Otter Creek oh, how can this be? i’ve finally found peace

03/10 -- @Wintersbane

Knowing what Hydra had shared, Ying knew that she would need more time to think before returning home. She started toward the island but turned back, deciding that she would like the further explore the southern wilderness. Her paws carried her carefully through the region, finally stopping beside an unfamiliar creek. Ying watched the fish swim lazily beneath the ice and began preparing for a small hunt.

it's not often that wintersbane descends from sawtooth spire these days; ironic, how in his youth he could not stay at one place and now he must fight against the desire to become something resembling a homebody. this is easily excused away with the fact that wylla, a co-leader, has just given birth and his presence is needed tenfold as both a master warrior and leader. still, the tundrian forces himself to take the small trip all the same. their spire is self-sustaining and truly there was no need to make the descent at all but he tells himself it's for the purpose of keeping an eye upon the herds below. they had extra mouths to feed now, after all. expanding their hunting grounds didn't strike him as a bad idea.

steps slow as a figure comes into view, scents a mixture of several others. still, she is unfamiliar to him and when wintersbane's steps finally come to a complete stop — a more than safe distance away upon the banks of the creek — he offers her a low chuff of greeting.

Oh! Ying's jaws loosened their grip, allowing the fish to swim free. She looked up with an expression of shock and displeasure, a silent reply to the stranger's greeting. He was of an impressive stature — scarred and well-worn, but without an obvious age gap. She finished her appraisal and adjusted herself accordingly, flagging her tail as apprehensive, albeit friendly greeting.

There was enough distance between them to allow her some comfort. Ying rolled back her shoulders and drew in a deep breath, reassuming her position at the waterfront. You here for this? she asked, nodding toward the water. Without awaiting his response, she smiled and striked once more.

to not look at her would be, wintersbane feels, denying her a common courtesy; but there is a part of him that feels a stab of guilt that he instantly wants to strangle within himself when he notes that she's pretty. very pretty. well-muscled, stark white fur with a defining black stripe down her spine and fading at her ribcage. a distinctive scent of seabrine; salt and seaweed. bright blue gaze that reminds him, startlingly, of the glacial peaks of enok tundra. in a bizarre flip of feelings running thru him, homesickness for his mother's homeland rises within him like the swell of the tide.

this, too, he beats down. he has sagtannet now ...which is close enough to enok tundra to make him feel as if lotte would approve.

❝i didn't mean to startle you,❞ he offers a bit sheepishly. in fact, startling her was what he had hoped to ultimately avoid. ❝i was tracking herd movements, actually,❞ he admits with a slight gesture of his muzzle in the direction he'd been heading. fishing wasn't one of his strong suits ( or so he thinks ) and as far as freshwater there was plenty of it upon his spire.

Another misfortunate attempt. It's okay, Ying assured him. She stepped away from the creek and shook the stray water droplets from her pelt. What herd? Surprisingly, she hadn't seen much large game during her travels. Ying hadn't really looked, though; instead of admitting she wasn't vigilant enough, she decided to blame it on her natural affinity for water-based prey.

She didn't need an invitation. Ying put on another smile and walked closer to the stranger, aligning her frame with his so that they might walk together. He carried the strong scent of others; a pack? Who are you? she wondered, presumably beginning to walk ahead.

assured by her words, he readily allows the conversation to move onto the topic of his own making: the herds. or rather, the lack thereof. ❝there's a herd i've been keeping an eye on in the past few territories. small. about four.❞ wintersbane tells her, and bites back the urge to add that the additional meat is necessary. he has not spent any time around the newborns or mother and hopes that their scent, however faint, does not carry upon his pelage. it is his duty to protect them as much as it is mahler's, though wintersbane is absent the title of 'family' as the gargoyle bears.

she falls into step with him and then moves on ahead. wintersbane makes no moves to quicken his pace. it remains steady, leisurely despite his words of herd tracking. as it is, he doesn't wish to travel too far from the spire. this, for now, is far enough. if the herd did not circle back around into a closer territory he could send an aspiring hunter of theirs out.

❝i'm wintersbane,❞ he offers, dropping off 'ansbjørn' as he's wont to do. unintentional, of course; he just doesn't think it's always necessary to tack on especially when it'll go unrecognized. ❝who're you?❞ the tundrian inquires in return.

His voice was masculine, but not overbearing. She remembered Revui's unsettling tone and gave Wintersbane — Win-ters-bane. — silent praise. Ying slowed herself and answered: I am Ying. It was much simpler than his name, as was often the case.

Finding the distance between them to be unpleasant, Ying walked back to his side. She was more courageous with this approach; rather than straying out of reach, she kept close. Wintersbane's large stature was both troubling and comforting, for Ying was rarely dwarfed by her companions. She did not mind the change.

I am not good at herds, the huntress laughed, I can maybe help you, and learn something. There was no better distraction than a casual hunt, and her partner's objective attractiveness didn't hurt either. She drew in a deep breath, collecting more of his scent. Where you come from?

she repeats his name, breaking up the syllables. ❝you can call me bane if it's easier,❞ he offers with a casual shrug of his shoulders. he's taken so many monikers, been called so many things that the shortening of 'wintersbane' wouldn't bother him in the slightest. ying, the woman introduces herself as wintersbane watches her drift closer. for a moment he's tempted to assure her that she was in danger of losing him but allowed the proximity all the same.

perhaps he shouldn't ...just as there was a part of him that tells him he is cruel and heartless for not mourning andraste anywhere near as long as he should've, that he shouldn't be looking at another woman and thinking her pretty, that he is a monster ...

that —

that he is all of those things, yes and sees no use in mourning those that would not return for long periods of time. his life would keep on going.

❝to be honest, i am a master warrior ...not a hunter,❞ he could hunt, of course, as all of their kind could. ❝but we could use the extra meat and i was beginning to become something of a hermit.❞ he half jokes; though, perhaps not to the extreme as most hermits: he still socialized and tended to leadership duties in sagtannet. ❝i am from sagtannet. we call sawtooth spire our home.❞ he gestures in the spire's direction with his muzzle.

❝you're from the coast, right?❞ he inquires, making the assumption if only because she smelled heavily of seabrine ...but last he knew the famine and calamities had chased the remaining coastal packs from their homes.

Wintersbane. She looked and nodded, assuring him that she was capable. Ying's smile would have presumably been enough to hide the small slight left by his suggestion. However, he was quick to move on, so she would do the same. Me, too! Sorta, she told him, I think, maybe I am the best fighter. Her serious expression lasted only a moment, before dropping into a clarifying smile and headshake.

His pack name was no easier to pronounce, but Ying should have guessed this. Sag-tan-net, she whispered, Are all things this hard to say? She wondered what he might say next, but assumed it would be a word just as nonsensical. What is a hermit? Ying wondered next. 

Wintersbane's guess of her coastal origins came as a slight surprise. She rarely smelled herself, so her scent didn't occur to her as a giveaway. How did you know? Ying asked. Her head was tilted curiously to the side, and on her face, a curious smile and furrowed brow. My family is there, and I protect them. Lovers, friends — there was more than just family, but she was aiming for discretion.

❝always nice to meet fellow warriors on the road,❞ man, woman. it matters not. wintersbane's mother had been the formidable warrioress ...while his father's skills had lain in more manipulative and persuasive pursuits. another quick sweep of his glacial gaze is given to find that he's not all that surprised to hear she, too, was a fighter. she had the build that suggested as such — though wintersbane knows better than to judge based upon looks alone ( that does not, however, keep him from doing so, sadly ).

❝probably,❞ wintersbane says with a low chuckle, thinking of the tundrian tongue he hasn't spoken in quite some time. ❝sagtannet comes from my co-leader's native tongue, i think.❞ though, admittedly, what he knows of mahler's native tongue is merely that it is rough. for actual translation he must turn to the gargoyle for assistance. ❝a hermit,❞ wintersbane drawls thoughtfully. ❝is someone who never leaves their home and rarely socializes with others.❞

he explains the term as best he can with a sheepish roll of his broad shoulders. as for the fact that she is from the coast he offers, just as sheepishly, ❝you smell of seabrine. salt and sand.❞ wintersbane explains, words more careful now in the fear that he might've caused some upset with his — clearly correct — observation and drawn conclusions, despite that while she offers him a furrowed brow there is also a curious tilt of her lips in the smile he watches her give him out of the corner of his eye.

Warriors seemed to be a more common commodity here than where Ying had come from. The change was welcome; finding more spar partners was nothing to complain about. She nodded her head in agreement — We are more nice to look at, because of the muscles. — and paused to flex well-defined thighs. You are nice to look at, too. But...maybe too tall, because I feel small. Was that a good thing?

My whole family is a hermit, Ying laughed. Rarely did any of their wolves leave the island, and almost never ventured so far. She was alone in her wanderlust, it seemed. Nice to meet someone new. It would be good if you were not a hermit. There was no use in making a new friend if they would never see one another again.

She turned and sniffed not-so-discreetly at her shoulder. "Seabrine" wasn't a good scent, as far as Ying was concerned. Somewhat embarrassed, she lowered her ears and whispered a quiet, I'm sorry I stink.

❝i've never thought of it like that,❞ wintersbane admits upon a soft, contemplative rumble as he considers her words. a younger, more arrogant wintersbane would've readily agreed with her words. though still vain, in some regards, the scarring that acts as a permanent reminder to the tundrian of what happens when vanity and arrogance consume you. it creates an ignorance that had allowed him, as a warrior, to miss the viper gearing to strike him for months.

❝ah, well, both of my parents were tall.❞ wintersbane recalls with a small chuckle. ❝i am giving it an honest effort,❞ but as for it continuing as such he can make no actual promises. as the other pregnant women in sagtannet get closer to their due dates, wintersbane knows there will be less and less time for travel. he is needed at his place upon the spire and thus far, that is where he is most content to be.

❝i didn't — you don't stink.❞ he clarifies, feeling slightly horrified that she'd taken his explanation as criticism on her smell. ❝the coast has a very distinctive smell; easily identified.❞

Her eyes narrowed with curious mischief. You want me to feel small, or you like to feel big? She squared her shoulders and lifted her legs, hoping to exaggerate her height. I am bigger than you, maybe. This is just a bad angle.

Ying was assured to know that she did not, in fact, stink. She huffed a relieved sigh and laughed, replying: That is good. I try very hard to smell good, but it is hard when the water is stinky. She wouldn't mind moving to an intermediate territory, maybe one of the forests between land and sea...

wintersbane lets out a low snort of amusement as he watches her attempt to exaggerate her own height. ❝perhaps it is both.❞ wintersbane suggests on a breezy, teasing tone; a flash of his teeth given in a grin that could've easily mirrored the arrogance of his younger self. the good thing about being so big? it hit just right with the intimidation factor; even if despite being a master warrior he was, more or less, pretty soft.

maybe that shift from the ferocious child he'd been had happened when he'd hit his head and had temporary amnesia. or maybe it'd always been there; hidden in a fortress of thorns.

❝i commend anyone who can live by the sea,❞ he gives a pause here, only to add a few heartbeats later, ❝not because of the smell. i don't mind the smell of saltwater. i just don't like sand.❞ he admits with a casual roll of his shoulders.

Maybe, someday I will not live on the coast. She would never truly leave the ocean's side, but hoped to settle somewhere closer inland. There were several small pockets of land near enough to where the others were, anyway. The sand gets stuck in places. Ying remembered her adventure with Asmodeus, and how awkward it felt to clean herself afterward.

She looked to Wintersbane and flagged her tail, hoping to hit against his hock. Do you think, what if you can live anywhere. Where is it? Ying's ideal home would be atop a mountain, overlooking the sea, with a short enough travel time to enjoy sunset by the ocean. It was unfortunate that she hadn't found that place yet.

❝indeed it does,❞ wintersbane concurs in a way that could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be wistful. in all truth, he is very glad he does not reside upon the coast and not sure that he ever could. he felt better with solid dirt beneath his paws; and no risk of getting tiny, grating particles stuck in unsavory places. ❝i'm pretty content upon sawtooth spire,❞ wintersbane admits in response to her inquiry. ❝though the height poses its own set of risks, i suppose, i enjoy being up there.❞ looking down upon the world. perhaps it occasionally sparked to life the god complex that his father had once ( and probably still did ) hold. perhaps, wintersbane considers, he should be more afraid of the height sawtooth boasted but, in a strange twist it does not bother him.

Wintersbane, she said, I come see your mountain one day. There was an implicit recommendation that he come see the coast, but Ying wouldn't press. He didn't seem interested and truly, could she blame him?

Fengmian was waiting elsewhere. Their journey to the island would be long, and Ying didn't want to draw it out. She gave a respectful dip of her head and told him, I see you then! before making her way back to Feng.