Silverlight Terrace the devil has the power to assume a pleasing shape

though the name of the territory goes unknown to the blackthorn he wouldn't be surprised if ever found it out. night falls and the fog thins in places as he is caught up in its embracing shadows ( not that he necessarily has anywhere to be ). the strata, while not notably very impressive to him during the daylight hours has transformed in the witching hours. the moonbeams are lured and captured by the grass, painting it in the moon's silvery color. he finds this fascinating despite that he's no geologist and doesn't really regard territories more than places he can hunt and find suitable shelter if it is equipped to provide it. the rolling hills thus far don't seem apt to offer him decent shelter but ailill doesn't yet feel the weight of exhaustion so he keeps moving, navigating the fog and inspecting the myriad prey scents of the terrace.

Ramsay, on the other hand, paid almost no heed to his surroundings as he went along. He didn't have the time or interest to spare for the way the grass was brushed silver in the moon's rays, or the fog that uncoiled just over the roiling ground. He had his head down in an awkward fold and his eyes focused intently in front of him as he tracked a wild rat, sparing no attention for what was around him.

That is, until the heavy scent of wolf intermingled with his trail and he was forced to stand straight. It took him a moment to locate the dark-haired stranger in the mist, but when Ramsay did, he made the split second decision to make himself known. There were more than just rat trails here on the terrace and he thirsted for better prey than rodents. One of two things would happen when Ailill saw him, he knew, and he was always prepared for the worst of those, so it wouldn't take him by surprise if it did.

Hungry? he asked simply, pressing his ears invitingly to the sides.

thank you for joining!

when the other male makes his appearance, melting out of the thick fog with a question breaching the silence that exists between them with a question, ailill turns to him and wonders if he's a trick of the fog and moonlight. he's not close enough yet for ailill to pick out specific things about his appearance but he assumes his pelage must be quite dark and notes that there is something misshapen about his stature. his spine appears haunched and it distorts his size so that the stranger appears small compared to the blackthorn. as strange as it looks, all ailill can do is wonder if it's painful. of course, having never seen anyone quite like the stranger before it draws the blackthorn's eye despite the hunter's best attempts to not be rude and stare.

in the end, ailill shrugs off the deformity as he focuses his gaze on the stranger's face and the question he's left unanswered. yeah, i could go for a good hunt. he responds casually. as it was, it's been a while since he's eaten anything he'd called a decent meal. being a lone wolf meant he had to conserve his energy and tackle smaller prey that was easier for a single wolf to catch. it meant he had to hunt more to sate his full hunger and keep him from appearing malnourished. man, i could really go for a nice plump, juicy deer. he was salivating just thinking about it. he wasn't sure if that's what his newfound companion had in mind but at this point just the idea of being able to hunt something substantial was temptation enough.

A deer. When was the last time Ramsay had deer? He couldn't recall; he'd needed to learn to hunt for himself when he parted ways with Euron, but that was mostly small rodents and hares. On one lucky occasion he caught a porcupine, but it was small and sickly and the meat hadn't satisfied. In truth the dwarf didn't know the first thing about hunting larger prey with comrades, but he wasn't about to admit this fault. Loathe as he was to think it, he could always blame any failure on his disfiguration.

Ailill's watchful eye didn't go unnoticed, but Ramsay didn't bother to show that he'd seen it. He was going to be stared at for all his life, anyway. Deer, yes, he said in a quietly appraising tone, I didn't smell any on the way up to you but perhaps if we fan out, we'll find a trail. Some sense told him that the deer were more likely to be further down the terrace where the trees were and not as close to the mountains, but he didn't know all the habits of deer anyway. He would defer to his comrade on which way to go.