Barrow Fields the hawk is God’s gunslinger

@Stormy Boy

snow fluttered down from overhead, dappling the wildling's coat in a thin layer of white. he prowled outward and away from the sound in hopes that he might find a scent of the missing rosalyn; the news that she had been taken from them caused a deep stirring in his gut. the feeling of eyes on his back did not leave as he sauntered through the fields. the young savage did what he could to ignore the lingering feeling. his long legs allowed him to cover a great deal of distance in a short time, and when he paused to check his surroundings, he breathed heavily into the chilly winter air.

swinging his head to check back over his shoulder, illidan caught his wind and searched the length of the territory until he had frustrated himself with how limited his sights were. instinctively, he turned to peer at the looming cliffs that housed the drageda wolves. if he'd more power in his limbs, he would have climbed to their peaks and murdered every one of them to retrieve the soul they had stolen. instead, he gritted his teeth and turned; he would need to bide his time.

*saves this* would you mind if we bumped this up to present day?

predictably, the sprawling fields that he trudged through was ...well boring. the most interesting thing about the whole territory was the bizarre mounds that upon closer inspection are nothing all that special and severin is far from intrigued enough to bother to dig at them. he's bored out of his skull but that would require a whole new level of boredom that he has yet to succumb to ...and idly hopes that he never does. instead, he weaves around the mounds wondering how far he'd have to venture until he was free of this godforsaken territory and the illogical pinprickle at the nape of his neck.

it took a lot for him to feel uneasy but there was that lingering feeling of being watched. being new to the wilds severin is ignorant to the whispers of this place — that the mounds might actually be burial mounds and that perhaps the spirits of those buried in the mounds might be at unrest. not that he'd actually believe it even if he did know. he believes in spirits because he has to — a deeply ingrained prerequisite of the life he'd ran away from — not because he would naturally entertain the idea on his own. he's young and scoffing at everything is so much more fun than believing everything he's told.

movement is caught out the corner of severin's eye and his steps falter and halt as head lifts and moonbeam gaze rises to study the other young man across the fields. there is plenty of distance between them — enough that the soot streaked fiend could ( if the pair weren't staring at one another ) just keep on going. severin doesn't keep going, however. this is the first wolf he's come across in the snowy fields and he's rather starved for conversation and company.

severin isn't used to being without company for so long and it's affecting him more than he'd originally thought it would. thus, he lets out a low chuff of greeting, giving the other male the opportunity to either instigate conversation or go on his own way if he wasn't feeling up to conversation.

<33 thank you so much for saving this! we can absolutely bump it to present day

the stranger’s chuff drew his attention without failure. the young savage turned sharply and latched his eyes on the shape of an almost feminine figure. at least, illidan wasn’t certain he could compare the other male to anything else. he thought it was the only thing he could see as being similar. in reality, the boy had simply not had his life graced with another male who was not rugged or savage. he had seen himself inside the walls of a sheltered existence and had not ventured beyond that which he had been raised with.
 
so, taken off guard as he was, the ghost shuffled his feet in an awkward manner before moving toward the sooty unfamiliar. he had healed some from the damage that he’d endured in the war. there was still a stiffness to the way that he moved. the shoulder that had taken the most damage had already started to scar over and leave a jagged mark where there had been none before. to some, it was a sign that he was a fighter. to him, it was a reminder of their inability to secure the missing member of rusalka.
 
slowing his pace roughly ten yards away from the other male, illidan drew his crown upward and cast his hawkish gaze in a wary manner. “is there anything that i might be able to help you with?” he then asked in a gravelly tone.