Whitebark Stream food nor memory

for adanya

She was a dark shape in a juxstaposed landscape that the birch trees both rejected and welcomed. Their dark stripes matched her own burn-hued coat, while the whites of the bark tried to chase her away. She had been following a scent that tasted like a memory, but the trail had faded quick, washed by snow and sleet.

Her tongue wet her cold nose, a wrinkle to her lip the only hint of her distaste. There was no smell of prey here, at least none appealing to her stomach. The river was sure to hold something, but the thought of fish - the wrinkle of her snout made her lip tug, and she let her expression fall to blandness.

She walked, trekking over stone, nearing the bank nonetheless, when the shape of another moving through the wood gave her pause. She froze in place, paw still dangling above earth; stock-still. Matasvintha had come searching for either something she knew, or a meal, and it seemed she had found neither.

The sun had risen as it did every other day, the rivers flowed with their relentless force, and the trees were all exactly as they were when Adanya had gone to bed the night before, but something about everything felt the slightest bit wrong. Perhaps the clouds lingered over the beaming sun for too long, casting an eerie gloom into the wood – the sure signs of a storm to come? She shook her head, as if scolding an unruly pup, halting her steps over frozen earth just long enough to sniff the air. No, it wasn't that, the scent of rain or snow was nowhere to be found, and the birds that remained in winter's chill sang all too pretty songs.

The slightest bit discouraged, she continued on her path through the maze of birch following the stream, hopping over the many larger sized rocks that littered the forest floor. Ordinarily, such a nagging dread would have stopped her in her tracks, or at least had her sat beneath a shady tree stewing in her ignorance. But, where there was no hint of gruesome weather stinging her nose, there was another, so faint it'd gone almost completely unnoticed amongst the various other tingling scents of the forest. To say she was intrigued would be a stretch, but it felt foolish not to at least scout the source from a distance. She was nervous, if not only for the singular issue of direction. Whatever it was there wasn't a doubt in her mind, it hadn't traveled this way, it was approaching.

Adanya's paws anchored to the earth in an instant, her fur ruffling over her shoulders as every muscle contracted to stop. A figure like a shadow cast through broken trees stood stiff before her, all jagged edges and messy fur, towering even as she found herself on higher ground. Fear strangled her bones despite her outwardly "confident" posture, causing her legs to twitch under the strain of suppressed trembling. She wasn't afraid because she was cowardly, she was afraid because she was wise, wise enough to understand the beast before her outweighed her by unimaginable standards, and that alone was a cause for wavering breath.

Stojíš mi v cestě... She spoke clearly but it lacked composure, slightly edgy with an agitated anxiety that cut it into a sharper statement. There was a slim chance the wolf would recognize her mother tongue, as so many that passed through here had not, but even as she tried to fight through common speak, the comfort of familiarity won in the end.

It was like a hare and a tree at an impasse. The tree was rooted - unmoving, unwavering. The hare, flighty, agile - able to dance in burrows and hop straight on. A simple scamper by and there would've been no issue. Yet, as the two stood, Matasvintha couldn't help to trace the other's features, finding a pleasant sight in pale colors, like oats and golden grasses, coiled in the frosty clutches of the early spring. The scent on the wind spoke of something like discomfort, and the words, though they rang like bells, cut sharp, sharper beyond its natural accent.

She didn't speak this strange lady's tongue, and that, was a disappointment. Even yet, Matas did not budge, blinking between long pauses, letting the whispering of the birch and aspen trees rustle around them. She tilted her head, a motion of confusion. Still, she was not without wit, and she merely swept herself aside, neatly turning, — an offering in the way now unhindered.

She did not budge a step more. The tree leaning aside for the hare to trek on, but no more. Matasvintha waited. Orange eyes caught on the fair stranger, unwilling to dart away for a moment. She did not speak. There was a definite expectation, and each moment that the other did not walk forward, was another moment that Matasvintha expected the forest to start dragging her in, to join their ranks of stillness. It would do no good to startle the hare. She was to be patient.

The gentle gesture was far from expected, leaving Adanya with partially widened eyes, taking in the shifting form. She honestly felt a little ashamed for judging  the character of a wolf completely foreign to her, throwing baseless assumptions around her head based purely off of the creatures looks. It wasn't fair to them, and it was well below her manners. The tilted head previously offered was sweet in its own right, and the understanding of her words, or at least, the decent guess, was more than she'd ever received before now from a wanderer.

You startled me,
She approached the stranger at a steady pace, breathing short uneasy breaths with every stride. Her eyes fused to the scar that split the wolf's muzzle, refusing to pull away to anywhere else. Adanya eased to a halt just beside them, still keeping a fair distance despite wishing to run as far away as possible, her gaze shifting up to the other's eyes just as another pitiful excuse rolled from her mouth. You are very quiet...

She spoke almost apologetically, as if trying to express her guilt for staring without directly admitting to it. Still, she couldn't help glancing back to it, lured again to the gnarled visage with every eerie whistle drawn through the gash. A solemn song conducted by the wind and a set of sharpened canines, it's tune dreadfully haunting, yet all the more intriguing.