Flycatcher Downs a stunning dress of hellfire

towhee keeps to the dry, grassy prairie as she moves through flycatcher downs; avoiding the rocky portion. it keeps her mostly on the outskirts, flirting with whatever neutral territory lingered beside it. ghost flys a little bit ahead of her, a raptor of the skies; taking point. the falcon's aerial view gives him an advantage that the silent hunter could never imagine. she doesn't need him to be her eyes, though. only her ears.

she keeps ghost in her peripheral; pausing to let her gaze scour the land and sate her thirst at the nearest puddle of rain water. it wasn't fresh but it wasn't stale yet either.

her trip, brief though it was, had been long enough for her to lose track of her mother and brother ... but jr still harbored that flame of constantly needing to prove herself that she had thought had been extinguished. until she accomplished that, she was afraid settling would be hard for her in any capacity.

she takes another drink; content to give herself a brief moment of rest.

Cole’s broad frame moved through the gentle rise and fall of the prairie with a deliberate ease, his steps steady, though his amber eyes never stopped their watchful sweep of the terrain. The soft whisper of grass and the occasional chirp of an insect were the only sounds to fill the space until his gaze fell upon a figure in the distance.

A woman—formidable and striking. Even from afar, she carried the air of a seasoned warrior. Her charcoal coat, marked with fiery reds and white dustings, caught the shifting light. She moved like someone who knew what it meant to endure, to fight, and to win.

He slowed his approach, his brow lifting slightly as he took her in. The raptor circling overhead was no mere bird; it was purposeful, a partner rather than a pet. That alone intrigued him, but he didn’t linger on the falcon long. His focus returned to her as she paused by a puddle, her posture relaxed but far from careless.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, Cole stopped at a respectful distance. His southern drawl, warm and unhurried, rolled across the space between them. Afternoon, ma’am. Didn’t mean to intrude. His eyes lingered briefly on the falcon before returning to her golden gaze.

You from around here, or just passin’ through? There was no challenge in his tone, only an openness that invited conversation, though his stance remained wary—just in case.

a stranger approaches, tall, broad and handsome cloaked in a pelage the color of earth: honey, sands and virile soil. but that does not entirely absolve towhee of the knee-jerk reaction of 'stranger danger'. he begun speaking to her, she notes upon his approach but she missed some of his words, the distance too far for her to lip read.

left ear, notched in several places from ghost's repeated nipping over the year twitches; a subconscious gesture. still, towhee's world is ever silent.

assuming that he does not know ptero — a default assumption of her's to be sure — leaves her with an understanding of his question read from his lips but no real way to answer it.

not exactly known for her creativity, towhee is temporarily stumped. her hesitation lingers in her shoulders, before she lets out a low, near inaudible huff and offers a nod of her head which she supposes, since there were two questions in one: it's up to him to decipher which she meant 'yes' to.

Cole studied the woman for a moment, noting her hesitation and the subtle tension in her frame. His honey-colored gaze softened as he caught the nod of her head. He wasn’t entirely sure which question she was answering, but he figured it was a start. His voice came low and easy when he spoke again.

Guessin’ you’re from around these parts then? he asked, his Southern drawl unhurried. He kept his tone warm and approachable, giving her space to respond at her own pace.

His gaze flickered briefly to the notches in her ear, then back to her eyes. You got yourself a nice spot out here. You live close by?

Cole shifted his weight, his stance relaxed but watchful, as if gauging how much conversation she was comfortable with. After a pause, he added, Don’t mean to pry, just tryin’ to get a feel for the area. His easy grin softened the words, inviting but never pressing.

the movement of his lips speak to towhee of of an accent, like honeyed whiskey on the rocks; smooth in a way that cuts off some of his words but does not leave her with too many issues reading them. he reiterates what he's assumed and a small swell of relief floods towhee as she gives a sage nod. yes, i am from here, it speaks for her.

he assumes she lives here and she casts a small glimpse 'round, not necessarily sharing that sentiment. the prairie grasses are too dry ( though it was winter and surely that played its own part ) and she had yet to find a fresh water source beyond the rain puddle. her lips twitch into something between a terse line and a frown but not quite either.

no, she offers with the shake of her head. with sun mote copse disbanded and her mother and little brother lost to the four winds as far as towhee knew, she was homeless. and while she'd been doing fine on her own for the time being, the winter had yet to really sink it's teeth in. she recognizes she may not have it so easy in the weeks to come.

she reads that he is trying to get a feel for the land — she assumes then that he is not from here — and she offers a soft shrug of her shoulders; a low huff. not quite of frustration ( she is used to being the black sheep of the world by now ); resigned.

she shakes her head and lifts her paw to her ear, mouth and throat then, a sign language sort of effort to communicate that she cannot hear nor speak. though that information makes her vulnerable, working as a natural disadvantage, it does make it easier as far as communication went.

Cole watched the subtle movements, catching the nuance in her gestures. The nods, the shrugs—everything fell into place with her final motion, a pointed gesture to her ear, mouth, and throat. The clarity dawned on him, not with pity but with understanding. His gaze softened.

Well,”he rumbled, his tone pitched lower as though instinctively adjusting for her inability to hear. A deep hum of thought followed. He let the silence settle before offering his first attempt at simpler communication.

A grunt. Short, affirming, as he nodded toward the landscape they both occupied.

He pointed to himself. Cole, he said, emphasizing the name with a low growl of sound. Another grunt, questioning, as he gestured toward her.

It was not seamless, but Cole was nothing if not adaptive. If this was the way she could best understand him, then he would oblige.

towhee watches as he gestures to himself and offers his name.

cole.

an easy enough name to translate into ptero, she thinks. not that it really matters in the moment. when confronted with wolves that did not know her or her mother — which seemed rare these days, seasoned traveller as the OG towhee was — and did not know ptero she has been gifted many names. none of them she minded. all uniquely her.

unfortunately, as she assumes cole is in this boat, he is gifted with the task of giving her a name himself.

she offers a sheepish, almost apologetic grimace; unable to even gesture to anything remotely similar to her name.

ghost rides the calm wind overhead, circling; always keeps towhee in his dark, raptorial gaze; mangled talon tucked close to his belly.

she ghosts a few steps nearer, muzzle lifting slightly as she takes in the smells on cole's pelt ( careful not to invade his personal space, though; stranger danger still takes forefront in towhee's mind always ), a few of which holds an errant sort of familiarity of a home once shared.

this excites her, tail giving a few wags behind her, hoping to communicate that she harbored some familiarity from the pack he ran with.

Cole allowed her to approach, standing still as she cautiously stepped nearer, her nose twitching as she took in his scent. He mirrored her actions, lowering his broad head and sniffing at her carefully, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle her. There was something almost solemn in the exchange, a language beyond words—one he felt was necessary when words couldn’t bridge the gap.

He picked up no pack scent on her, just the wild tang of a lone wolf. His brow furrowed slightly as he considered this. No pack meant no safety, no constant source of food, and in this season, that was no small matter.

With a light huff, he stepped back a fraction, giving her space while his eyes stayed fixed on hers, searching for some understanding. Alone? he asked softly, letting the word linger in the air between them as his tail swayed faintly. He didn’t expect her to respond in words, but perhaps her body language would answer what her voice could not.

he sniffs at her in return, and towhee would be remiss to disallow it, seeing as he allowed her to ghost nearer to draw in his scents. still, there was little to gleam from her own. she'd been dispersal long enough that nothing of sun mote copse — scattered to the winds anyway — remained.

alone? his question lingers between them, read on his lips by towhee who nods solemnly after a moment.

alone. her body language echoes.

alone. dangerous given they were in the clutches of winter. dangerous because despite her winged companion her deafness put her at a heightened risk. and though towhee jr was a spitfire, would never go down without putting up one hell of a fight ... she recognizes that she is not, currently, in a good situation.

she was vulnerable; always. worse yet without the support of a pack should she run into trouble.

Cole huffed softly, his warm breath visible in the frigid air. His amber eyes softened as they swept over the girl, taking in her solitary figure. The weight of her nod and the silence that hung between them told him all he needed to know. Alone.

That won’t do, he muttered under his breath, more to himself than her, his voice low and gravelly.

He tilted his head, gesturing slightly with his muzzle, the motion deliberate. His broad form shifted closer, his movement slow and nonthreatening as he tried to catch her eye. He made a motion with his paw, then toward himself, as if to say: You’re coming with me.

The thought of her wandering out here, exposed to the elements and whatever dangers lurked beyond the trees, didn’t sit right with him. Name? he asked simply, the word clipped but not unkind, his brow lifting slightly as he waited. If he was going to take her under his wing, he wanted to know who he’d be keeping safe.

towhee observes him closely, but even by trying to decipher body language along with reading his lips, she is not able to detect that he'd meant his words more for himself than her. at any rate, she can't provide any sort of answer without signing in ptero, so she doesn't. her paws are still, her body language not aiming to communicate anything.

that is, until he gestures for her to follow him.

that lingering distrust of strangers creeps up like an unbidden plague and she hesitates for a moment before following after him; letting out a small hiss as ghost's talons dig into her calloused and scarred flesh at his usual perch betwixt the junction of her shoulders.

he peeks his head up over her's, preening his left wing for a moment before, keeping cole in his gaze.

name?

she offers a small shrug of her shoulders, communicating that she didn't mind what he called her: which was true. she couldn't be offended when she couldn't communicate her own name, after all.

Cole chuckled softly at her shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement as he glanced back over his shoulder. She had the air of someone who didn’t let much bother her, which he could respect.

Fair enough, he drawled, the southern twang in his voice lilting warmly. He turned his attention forward again, his broad frame cutting a steady path through the snow. Guess that means I get to pick, huh?

His pace didn’t falter as he thought aloud, his amber gaze scanning the horizon. After a moment, he looked back again, eyes narrowing playfully as his brow quirked. How ’bout... Quill? he offered, nodding to the bird perched between her shoulders. Seems like you’re keepin’ some high-flyin’ company there.

Satisfied with his own cleverness, he huffed another soft laugh, turning his attention back to the trail ahead. You don’t like it, you can always correct me, he added with a smirk, knowing full well she couldn’t. The name, for now, would stick.

quill, he calls her, and mentally towhee adds it to her collection. if he learned ptero, maybe she would tell him her actual name. or perhaps it would come about on it's own — it was hard to tell. either way, quill fits her well enough: for ghost as she reads he mentions ... and because of her prickly nature.

a smirk tugs at the corners of her own lips; wishing ( not for the first time ) that she could hear and thus speak: that she could intone something along the lines of ...and not because of my prickly nature?

but then again, she's kept her hostility at bay — no doubt her brief time as a leader of sun mote copse had forced her to adopt diplomacy when she hadn't necessarily wanted to.

she was perfectly fine with being the bad cop, even if no one else wished her to be. or spun her signed words to cushion the barbs they would've held could she speak. the brief thought of her mother brought with it a soft pang in her chest ... but her mother is well travelled and she does not doubt bushtit and OG towhee were just fine.

she lets out a breathy bark, a 'ha' in response to his smarmy response to her correcting him if she didn't like it. clearly, he thought he was clever; but rather than be incensed by it, quill finds herself amused.

Cole’s lips tugged into an easy smirk as he caught the faint breathy bark from her—a sound he took as amusement, even if it was subtle. Funny one, huh? he drawled, his southern lilt carrying the faintest tease. Guess ‘Quill’ suits you just fine after all.

He glanced over at her as they walked, the amusement still evident in his expression. You’ll fit right in, I reckon, he said, half to himself, his tone casual but with a hint of approval. Ameline’ll like you. Got a knack for spotting the sharp ones.

Cole adjusted his pace slightly to match hers, nodding toward the direction of the valley. Come on. Don’t want to keep her waitin’. You got a story, and I’m thinkin’ she’ll want to learn. With that, he pressed forward, casting her a sidelong glance as if daring her to challenge him again.

wrap this up? i'll work on a joining thread in the meantime! <3

ameline.

that was her name, that familiar scent that cole carried on his earthen colored pelage. towhee could only snicker to herself, imagining how cole might react when he realizes that ameline and her know one another.

some time has passed since they'd last crossed paths, but it hadn't been too terribly long.

towhee's head bobs in a nod, gesturing for him to lead the way.