Ravenshook Cliffs and the beginning of wisdom

for @Tzila — i'm so sorry this took me forever & a day to get up.

a fog crept through the early morning glow of the sun and settles over the coast and the tundrian minds his steps with a renewed precision as he makes his way across the long eroded cliffs. the morning tide is choppy and he hears it, like a titan scratching at the jagged rocks. upon it's rise and rush up and against the cliff wall that drops directly into the sea below he swears he feels droplets of sea water splash upon him despite that there is more than amiable distance between the cliff drop and himself. he's never been hesitant towards heights but something deeply rooted in him — an aversion perhaps passed between father to son — warns him not to stray too close to the cliff edge despite how curious he is.

he considered, very briefly and perhaps in a fit of lack of clarity claiming a territory upon the coast but ultimately and quickly squashed any notion of it. the coast is heavily populated and though that could be good business for the vartija and would surely attract more foot traffic to a foundling pack trying to dig it's roots deep it also meant a lot more competition for hunting grounds and food in general. he's never been one to form sentimentality to territories having been a vagabond from a very early age but there is something about the permafrost hollows back east that just feels right to him. the woodland above attracts plenty of prey and the caverns and tunnels below offer safety from storms and more than adequate shelter for cubs and adults alike.

regardless, wintersbane wanders the coast and the other teekon regions beyond the taiga because he knows recruitment is essential to the vartija and that in order to recruit he'll have to go where foot traffic is the heaviest which — unfortunately for him — includes the coast.

No problem. Took me a while here too!

Tzila drew in a long, deep breath. And released it, slowly...heavily. It was like the equivalent to a sigh that shook one's shoulders. Unblinking silver eyes peered out into the horizon, watching as the first faint rays of sunlight crept forth, straining to break through the mist. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated the sun...the coming day. This was not her time. While most would be rising to greet the morning, she on the other hand, would already be tucked away by now.

Today was different. Something had kept her from shying away as she always did. She didn't know why. She also did not know what had brought her here to the coast of all places. Despite the blood mixed in her veins, the night mistress detested the ocean. Everything about it. From the restless crashing of the waves, to the gritty sand, and most of all, the salty stench in the air.

But here she was. Lounging peacefully enough on a giant piece of old driftwood. Nestled in the crook of two gnarly, twisted arms of the log, she was deep in thought, but aware as she gazed out over and beyond the cliffs. Tied into her past were memories and with them, a different sort of coastline than this. Still, this place was enough to stir within her a sensation of bitterness. Of times she'd rather forget. So why then, was she here? Forcing another sigh, a slight turn of her head earned her a glimpse of a dark figure in the distance...slowly headed her way. She watched...waited to see if the wolf would notice her, or pass her by.

wintersbane's aversion to the coast is no secret among those that know him; he does not try to conceal the fact that he is not a fan of sand or the salt water on the breeze that leaves him feeling sticky from head to toe. and the smell? equal parts salt and fish that causes his lip to curl with thinly veiled contempt anytime anyone mentions the coast. some evils were necessary and venturing the coast looking for potential recruits or if not recruits than wolves who would take the information he imparts them with and tell it to others. word of mouth could be a powerful tool if utilized correctly, wintersbane'd came to learn from his time spent among the dark brotherhood as a snitch; which was as close as the dark wood's came to an ambassador.

it was a strange concept ...and one that if someone would've told cub wintersbane ( then known as kahlil and shortly after drogon ) that he'd a) end up back at blackfeather woods of his own accord and b) he'd favor an ambassador's roll over an executioner's he would've laughed them off the cliff he currently traverses.

time and change had been idle if barely thought of concepts to him as a cub and adulthood has shown him that nothing ever stays the same. not truly. age truly does bring with it wisdom and wisdom is not to be ignored when it's been earned.

a errant cast of his glacial gaze is given once more to the edge of the cliffs, where the world appears to literally drop off and the ocean seethes and rises and falls against the cliff face. sea water rises in a fine mist above the cliff and sprinkles him in residue. a low noise of discontent is given and he scowls away from the cliff, averting his current path for one in favor of putting more distance between him and the risk of being sprayed by more sea water only to realize, abruptly, that he's not alone.

she almost blends in with the surroundings but eyes is what draws his own and the tundrian lets out a low chuff of greeting, confident that she is already aware of his presence.

Through the mist she heard a call. Her dark ears pivoted in response before her finely sculpted head followed suit. Almost sphinx like as she lounged, she was slowly able to make out his figure as he drew closer. And oh, was he a looker too. Cloaked in black, and silver with blue eyes to boot. Nearly as colorless as she, save for the rich bloodstain caped over neck and shoulders. Her mercury eyes narrowed, a low, but by no means threatening rumble offered in return to his call. 

She said nothing, completely fixated on him. The stench of the ocean forgotten. She waited a few more beats, while wondering what a lone male like him was doing out here along the coast. It was none of her business, and yet their paths had crossed. He had beckoned her interest and she would not pass up this meeting. With all the movement of calculated predator, Tzila dropped down from her perch. Eyes intense, shoulders slightly hunched and head lowered a fraction, she stalked forward to meet him.

This was how the shadow keeper moved. Especially in first encounters. Deliberate...focused...with an air of mystery that lured the curious in, yet kept all on their toes. With a hair trigger temperament, she had long since learned to manipulate it, opting to favor hostility, neutrality or tolerance the instant she engaged with another. And, to just as quickly, if she wished, to switch gears. 

Today she favored simple, wordless communication. She would let her body language do the talking, at least for now. Behind that intense silver gaze, gleamed calculating intelligence. As she closed the gap, a burst of oceanic spray reminded her of where she was. An eye shifted, the lower lid quivering in distaste. Focus. Flagging her tail inches above her spine in a flash of her self-confidence, she semi circled the rugged traveler, inching her muzzle close (but not too close) for an investigatory sniff towards a dark shoulder.

wintersbane knows the moment he has the woman's attention. her gaze fixates on him and the tundrian watches as she descends from her perch to draw nearer. unlike almost every other wolf wintersbane's ever came across in these wilds she does not speak. the sotaherra is instantly intrigued. choosing not to speak to him, not to break the verbal silence that extends between them even as she draws ever nearer only serves to add a air of enigma about her. a voice is the next step towards being able to craft a first impression and her lack thereof — while communicating nonverbally is something he's gotten used to during his time spent in relmyna and astara's presences — leaves him unable to move onto the next step of that process.

the muscles in his shoulders tense as she leans close to take an investigative sniff. he allows it though he resists the temptation to bare his teeth in warning. its a move that strikes him as being excessive — no doubt the tightness in the junction of his shoulders communicates that he's not a fan of having his personal space invaded. not that, mind, he couldn't hold his own in a fight because he is a soturi and of course he can; but his recruitment drives are long and tiring and nursing wounds so far from the hollow isn't ideal ...which only serves to remind him as his second birthday draws nearer month by month that he's come a long way from the gremlin he'd been as a cub.

in favor of playing the silent game too, he lifts his brows in a inquiry, glacial gaze locking upon her as he waits to see what she'll do ( or perhaps say ) next.

Gleaming silver eyes flitted over his frame, lingering on the tightening of muscle beneath dark shoulders. With a sharp flick of her inky tail, she side stepped out of his personal bubble. Tzila, not being the most social of creatures, may not appreciate such a gesture were the tables flipped. She was an adept reader of body language and would heed his cues.

Her curiosity about the male in general sated, with only faint hints of others on his hairs, she felt little need for any further non-verbal communication. With a low, but non-threatening rumble in her throat, she turned away. Not from him, but to face the ocean. She watched the foamy waves lap up against the dull sand, the tiny water droplets spraying into the air. The thought of that salty sea water weighing down her coat, with that god awful smell made her cringe. "I never did like the sea. And yet, here I stand before it..." She said with a huff and a certain irony in her voice.

wintersbane assumes she reads the tension that begun at the junction of his shoulders for not soon afterwords she moves out of his personal space. he relaxes a fraction but not completely. though he is confident in his abilities as a warrior he doesn't want a fight on his paws. not this far from the vartija, not when the mountain of things he must attend to yet looks unsurmountable. he watches the silver eyed woman turn away, towards the ocean and he spares the roiling sea beneath the cliffs a secondary glimpse. it is hard to ignore the sea, as close as they were to it. the waves slam relentlessly against the rock face like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.

she is the first to break the silence, and wintersbane lets out a small, understanding noise in initial response. i'm not a huge fan of it myself, the tundrian admits with a small quirk of his lips. i'm only on the coast because it's a necessary evil. because it, like most of the other regions of the teekon wilds had to be flirting dangerously with the border of overpopulation and wintersbane'd be lying if he said he wasn't seeking to turn that to the vartija's ultimate advantage by snatching up all the potential recruits he could.

Her silver eyes lingered on the waves below. Watching as they crashed against the shore, littered with rocks. Anyone who slipped and fell from this height, would certainly be met with a most unpleasant end. Her eyelids dropped to shield her eyes. She seemed to be taking a moment. Thinking. But of what?

Of memories long since past. She blinked her eyes open again, still not turning back to meet his face. "Then, that makes two of us." She sniffed disgustedly, trying to rid herself of the tickle of salt air in her nose. The crash of the waves...the sound of the sea...it was a constant noise all around them. And certainly not one that she would ever find soothing. "For what evils then, exactly, are you here for?" Her lips curled humorlessly, followed by a short laugh, as if anticipating a similar question would be on the tip of his tongue. "I can't explain it...I guess it's just old memories that brought me here today."

a small smile tugs at the corners of wintersbane's lips as she comments upon their shared dislike of the sea. she offers an explanation as she to why she's on the coast, speaking of old memories, as he mulls over her question on what necessary evils brought him this way. recruitment. the tundrian replies simply with an errant shrug of his shoulders. he was no stranger to traveling in search of recruits — his time as a snitch among the wolves of the dark woods unintentionally taught him many things. skills that he now applied to recruitment of his own pack. the key being to not withhold information. many wolves had been off-put by the secrecy of blackfeather woods, or they'd heard things about them. truths as told by wolves that had been in the wilds long enough to remember the mayhem they'd caused.

in the end, wintersbane thought that had been it's ultimate downfall.

if i've learned anything it's that the heavily populated areas of the wilds seem to be a target zone for wanderers and vagabonds. which presently worked to the vartija's advantage.

She angled her head to the left, just enough to capture his image in her vision. His simple answer stirred her curiosity. Tzila was less than fond of pack life and she would do all in her power to avoid going back to such a lifestyle. And even if she were to consider it, it would have to be with very specific terms. Her terms. 

Still, she was curious enough to inquire. "For your pack, I presume. What will it be like?" She inquired plainly, expressing no more interest than that. Getting the shadow keeper to budge on her views was as easy as moving a stubborn mule. She hummed softly, in agreement. "Of course they would. Any stray is drawn to the more densely populated areas. They might hope to be swept up...it increases their chances." Before they delved much further into their little talk, she leveled her gaze with him. "I never introduced myself did I? I'm Tzila."