wapun Meadow casanova

Fresh from his dismissal among the wolves of Rosings, the pale boy was waylayed by his budding grief; first the heartbreak of losing his sister, then losing the only home he had ever known. Now, losing out on what might have been. Renoir would find somewhere to lay his head for the night, but he knew deep in his shattered heart that he needed more - companionship, at the very least, kept his mind occupied. In his solitary state he wandered, listless and forlorn, through the tall grasswild of a nearby meadow. In keeping to his word and departing the border of Rosings, Ren hoped he had earned some measure of good favor; but he would linger near, daring and foolhardy, with the hope that his luck would change.

Hi!

Noctura looked like a huge prowling shadow as he roamed out into the open, but at second glance he was entirely physical. And he had his eyes to his surroundings, each slow step accompanied by sweeping admiration of the nature around him. So distracted he'd been by his clawing instincts and one prevailing emotion, he had not let himself truly appreciate the intricacies of his home. But these days he did. The changeable weather, the glorious night's sky, the ample flora that heralded warmer seasons. And so as he traversed a meadow beyond the borders, already blooming with flowers, he could not help but comment on them... even if it was to a stranger. No sun shines here, he spoke of the dusk, but there's more sunlight in each of these flowers than I've ever seen in the sky. Yes it was strange to speak suddenly to a creature unknown, but Noctura was moved by the nature here, and the unknown male nearby was almost as hauntingly curious as the flowers themselves.

Whether it was a good change or a bad one, Renoir quickly found himself entertaining company. The shadow swept through the meadow without hindrance, though their pace was slow. He did not notice them until they spoke, at which time the blonde man turned his head sharply, and his wandering gaze was met with the dark figure. Ren was thoughtful for a moment, finding the stranger's words to be alluring - they rang true to his ears, and brought a glimmer of light to his darkened heart.

I 'ave been here a few days now, but I 'ave not seen much'a da light, in fact, his days had been rather lacking of late. The memories of days ago weighed him down, almost as if they tethered him to this one place, even though the latest slight to his spirit had not been so harsh. It seemed that without Monet at his side, life was ultimately harder and far less purposeful. He was thankful for the dark stranger, and perhaps that was why he spoke and responded instead of flee, as he normally would. Bèl piti, Renoir murmured, more to himself than the stranger; he assumed that, like the wolves of Rosings, this entity would be just as clueless to his strange words and manners. Nonetheless, he ducked his head and breathed deep of the flowers surrounding him. Leetle beauties.

They were only flowers, and alas, they were nothing compared to sweet Monet.

So involved he'd been in his musings on the natural world around him, he hadn't properly acknowledged that he was in the presence of another. Noctura was a recluse, but on rare occasion he brought his thoughts to the wider world. And on even rarer occasion, the wider world includes a complete stranger. So Noctura turned his silver gaze from the blossoming floor and regarded the male instead: large, ethereal, and noble in bearing. And oddly familiar, as if the pair had already been talking for a while.

He blinked, interested in the accent that emerged, but Noctura had spent his life a traveller, and was no stranger to foreign voices. I believe that's an early glacier lily, he lowered his muzzle to acknowledge the flower so admired by his sudden companion. Some say they grow where stars have fallen in the earth.

The flowers were tall and thin, with crowns of bright yellow that seemed to fluoresce with the aid of the sun. Their faces were downcast much like the wolves which witnessed them. Renoir breathed in their aroma while the stranger spoke, lending some identification, and the anecdote made him smile thinly. It was a clever belief — they looked like six-point stars indeed. Or little yellow bonnets. Solèy kapo - the boy muttered to himself, deciding that the name suited them far more than the common-tongue'd moniker that the shadow had spoken of, beautiful as it was. Perhaps one day he'd tell someone about them; his heart yearned for Monet but she was far away from here, and even if he picked them all for her, they would be withered in his return.

Choosing to focus on the man beside him, his swift companion, was no easy feat. But the boy tried. He lifted his nose from the flowers and breathed the fresh spring air, a dusting of yellow pollen marking his snout - though it was mildly obscured by the natural blond of his fur - and he looked to the dark wolf, more curious than afraid. He sounded more foreign than the wolves of Rosings, but Renoir was fresh from his natal pack; he had no way of identifying the unique lilting of his words. Ya 'ave been 'ere long? 'Ou sound diferan -- not like mwen, and not like 'dem, as he mentions the pack whose borders are only an hour or so behind him, he tosses his head lightly to indicate.

It was humbling to know that these flowers blossomed and danced in the breeze even as not a soul regarded them. Noctura had never seen lilies in these parts, and seeing them now was with the knowledge that they existed despite this. He knew now that he would spend some time in this meadow, moving slowly among the waking green and making note of each flower he saw. But would it be with this pale gold prince? Reclusive though Noctura was, he didn't spurn this company now that he'd discovered it.

Solèy kapo... he noted the term. Another name for the lily, perhaps.

He might have addressed this, but shortly the stranger changed the subject to their opposing accents. I'm from far across the ocean, he obliged, but I've been in this region some months now. The first true home he'd ever had. What of you? His eyes followed the direction of the male's gesture. It seemed the younger male was from a pack across the way.

Ah, the sea! From across it, somehow? The concept surprised Renoir greatly, and his pale brow raised, then creased with slight concern; no wolf could swim across the great divide without some sort of... Assistance. Holy or otherwise. Perhaps this shadow was a being of great power! He did not think to ask, for the other was quick to turn the conversation back upon him.

Ah, I am from da west, but that was too vague an answer, so he added, Far from dis place, my home was once Zanjheim, a small wayote -- ehm, he had forgotten briefly that this wolf was not of his own kind, and did not know his words. It felt as if he knew this man somehow; that they were destined to reunite here, like passing souls upon the wind. A very leetle pack, where my maman and papa are of high command. And his sister, of course. He dared not mention her - the mere thought of his parents stirred something strange in his chest, a bitterness he did not wish to entertain.

They had cast him out after all - on the whim of a rival pack, no less. Their own son! Ah, he felt the bitterness become something less trivial and more destructive already, and gave his head a shake, hoping to rid it of such foul thoughts. Ren breathed in the pungent scent of the flowers that peppered the ground at his paws, and focused upon them, briefly. We 'ave no fields like dis back 'ome.

"West" was a vagueity (and "Zanjheim" unknown), but not one that Noctura questioned. It wasn't that he was uninterested, and such was his history of travel it was likely that he had skirted by the male's home region, but his mind and heart was in the here and now. He was happy to speak with this stranger, and perhaps even make a friend of him, but his preference was that their conversation didn't shy into the past or the distance. The present was what mattered. The meadow. The flowers. The near beyond.

And it seemed he was right to think of the fair-looking male as a princely type, for his parents were high-ranking, and Noctura imagined that where he came from high rank counted for more than it did where Noctura came from. His own father had been an Alpha. And that had been only one word for him...

But Noctura had banished the past from his mind, so brought it back it back, and with it came fresh-sprung thoughts about pack life. There are no fields like this one, Noctura replied philosophically. And then his thought was voiced: are you seeking a pack to join?

If he could, Ren would have enjoyed gathering all of the flowers together. The most he could do was slide down among them; chest-first, the flowers bunched together and mingled with the tendrils of chest fur as he descended to his belly. He was careful, not wishing to disturb the sparks of yellow or the thin, delicate strands which held them in place. He would have rolled in them if the dark wolf hadn't been there - but then was distracted by his question.

I.. am not sure, hm, and that was the truth. He did not want to abandon this field nor the lands which lay beyond it. Even though he had been sent away from the rose wolves, he wished to stay nearby just in case. They appealed to him - they were familiar, if only barely - and Renoir had no idea what to expect from this gentleman or his own pack, if that offer was on the table. You are not alone? the question seemed silly to him after he voiced it; no, neither of them was alone currently. They had one another, and they had the flowers.

Despite the romanticism of the blooming surroundings that had brought this pair of strangers together, Noctura now considered the male in a new light. Was he indeed looking for a new pack? And would Ryūjin have him? It was not Noctura's place to say, of course, but the quiet truth was that he was the second highest ranking wolf in the pack, and he had the ear of his Alpha (not that he would ever even consider exploiting that for his own gains). If he thought this accented roamer could bring something to Ryūjin, he would suggest him to Asterr.

But what could he bring? Botany, poetry, an eye for new terrain? The key question was of course if he had any interest at all in standing with a new crowd.

"You are not alone?"

... As complicated questions go, that one topped the lot.

No, he said carefully. I'm a man of Ryūjin, a pack just beyond our meadow here. It lacks the sweeping vibrancy of these flowers, but boasts instead a vast underground forest that at places stretches up to the open sky.

Renoir felt the stirrings of anxiety as the dark wolf explained, and he could not place why. This man was fine company, and his home was not far from here - a rival to the rose wolves, surely - and yet, Ren was not sure he wanted to venture in to the mountains. His body was suited to the plains, to the meadows such as this, and not the harsh lifestyle accompanied with toiling on a mountainside. Yet he was eager to know more; the mention of an underground forest, foreign and odd though it sounded, rooted in his mind. How beautiful it sounded! He wondered what sort of strange beauty could be discerned there -- but caught himself before the thoughts became more concrete.

It sounds anchante, he would not correct himself as he slipped in to his common tongue, more comfortable there for the time being. The tone of that single word should have been enough to elucidate upon, and give Noctura an idea of how he felt. But then Renoir fell quiet, ponderous, and his next words - though soft and sweet - were tinged with a faint sadness. Mwen regrèt, I am no mountain man. Perhaps one day he would see that magical forest and visit the place, but it would not be his home. At least not at this time - he was much more contented by the meadow.

There must have been some semblance of interest shown in Noctura's eyes, because the stranger guessed that he had been considering the possibility of introducing him to Asterr, the leader of Ryūjin. But it wasn't to be, and although he liked this male Noctura was not all that regretful. The pack was thriving, and it was not clear what role this albeit charming stranger would have played in it.

Indeed, you seem quite suited to roaming among these flowers until the breeze drifts you elsewhere, he observed with a quiet poetry. The beauty of the meadow's plants had instilled this in him, and when he thought back to this meadow he would also think of its lonely drifter.

Perhaps, fate be willing, he would find his way to the mountainside in the end. The men could reunite, speak of the flowers that they so fancied, and the dark one could expound his love of the forest to him. Renoir fancied seeing this underground place, this magical thing which made little sense to him -- but he was so taken by the flowers here, and the women just beyond, that he felt no pull to leave just yet. He was sad, of course. Always mourning the little losses that he faced. The gentleman's departure would leave Renoir feeling hollow once again, and the flowers would only assuage some of that.

Mm, oui, but maybe I will drift to 'ou and da forest one day. It was a promise, or an attempt at one, which he offered as plainly as he could.

He nodded, accepting of the unexpected friendship that had all of a sudden flourished here in this meadow. The thought of finding a new packmate had been fleeting, and indeed the concept of a passing bond was quite as fine. And somehow the male's very presence had contributed to Noctura's study of the flowery meadow — after all, his interest in nature was quite abstract. If ever you do find yourself upon the borders of Ryūjin, call for me, he invited. Noctura.

Noctura. He would remember. With a smile, the golden boy resumed his investigation of the meadow - first giving the cluster of flowers another fond glance, and then he began to slink away, eager to find something else to observe and study before his aching heart took hold again.

ty for the lovely thread~ ^__^

With a faint smile, Noctura in turn went his own way. He too continued with his studies, but remained in the meadow, identifying and finding meaning in the flowers for another hour at least. He had not caught his new friend's name, but because of something he'd said he would think of him as "Solèy".