Wapun Meadow stress lines and cigarettes

@Rala since the other thread seems to have stalled at the moment

snow blanketed the expanse, softening the contours of the land and muting the once-bright hues into endless shades of white and gray. the creek at the heart of the meadow was barely visible beneath a thin shell of ice, its quiet murmur subdued, like a voice lost in the stillness.  

nimbus moved through the snow, his steps deliberate yet without urgency, the frost crunching softly beneath his paws. he paused near the edge of the cottonwoods, their blackened trunks standing stark against the winter sky. the wind here whispered through the brittle branches, a sound both familiar and distant, as if the meadow itself were speaking in a language only the lonely could hear.  

his breath hung in the cold air, curling upward before vanishing. he stared out across the frozen meadow, eyes lingering on the horizon where the first faint blush of dawn threatened to break through the lingering night. it was beautiful in a quiet, solemn way, but it failed to stir him. nothing had, not in the months since he'd last felt warmth that wasn’t his own body heat.  

the solitude didn’t bother him; it rarely did. but as he stood there, surrounded by the weight of the season, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a ghost haunting a place meant for the living. the meadow, even in its winter dormancy, seemed to demand something of him—something he didn’t have.  

he lowered himself to his haunches, the cold seeping through his fur as he let his gaze wander. maybe the spring would bring more than flowers. or maybe it wouldn’t. for now, the meadow was silent, and so was he.

<3

it was from the valley that the huntress emerged, gentle paws carrying her to the hunting grounds, the meadow, that was ruled with the protection of the bearclaw wolves. black nose jutted upwards to drink in the smells of the lands, perhaps to find something to eat, but there was a scent on the wind that was not prey ; vagabond, more like, and yet it was faintly recognisable ; someone she had met before. pawsteps quickened.

hello? came a single word, draped in arctic melodies. nanuralaaq drew in another breath. eh, nimbus? that was his name, right? she had no specific thought on him ; they were nothing more than acquaintances, but she wondered what he was doing so close to the packland. a protectiveness of the valley was what powered her strides as she came closer to the pale man. what are you doing here?

nimbus turned his head slowly at the sound of her voice, the faint flicker of recognition pulling him from his quiet thoughts. his pale coat blended with the snow around him, making him appear almost as though he had been carved from the landscape itself. for a moment, he didn’t answer, studying her as if trying to recall where they’d last met.

he dipped his head in acknowledgment, the barest flicker of warmth softening his otherwise stoic expression. rala. thought you'd forgotten me, he muttered, his voice rough and low, carrying more sentiment than the words themselves revealed.

nimbus shifted his weight, sitting back on his haunches as his gaze drifted past her, sweeping over the meadow that stretched behind. didn’t mean to intrude on your grounds. i was just… passing through. his voice carried a note of detachment, as though even he didn’t fully believe himself.

you are being careful on your travels, as i said? came her words. the snowwoman drew herself closer ; assessing. i told you, the wolves of bearclaw valley protect with their lives, he was lucky that it was her, someone known, that he had run into, though she supposed the claim over the meadow was not quite official. she thought, then, to the stranger that had approached the meadow, once. but nimbus seemed ... detached. not sly, nor uncomfortable as that one had been. nanuralaaq drew in a short breath.

such breath, she released in a sigh. turning away, now, she said: i cannot allow you to stay for long. i do not want you to stay for long, but it is wintertime and if you are to travel you must keep your energy. are you hungry? now, rala begun to move.

nimbus stood silent for a moment, her words hanging in the cold air. The wolves of bearclaw valley—she spoke of them with the weight of conviction, the kind that came from living among those willing to kill or die for their territory. he wasn’t blind to the risk he took being here, even if he’d convinced himself it didn’t matter. her presence, however, softened the edges of that threat, though she still held herself like someone deciding whether or not to trust the wind. 

her sigh carried over to him, a sound that tugged at something deep within. as she turned and began to speak of food, his ears flicked forward, catching the shift in her tone. he didn’t expect her offer; generosity wasn’t something he looked for in strangers, much less in wolves with ties to a pack. it caught him off guard, though his expression remained composed, unreadable save for the faint narrowing of his amber eyes.

can’t say no to that, he murmured, his voice rough with the fatigue of his travels. it wasn’t gratitude exactly, at least not in the conventional sense, but there was something in the way he spoke, a subtle undertone that betrayed a quiet relief. he followed her steps slowly, keeping a deliberate distance out of respect—or caution, perhaps.

bearclaw’s lucky to have someone like you watching their borders, he added after a stretch of silence, his words carried by the faintest smile, though his gaze remained on the path ahead. with no where to go, he wouldn't deny the death wish he was beginning to sign.

nanurlaaq, most times, did not understand her own generosity. she was a packwolf, now, and yet here she was, trotting along the snow as she sought a scent. but, perhaps he was seeking something, too ; a home. somewhere to sleep, to rest, to eat safely. rala speaks, then: do you seek a home, nimbus? hardly discreet in her implication.

scent of mule deer, doe, injured, hits her keen nose. an easy kill ; for though it is quick, it is small, and weak, and the snow will make it difficult for it to travel. nanuralaaq adjusts her direction, a flick of her tail leading the man. bearclaw valley takes in any looking for a home, as long as there is something that they can provide, of course, maybe they could use another guard, or perhaps a scout, or more hunters. do you hunt?

nimbus trailed after her, his steps unhurried yet purposeful, like a shadow slipping through the frost. her question lingered in the air, more a challenge than a genuine invitation—or so it felt to him. his ears flicked back briefly as he considered the weight of her words. a home. he’d thought of it before, sure, but not with the kind of longing that warmed the idea for others. to him, home was something elusive, a fleeting place to rest before the road pulled him onward.

the scent of the injured doe snapped him from his thoughts. he caught her shift in direction, the flick of her tail guiding him silently toward the promise of fresh meat. his gaze remained on her for a moment longer, reading her steady focus, her quiet confidence. she wasn’t wrong to question him. What could a drifter like him offer a pack like hers?

i hunt, he said at last, his voice low and unhurried, like the crunch of his paws against the snow. not much else to do when you don’t stay anywhere long.
 
his eyes scanned the horizon, catching the faint movement of the mule deer in the distance. but a home? he paused, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly, not quite a smile. i didn't think anyone would want me.

still, he followed her lead without protest, the weight of her implication settling in his chest like a distant ache. maybe this was her generosity, a test of sorts, though she didn’t seem the kind to waste effort on something she didn’t think worthwhile. that alone was enough to keep him moving, the scent of the hunt mingling with the unfamiliar pull of something he couldn’t yet name.

not much else to do when you don't stay anywhere long.

the words wearied her. men and women alike would be accepted into the valley if they had some sort of skillset, especially with the nearing of the spring and the prospect of women bringing forth children, of which nanuralaaq hoped herself a place amongst such a clique, but the latter half of his sentence irked her ; was he avoidant, did he run? or was he an outlaw, a fugitive? nonetheless, she would continue: why do you not stay?

movement on the horizon prompted the snowwoman to kick her arms and legs into a canter. she cared not for if the buck spotted them, for the thickening snow would be difficult to traverse for such skinny, breakable legs. the powerful strides that made up a wolves movement, or, at least, hers, was easily resistant to the snow, and so she streamed on forwards, moving with a grace that was telling of her homeland ; once loved.

if you can hunt, patrol, walk, bearclaw valley will take you. but, you must also be respectful, but you do not seem to be impolite. you would do fine amongst the ranks, as long as you can get your maw bloody. now, nanuralaaq did not look at him when she spoke. instead, she pushed on forwards to the now weary buck.

it scanned the meadow that they sauntered on ever so confidently ; for they were the rulers of this domain. the huntress wetted her black lips ; hungry.

nimbus listened to her words, her steady voice carried on the chilled air as they moved. why do you not stay? the question struck him harder than he cared to admit. it wasn’t one he often answered, and certainly not one he expected from her. it felt too deliberate, like she was poking at something fragile, though her tone held no malice.

when losing something special, no place ever feels like home he muttered, his voice gravelly and subdued. it wasn’t the full story, but it was as much as he was willing to share. he wasn’t sure she’d want the details—the running, the losing, the feeling of never belonging anywhere for long. 

he caught her shift, her pace quickening as the mule deer came into view. his own strides lengthened, powerful and deliberate, but without the same fluid grace she carried. her movements were like water cutting through ice, smooth and sure, while his were more like a slow-building avalanche—inevitable, but lacking elegance. 

her words about the valley stuck with him as they ran. bearclaw valley will take you... if you can get your maw bloody. he almost smirked at that. getting bloody’s never been the problem, he rumbled, his eyes narrowing on the weary buck ahead. staying clean—that’s the hard part.

nimbus hung back slightly, watching her with a faint curiosity as she surged forward. this was her domain, her hunt, and he wasn’t here to take it from her. if anything, he was waiting—watching to see how she moved, how she worked. he wasn’t sure what it was about her that kept him here, but he was beginning to think it had less to do with the valley and more to do with her. 

for now, though, the hunt demanded his attention, and he readied himself to act when the moment called for it.