Honeyed Pasture king forever, ceasing never

It was there on the wind again - the scent of someone familiar, someone she was sure she knew. There was no placing a name to the scent, or even recalling what time in her life she'd met the wolf in, but she knew they were around. Even if the scent was one that flew on the wind instead of convenient spores on the ground. This time, she got as far as a wide, open plain before she admitted she'd lost the trail long ago. If there had even been one to begin with.

It was late, though. Too late to turn back. She'd come this far, after all, so why not reacquaint herself with the landscape? It'd been a long time since she'd been in these parts; over a year, she thought, since that wild male had chased her through that distant sprawl of forest. Well, she was a big girl, now, and not planning to run if someone tried to give chase. The very thought put her into a sour mood, yet at the same time, she found herself craving company - an unsual thing for the normally very solitary woman.

She picked her way through the snowy grass, searching for the scent of a rabbit or vole to tide her over until she returned to the coast, where she found it much easier to score a meal.

On returning from the Tuktu, he had been greeted by the news of his younger brother's absence. Not what he wanted to come home to at all, especially considering the time of the year and the random violence from Blackfeather lately. Plus, Arcturus' despair hung so heavy, and he sensed all the other unease it was inspiring quickly enough. He set to fishing out the minor details from his family, what they did know so far.. and all else regarding the circumstances--but it was only so much. Point remained that he was still out there, still probably wearing injuries on the mend if he knew Revui's bullheadedness any

Not that he doubted Revui's abilities to persevere any, but he wanted some answers. He had descended the elevations late yesterday sometime.. motivated further by his mother's relative disinterest in him anyway, when she didn't seem to want to hear anymore about every rock he had upturned in the Tuktu, so he would take himself elsewhere then to leave her to her business on the mountain. A fleeting thought crossed his mind to find Speedy and bring her, too, but he remembered she had been subject to an attack that his own brother had needed to intercept. It was probably best she stay home, for now. He could stand a quick trip of his own, sure.

The yearling didn't quite trace the route his father had carved out for Vela and him when they had visited Stavanger, but close as he meandered and scoured for any trace of what they had lost. It was all familiar enough to him that he could travel with confidence, even while the day's light faded away. Distance worked away beneath his strides, and really, he was impressed with what he managed so far. The deepening of the night wouldn't bother him, anyway, so he rolled on across the snowy expanse of flatlands, until he could make out a silhouette of another prowling along too.

This finding was enough to slow him up, even at his distance, and reasonably enough considering his business out. With his ears pressing forward and nose quivering greedily, he started angling his route towards them.

The cold and the wind made her nearly noseblind - her constant proximity to the stinging, salty gales had already done most of the work - so she didn't notice the approach of another until he'd already started toward her. Moorhen paused her hunting, her body going still as she tried to suss out the other's identity. Did he know her? He didn't look familiar to her from a distance, and as he drew closer, she let out a tiny snort.

It was a stranger. Young and lanky, and pretty in a way she didn't normally associate with males. Handsome, she corrected herself, but then decided that she like the first word far better. "Hello," she offered warily, giving the tiniest wag of her tail. It seemed too early to be attracting males already; she knew that she was heading in that direction and that her scent was already subtly different, but the bloodfire hadn't come yet, so she knew it couldn't be time. Or perhaps she just didn't know what that felt like? Maybe this urge to roam and fight and conquer was the bloodfire?

Regardless, she did not try to fend off the stranger just yet. Perhaps he was only looking for someone - Moorhen had spent enough time in recent past doing just that that it was the next thing that occurred to her. "Are you look for someone?" she asked, her voice giving away her anxious state. Part of her hoped not.

As he dialed down his cruise, his strides were fluid and stance rather relaxed overall, though he kept a sharp look about him all the way while he saw her give pause thanks to him. When he got closer, he slowed up further, though did not connect everything as to why she might not want to see him so readily; he was caught up in smelling the seaside, and so much unknown. Finer details went unrealized easily enough for now.

Still, he carried with him no ill-intent, not intentionally, and thought his posture may suggest this openly enough. But he was a stranger, and to him, so was she, and his looks over her were awfully curious as he took in her unfamiliar.. everything. Hi, he answered back, and wagged his tail in compliment to his words. I was, he replied, following some short, quick bob of his head. That had been his main motivator in leaving, especially since it had not been until recently that he had been keen enough to rove at all, so there would be denying it outright. But no signs, not anymore. he lamented, for there was not a single trace of Revui under his nose by this point. The trail this way was evidently pretty cold, as good as dead almost. Hopefully the same couldn't be said about his sterling brother, wherever he had made off to in these great wide wilds.

Are.. you? he asked back, chancing a half step closer then to see how she might receive him.

"Hi," she echoed back when he greeted her, forgetting in her worry that she'd offered the initial greeting. Her maroon gaze tracked his movements so intently that she almost missed his response. Dark ears tipped forward attentively when she realized she'd guessed correctly - but he did not seem interested in discussing his quarry. Instead, he seemed to investigate her, which raised the prickly guard hairs on the back of her neck, of course, but she still tried her best to maintain a neutral position.

"No," she replied at once, resisting the urge to take a step back simply because she was curious about what he was up to. Again, she was forgetting herself. She had been looking for someone, but she didn't know who. The scent was familiar, but in such a vague, unsettling way. "Wind chasing," she tried to explain. "I - um." She didn't know the word for nostalgia or deja vu or even longing. If she did, she might've tried to employ these. Since she didn't, Moorhen simply gave it up for a bad job. "Exploring," she clarified, deciding to keep her true motives to herself.

He had learned young to be attentive and keen if he ever hoped to stand a chance, and this had also taught him to toe a fine line between what was too much and just enough. While she prickled about him, possibly, he was not finding out himself outright rebuked--not yet, anyway, and he reasoned some stiff furs were understandable, especially if her home was close, or she had much to be protective of out here. Being a good stone's throw away from the mountain left him only watching out for his own hide, and trusting (perhaps naively) his long legs to carry him beyond trouble should it start to come for him; maybe he was more relaxed that he should be while curiosity kept nudging him closer. Although he resisted the full brunt of it well enough, he could still feel it in his ears--some vaguely familiar, low thrum of a note.

Wind chasing? he asked, head tilting and rest of him perking, never having heard the term. He only very literally imagined what it could mean. He wondered how to catch it, or if that was even any end-goal here. I've never been here before. Well.. not properly enough to look around, he detailed. Maybe Charon had guided them through this meadow here, but he didn't recall exactly. By this point in their trip, he had been zeroed in on the end-goal of the Bay, so the rest had been mere stepping stones. Now, less focused, he could be bothered to take it in, and wanted to explore more.

I'm Jarilo, the grayscale yearling offered, eyes bright and tail swaying softly.

At his query, she gave a firm nod. Wind-chasing was what Fen had called her tendancy to wander. There were stories that went along with it, but she wasn't sure she could recite them from memory. Besides, the male was moving closer, and Moorhen wasn't quite bothered by this, but she still couldn't help but stiffen slightly. The motion was tempered by a tentative sweep of her tail where it laid loosely against her hocks.

"Ya-reeel-lo," said Moorhen, testing the name out for herself. Then, warming to it, "Ja-rilo. Jaarilo." Her tail fluttered once more as she pronounced the name to her own satisfaction. It reminded her of Fen's tongue, a bit, and it was that couple with many other things that caused her to warm to the stranger. "I im Moorhen," she replied, emboldened by her proficient use of the common tongue. This was likely bolstered by the fact that he'd introduced himself without prompting, as she always had trouble remembering how to ask for people's names.

Moorhen took a few steps closer, nose twitching as she extended it toward him. "You do not know Hounds of Wind?" she asked, the cadence of her words spelling out the proper nouns for him. "It is story."

Jarilo was trying to figure this out--himself, her, and every subtle signal, all at once, while at the root of it despite his best efforts to really focus, he was just feeling.. distracted anyway? Maybe that was it, or perhaps not exactly the right word. He didn't think to pin all the reasons on that onto her, but instead it was just something else to decipher. In an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar company, he had a lot to learn, and a lot of different directions to channel himself if he tried.

As she tested his name, and sorted through it with each honing in over the next, to all of which he nodded heartily. He had never heard it sound the way she said it, but wasn't complaining. And, now he knew she was called Moorhen, too... which, although he didn't connect the entire reference to the marshbirds for which she was named, it pinged as only vaguely familiar, like he had heard it somewhere once. He didn't afford it lengthy consideration, however; he beamed back when she moved a bit closer to him, carefully resisting the temptation of leaning towards it, too overeager. He had to be more mild than he wanted to be, otherwise that could backtrack him entirely.

Hm, guess not. Definitely not by that name, he said, brows knitting into a brief scrunch then, but he didn't hold it for long. The notion of all the momentum not only being his satisfied him and he'd let her sniff at him all she pleased, should she want that. He wagged his tail some more to say so. Though he was getting kind of itchy about wanting to cover ground again, he was less inclined with her to be keen to first (not that he felt that the two topics of interest had to be separate, but approaching the idea was.. well, he didn't know yet).

The male seemed amenable to both her company and her nearness, so Moorhen abandoned the last vestiges of her personal space to crowd up into Jarilo's, her nose traversing the dark forest of his nape, the bristle-brush pelage where his neck met his shoulder, the velvet and sedge of his ear. Her dark tail wagged excitedly through all this - Jarilo smelled very good, his dark pine spice being very different from the coastal perfumes she was used to. Even his earwax was different!

Tail still wagging, she took a half-step back and said, "Do you want to story?" in an unsurprisingly shy tone of voice. She was not one for big speeches, and with her poor command of the common tongue, any string of words longer than "Leave me alone" was bound to be choppy and awkward. But she wanted to impress Jarilo, and maybe this would be good talking practice, too.

It was then that she seemed to pick up on his desire to be on his way. Moorhen was reluctant to let the pretty boy out of her sight, so she offered, "We can walk and talk?" So smooth. So eloquent. She was doing great. "And look for venn? Friend?"

Before surprise could catch him, she was close and he was all sorts of attuned to that the second the initial start faded away. Her nose went through his furs, which he puffed up generously at the contact, and he caught himself standing tall--but tail still waving, kind of excited about the idea because it wasn't made of his motion, but also vaguely unsure. He wasn't complaining, and once he remembered to think, he had started to swing his nose back around towards her to breath deep the earthy, yet sea-salty scents she wore, but distance spanned between them again. He was.. well, he'd figure it out, or not. You live near the sea, yeah? he asked, finding a place to edge it in where he could; his mind was running faster than he could keep up with, though.

Sure, he chirruped, maybe a little quicker on the word than he had actually wanted to be. He might not know too many stories of his own about wind chasing, but he'd listen, and he could muster others in exchange, even if at best it could be myths from the stars, or pieces of the bizarre stories he had earned from his mom. But even more than that, walking, earned a nod. He stepped forward, head swung and steps light as he took to any motion quite readily. I'd like that, he said, breathing deep and peeling his sights from her, to the plains spread at their disposal, but whipping it right back to her a second after. To move a bit, mostly. And searching made it better, he could keep an eye out for any surprise trace of Revui, or less likely Yami. These were, truthfully, secondary goals.. but only downgraded to such when he had little hope of gaining progress on them at this point. Maybe that would change, but he'd see.

To his question, she gave an eager nod, turning and beginning to lead the way in that direction. "Yes - on islann. I im Akhlut. Leader. Protector," she offered with a proud wave of her tail. It was still new to her, but she was growing rapidly into the role she had been asked to fill, even if she probably left the island a little more than was strictly necessary.

He'd accepted her offer of a story, but Moorhen found herself growing understandably bashful in the face of performing such a feat. Instead, she segued into a similar topic while she gathered her nerves. "An you?" she asked, her ears swivelling back toward the direction he'd come from. "Live on mountain?"

He followed the heading her nose pointed in, and relaxed considerably already when he could swing his legs along too. He liked the sound of her title, he realized with a satisfied look at the proud wave her tail gave. All noted, he decided through a low, slow nod, and committed such a thing (Akhlut, chiefly) to memory. For later.. if he'd need it, but he was eager to taste the strange word for himself. Akhlut.. Awkward in his tone, but delicately enough, he handled it halfway. I've never heard it before, but I've never been on an island either.. he mentioned, only barely knowing of the concept thanks to his father's teachings of the seashore.

Yeah, a mountain called Moonspear. he gestured to the horizon it loomed upon, distantly enough and quite a walk from where he guessed her island was. The tallest peak, he added. He could not boast any rank quite like hers, besides maybe some prince and some warrior to the cause that was his parents and their peak, but it didn't seem to occur to him; he was comfortable, more so here and now, and he tried to watch her, and the lands, as much as he could together.

Moorhen's ears flickered in a motion like a shrug. Being on an island didn't feel any different from being on the mainland. There were some that believed the mainland was merely a larger island, anyway. The only real difference was that she always felt very safe and protected on the isle. But she was sure Jarilo felt the same about his mountain. Moorhen had felt the same about the stone den where she'd nursed from Doe, back in the days before she and her siblings had become burdens and annoyances.

The leader stole a glance at her companion out of the corner of her eye. "Wind chase," she said, bringing them back to the earlier topic of conversation. "When there's a scent on the wind you have to follow, they say that the Hounds of the Wind are - you follow them to your 
skjebne. Fate. They are the children of the trickster god, and when the wind barks high and angry is when the cruelest fates can be found."

Moorhen shot Jarilo a sheepish glance, thinking she had not explained very well, and also that it was not a very compelling story. "But we follow a soft wind," she assured him.

Wind chasing, he listened, and tried to imagine somehow. He could only halfway process the strange word she gave him, but he tried, and adhered it to his understanding of fate, what could come beyond. He perked at mention of a trickster god, of course, with his namesake one of mischievous nature at least--so relatable enough for him to find something else, adding to the imagery and understanding, maybe.

The dark Ostrega caught her glance and wasn't sure what to do with it, so wagged his tail. A soft wind? What does that say..? he breathed deep, like he might find out for himself that way as it filled his lungs with the subtle hint of seasalt. All too foreign, though not in a bad way. He wondered if that spelled out what his fates may have in store--unknown, but not bad. He could hope so. As for here and now, was liking it though and obviously it rung true with the assumption of not despair, of course. Jarilo did have an interest in that notion, anyway, seeming drawn by the alternatives too; he wanted to know how both could be. Do you ever chase the harsh ones? Just to see, maybe? Or to be avoided at all costs?

She was gratified when he seemed content to soak in the story - if that was even the word for what she'd shared. At his question, she gave an uncharacteristically gentle shake of her head. "You don't know," she told him, "Not until you reach the end."

The night felt oddly peaceful, trotting alongside him. Moorhen found herself wonder if the wind would ever send them tumbling into each other again. "I have," she admitted, her ears flying back at memories of her first trek away from the sea. She'd become someone's thrall, and then someone's wife. Now she let the harsh winds blow and only followed the breezed away from Coelacanth's island. "Maybe one day, I will again," she allowed.

While the answer to his question did not give him much of substance, he swiftly deemed it sensible and didn't have a good way to formulate his words into greater question. How could you know ahead, anyway? Pursuing the winds itself couldn't be as straightforward as tracking game, the scents not so concrete on the very breezes, and set to change given very little urging. Of course, it seemed that patience was key even in chasing the varieties of winds that swept through the wilds and elsewhere, but he was in experienced company, it seemed.

He raised his head, and tilted an interested look her way when she said she had gone after the harsh ones, and may do so again. Not to be turned aside with such mystery, and fascinated by how she was not deterred by them once before, he was left with plenty to wonder. Yet, did he want all the answers so easily? He sensed he might want to find them out himself, but it wouldn't stop him from attempting to peer into her insights, and he did what he could to volley back the inquiries, back and forth. Mostly, he was content to know her better, and was finding himself more than enjoying her company; he would be loathe to part ways when they reached the end of their time together today, so he did not hurry headlong to that. Instead he let himself fade into the pursuit of seeing more, and into a role beside her as company back to her--hopeful that he could be half as interesting to her, as she was to him.

He hoped, too, that when they did head on back to their respective homes, an island and a spire, that it may not be the last.

wrapping vague bc i took too long and this is older now, but if you'd like to have them meet up again, i'm very ok with that [big eyes]