Deepwood Weald Manaʻo ʻole

His daughter had always been frustrating, but this stunt by far surpassed even the worst of her previous behaviour.

Hakumele had spent enough of his years fighting, he wished to spend what he had left of them resting. At times he feared that wrangling up Hokulani so often would send him to an early end, but what was he to do? Let his daughter run wild? If he was not to keep such a tight hold on the girl, it would be her that died too soon.

Hokulani's mother and himself had long been seperated, but he knew very well that she would be worried sick home on the island by her lonesome. He wished to spare her further pain, to bring their daughter back to her as soon as possible.

And yet, as he wandered the weald he realized that he had not a clue as to where to search. He only hoped to catch the scent of @Reverie or her crew or gather a clue of their whereabouts; if he found them, he would find Hokulani.

Moving, moving, moving. When wasn't Georgia moving?

It kept her active—but more importantly, it kept her safe. It kept her alive. Now, she was humming a little tune. A southern ballad playing within her mind. A tale of her home, of her mother. The woman pranced. Tail flagging above her, confidence running from her paws, sparking each time they drummed against the ground.

A scent. A stranger. She stopped immediately, ears swivelling, searching, scanning for sound. Fur shifting along her body as she started to move again. His smell rode the winds, strange, speaking of a home far away. And then he saw it: white, caped in mauve. Orange, honey-like eyes. She watched him from afar. Observing. He moved through the weald, seemingly looking for something.

Georgia held herself low, careful as she moved forwards. Slow. Precise. Her approach was almost that of a huntress, but she wanted to get closer without being noticed just yet. Decide whether or not this stranger was worth having a chat with. Find out what he was looking for, maybe. All depending on what he did next.

He found himself pausing, lifting his head to let out a long howl. His voice was deep, nearly booming through the weald. It spoke of his search, asked for the response of someone familiar.

He was growing tired, limbs aching. Soon he would need to rest. But how could he?

Each time he hesitated, each moment he remained still, she would only move further away.

The man sounded a howl, and for a moment the woman worried that she had been found. But, no, his eyes never settled on her, paws never came towards her. She continued to watch, and then, rather reluctantly, she'd stand up straight, no longer hiding herself.

A 'woof' echoed across the weald, trying to catch his attention.

Ears perked. Eyes watchful.

His ears perked, head turning towards the sound of a soft bark. He spotted a woman, and his gaze hardened.

She was not who he was looking for. He did not know her. So why was she bothering him?

He stood silent, and waited for her to offer an explanation.

His eyes settled upon her. He was wordless. Georgia only stared back, before words begun rolling from her lips; she could not stop them. Only hear them play back within her own mind.

You lookin' for somethin', hun? She heard herself say. And for a moment, she wondered if she should regret opening her mouth. Lemonesque hues scanned the stranger, but there didn't seem to be anything too discernable about him asides from the particular colours of his pelt.

But then she was speaking again: Maybe I could help. A strange humility. Sense of duty, maybe. Or, perhaps she was just an offering of peace. Trying to make herself useful, as to not be seen as, a) a threat, or b) prey.

She blinked at him. Waiting.

Her voice was odd. He was uncomfortable. He couldn't help but wrinkle his nose.

ʻAʻole mai ʻoe. He spoke with a flick of his tail, clarifying after a moment. Not from you, not unless you know a Reverie.

His statement was blunt, but it was the truth. He had to keep moving.

I don' know a lady by that name, she said, tone almost apologetic. I can look for'er, though. Whaddya call yaself, in case I find her? Maybe she would search for this Reverie woman. Give her something to do other than running her whole life.

Oh, 'n' what's she look like? Too many questions? She hoped not.

Blonde, golden nearly. She travels with a troupe of wolves. He stated, though he was not sure why he was bothering with a stranger. My daughter is with her. Annoyance coated his expression for a short moment.

Don't go out of your way to look. The statement was blunt, direct. An order.

He would not so easily accept the help of a stranger. Maybe he was stubborn, or maybe he was cautious.

Never one to linger where she wasn't wanted, Georgia nodded, then. Alrighty, then, she said, paws raising to step away. A name hadn't been given, but she was sure his description would be enough to jog the memory of this Reverie lady. Cya. The woman moved away, then. Trotting in the direction she had came.

exit georgia