Sun Mote Copse a quiet resolve

The late hour gave way to an invigorating chill, the copse still save for the trill of crickets in the long grass. Their songs silenced as he progressed, only to start again in the path he forged. The hinterlands were shedding their summery sights, the warmer days of summer now a fond memory; the nights foretold of the winter to come. It would not have surprised Dirge any if a frost found its way onto the branches by daybreak. It was certainly cold enough now, he thought.

Imbued with a restlessness that would not relent, he had continued his travels. The cover of darkness did not deter him from exploring these unknown depths, nor did they usher him along for safer climes. If there were any hidden treasures to be found here, he did not look for them. What he did find held little interest; a dropping of some game here, the remnants of a cache there and so on. He had not been in want of food, whether by some merciful god or simply blind luck he had either caught or scavenged enough to satisfy.

The cool air brought a stillness to his surroundings as he slipped beneath bands of moonlight, the cricket song now an ambient din behind him as he left the tall grass for the wilderness beyond. He lingered at the edge of the copse in thought, drawing in the expanse that lied ahead. These deliberations had become more pronounced now that he was on his own and perhaps rightfully so. Without two other heads to knock against his own, he found the lack of input to be most unsettling. There had always been someone, if to be there for nothing else than to affirm his decision.

If such a thing troubled him more, it would have shown in the lines of his face.

Instead, his actions spoke for him, and of the mounting restlessness that wore into him—he sighed.

Nothing stirred on the winds out here, as though the woodland and the countryside were void of travel. He knew these things to be lies, for the call of kin and kin-like still carried, even out here. His curiosity had not whet itself enough to draw close to them and so, he had turned northward from them. If memory had served him well—of which he had no reason to doubt—then the ocean still lied to the north. The days where sea salt had been a tease on the wind still intrigued him. It still seemed worth the venture, even now when he debated the best course of action.

The twilight faded to the inrelenting will of pure night hours ago. Merely the light of the silverline orb hanging in a sprinkle of stars lit her path. Feyre padded without thought, meandering about the forest with no intended ending point. That was the beauty of being alone - no desination, just the journey. A lonely one at that. 

The ivory fae appeared white as a snowcap in the darkness - a glowing orb of silver amongst the muddled green of her surroundings. She focused on each paw as it slid across the compact earth. She admired the silence of her own limbs, observing the simple quiet that allowed her to hear everything else in the world. Her silence left the crickets and the frogs to their singing, in turn they stayed quiet enough for her to notice the sounds of another prowling through the dark. Her amber eyes flicked towards the noise.

A heavy sigh filtered through the grasses. In turn, Feyre found herself padding delicately towards the source. Interesting. Her skull swept to the side, her auds perking up to listen for more sounds. Suddenly, she saw the agouti pelage of another. The male seemed lost in though, so she merely chuffed to announce her presence. Perhaps not the best idea...but its fine. The fae managed to make herself as neutral as possible, attempting not to induce a fight from the stranger.

He was roused from his thoughts by the call of another, an ear turning to meet the sound before the rest of his head followed suit. She was a hard thing to miss even in low light; the starkness of her coat may as well have been a beacon in an otherwise growing void. Of course that void was none other than the foliage that encompassed their general surroundings, which until recently had been boring in his estimation. All foothill scenery was largely the same, at least until the elevation started making the trees lean and test the wills of their root against that of gravity.

He studied her openly instead, wondering if from her vantage point there was anything of particular interest to glean. Fair was fair and as they both knew, it never hurt anyone to be safe than sorry. His tail offered a couple of friendly wags — he had no desire to stir trouble either. It was as simple of an invitation as he could give short of opening his mouth, which he normally would have, had he found the right words to say. Far too much time had slipped in where his sisters had beat him to the punch, and far too much time had he stocked away an arsenal of witty rejoinders to their speedy salutations.

But whether or not she would leave the safety of the brush was another thing altogether.

The strangers plume swiped back and forth like a fan behind him, a gentle greeting for a wolf of his size. Her amber optics darted across his form - observing the first wolf she had seen in months. The size of a brute, but just about as threatening as a rabbit. Her head righted itself, her own tail becoming a mirror of his.

Feyre's maw parted once more, her eyes meeting the gold of his. She knew he was assessing her. When she spoke, she merely said one word. 

"Feyre." 

For somone who hasn't spoken in months, bravo. She nearly chastised her own thoughts - willing them to quiet for a few seconds. There was a pause, where she felt her old self nearly start to click into place - each piece a memory once lost. Then its all simply snapped into place. "I mean, my name is Feyre. What brings you out here..." She paused. She did not know the male's name, but the offer for him to fill in the blank hung in the air.

A single word pierced through the silence, hanging between them. His brow quirked ever so slightly, the cant of his head suggesting that he did not follow, which naturally he didn't at first. The concept of social awkwardness hadn't struck him yet so much as the wonder that he had encountered someone who didn't speak a common tongue, but as it were she followed up swiftly. His expression leveled off, her trailing words searching for a rejoinder in the night.

Generally in introductions there was an exchange of names, but Dirge went his own route about things.

"Adventure, what else?" he said as his gaze wandered to the unseen paths ahead—there was no threat poised here, at least not from her, and for as evasive as his reply was he was hardly finished. "Though I suppose it is a little late for such things, least of all to cross paths with a wandering lady such as yourself." He thought to ask what she was doing out there, yet it seemed pointless. They had no particular fealty to anywhere, so what else was there to do but wander?

The femme released a gentle puff of air as the male swiftly dodged her unspoken inquery, but now she was intreuged. At least he's still talking, so its not as if he was being rude. Perhaps this stranger just preferred to be aloof. Her head inclined to the side once more in amusement, "Too late for adventuring? Never." The fae's gaze shone bright as she teased. "Oh, a lady?...Where did you learn that one in all of your adventures." Now she was having far to much fun with the conversation - her normal wit snapping into place like two pieces of a puzzle.

Feyre was now fully aware that this male saw her as no threat, so she relaxed further. A small part of her wanted to laugh over the matter, seeing as she had fought wolves of his size before. Successfully at that. A wry grin swept across her muzzle as she lowered back onto her haunches. The fae's flaxen plume curled itself delicately around her, then she simply waited to see what would come out of his maw next. It was not like she had anywhere else to be.