Wapun Meadow New is always better

- Break a leg! - 
- Bugger off, wizard boy! -
- See you, Ugly Maw! - 
- Love you too, guys! - 

He replayed the heartfelt farewells from the ragtag band that he had been his family for the past few months. The young man missed his comrades, their antics and jokes, which bordered on rudeness, their thirst for life and fearlessness. Among those weathered men of various ages and backgrounds he had found that sense of fitting in that he had not had either with Mahler's wolves, or with Quellcrist, who he had lost track of maybe a couple of weeks after following her out and away from the wilds. They had been his mentors and friends, helped him heal and given an opportunity to move on. They had not questioned about his past life, because for many of them there was none to return to, and that's, what they had taught Elfie: not to live in the past, but start anew. Especially, if that past was so hard to reach. 

He had gained nickname "Merlin", because he had been deemed weird by the rest, and later on he had liked it so much that he had adopted it as his name. New was always better, right? And, what way was better than to let go of his past, cut ties to it entirely, let it lie in the dusty shelves of his patched up memory, where it belonged, and not allow it to interfere with this new present he had forged out for himself. And after a while he had begun to wonder, what if he could create a new life right, where he had left the old one? The Marauders as they called themselves did not object to people coming and going - they were not a pack in the classical sense. For many they were just a temporary solution, a stop along the way. And if it did not work out as well, one could always find them and become part of the group again. 

So on the day, when they happened to be in the vicinity of lands Merlin recognized dimly, he knew that the time had come for him to set out on his own. They exchanged the necessary pleasantries and then their paths parted. The group of bachelors travelled one way and Merlin began his journey northwards. And here he was now, having stopped in his tracks in the middle of a meadow, watching the towering mountain range to his left, thinking, wondering.

another wolf, standing in the middle of the meadow.

astara watched him warily -- who was he, what was his purpose here so close to her home?

she hungrily studied the rippling of rust along his pelt, the crisp striation of white. a little like her own daughter, but less pretty -- less harmonious.

it was too bad he was an outsider.

astara strode through the mud with her tail curled in a sickle behind her. her gaze never left merlin, and unless he moved, she would violate every sense of personal space he had as she drew from his pelt any scent of interest.

Merlin turned his head to face the dark wraith that was approaching him without a greeting or warning, only the sound of footfalls in the mud giving away it's direction and purpose. Had he met her in spring, he would have run for the hills, now months spent in the rough and merciless environment, created by wolves, who cared not for either boundaries or limits, had given him the necessary immunity to handle these situations. 

He met her, standing tall and confident, his tail held high as well, wagging though to indicate a friendly disposition, and he politely stepped away from her to keep that polite distance between them, when she went straight for him to sniff. He canted his head slightly, as if to remind her - we should play by rules, miss - and waited for her response. At this point he did not think that words were necessary, unless the lady herself uttered them first.

the boy of rust and orange stood proud -- confident even. astara eyes lit in amusement -- how long would it take to strip that confidence from him? how many bites to strip that pretty red fur?

she paused as he craned his head towards her, insistent. but he forgot -- the meadows were hunting grounds to the blackbird and her ilk, and she believed it her was her right to consume or inspect any that entered.

astara's tail whipped upward with a crack, her ears pressing assertively forward -- no, she insisted, waiting for retaliation as she thrust her nose along his fur and nape, finding little in the way of scents that could tell the story on how a pretty little boy like him ended up on her lawn.

Beauty apparently did not go hand in hand with good manners. Once again Merlin's offer for a polite greeting on mutually comfortable terms was rebuffed. The lady was persistent in her approach and he recoiled from her, as if she was a poisonous snake, when her muzzle unceremonously dug through his fur.

He let out a low growl and bared his teeth slightly, as he took some steps backwards, shook his coat thoroughly and watched her in mild dislike.

not a fan of strangers, then?

astara watched as flame-licked ruff pulled from under her vision, replaced by the cold scowl of an adolescent uncomfortable with her presence.

she grinned as if to say she was harmless, her tail plucky and swaying by her hocks. she had taken nothing from him, had not harmed a hair on his little fiery red head -- so why the defensiveness?

she knew why -- as did he -- but if the game was up, did that mean astara was done playing?

the blackbird took two measured steps towards merlin then, watching him with an unkind gleam in her indigo gaze.

It was not that Merlin did not like strangers, he had a particular bad feeling about this one. The dark furred lady was not particularly subtle, when it came to realizing that she embodied trouble. Especially since she did not talk with him at all, just kept coming at him as if he was a prized beast. 

Merling tilted his head to the side, observed her for a long moment, then turned on his heel and left the lady alone. Some would consider it fleeing - he believed that self-preservation was a must. 

Last one from me.

<3 i ruined everything ;-;

astara's game came to a swift conclusion. merlin lost interest, moving away at a pace that astara often saw wolves demonstrate when she came into view.

his judgment was not incorrect; she had no plans of benevolence up her sleeve.

smart boy then, to put distance between them.

she considered pursuing, but her children were in this meadow, and astara felt compelled to find them. so long as merlin was out of the meadow, astara was sufficiently pleased.

she trailed him for a time, ensuring his thorough departure -- but then she too made for the trail of her children.