Wapun Meadow if i only had the nerve

Backdated to 5 July~

With a pack full of puppies and the new Summer heat lending a very merry blue to the endless skies above, young Ico was beginning to feel something tantamount to optimistic as he finished his patrol that afternoon. He wasn't a very effective patroller... for he was a submissive sort, prone to keeping his distance and not marking anything at all, but his ears were alert and his gaze did roam. Still, Ico was relieved when he'd finished the length of the borders, and turned his walk outward towards the wildflower-spun meadow with which he'd become so familiar.

Mainly to keep his mind in a state of kind clarity, the small ivory wolf padded along the meadow's creek, stopping only to take a drink and address the waters. All may be well, Ico muttered to his reflection, his tone some mix of desperate and adamant.

@Polaris

there was an ease to her gait as she frolicked throughout the meadow, paws skimming the coruscating carpet enveloping the entirety of her svelte figure as the breeze giggled and toyed with her shivering cloak of silvered adornment. her chest rose and fell in a hurried progression, as if she must taste each and every drop of air that this little patch of land had to offer; as if it were perhaps the last time she'd ever get to. and there was an inferno of determination, or maybe even something more akin to desperation, alive within the press of lustrous looks as she danced with the vibrant life humming around her. indeed, a cursory look would deem this as but a girl cavorting about a pretty meadow, but to the press of a more vigilant glance; it became something else entirely. the careful pirouette one might perform in the midst of battle, giving the allusion of a caper when in reality the slightest mishap would cost you your very life. there was no destruction to the way in which the dove moved, careful to keep the majority of sprightly flowers intact and yet in that moment she was a scintillating soldier, making a last stand, despite knowing it was all so in vain.

because she is fed up with being useless, helpless in the face of the frailty of all you held dear. she wanted to be powerful, to have control over something; she had to! and she would, from the moment that witch had strutted past their borders her mind had begun a fervent ticking. past whispers and reveries of forming a group of like minded peoples that would stand in the face of barbaric monstrosities, give the bad guys something to fear, increasing to a demanding clamour. she was going to do it, she was going to form a pack, and they would bring hell to those who deserved it. 

she has stilled, flanks heaving and yet she is invigorated; teeth pressed hard upon each other as she blinks across the meadow- and focuses upon a wraith a mere few metres from her. he is poised by the waters, such a pallid figure amongst brazen radiance and there is a true moment in which she believes he must be a phantom lingering in the land of the living. but the breeze whispers its stolen secrets, revealing the scent of their tense neighbours engraved in his fair hairs. it is stunning, that this being that somehow appears fragile even in comparison to the dainty flowers dancing around them, belongs to the band of warriors terrorizing their lands. 

perhaps he is their arrow, so miniscule in comparison to deadly swords and yet the most dangerous of all. slender and unassuming until striking with lightning precision before the victim even knew they were about to hold such a title. but she does not retreat, in fact the girl steals forth so that she too approaches the stream, gaze never leaving him as she quietly murmurs "it's beautiful isn't it? the way the light is caught in this everlasting dance with the water" for she knows what a side look would gift her, another sight of the strange love affair carrying on between the light of both the sun and the moon and the crystalline liquid trapped upon the earth. there was an expectation alight in the gaze she cast him, clearly the answer to such a query meant a lot to her.

Perhaps Ico was better off uttering such things into a cavern, and not his own reflection; that way, his echo would verify it for him. But his reflection said nothing at all.

A stranger did, though, and Ico looked up sharply, alarmed to have missed her approach. But now that he looked at her, it was no wonder she'd arrived without drama; the unknown girl was built for stealth, small, lithe, pale in the Summer light. From some angles it would almost seem as if Ico were staring at his own reflection again.

His white ears were still slanted in alarm, brown eyes wide, limbs stiff; but he didn't flee. For he was instinctively intruiged by her unmoving gaze, and her effortless launch into soliloquy. Yes... Ico began uneasily. And then, after clearing his throat and with a touch more confidence; yes, it is. Though it's quite a shame my silly face is in the way, he added with self-depricating humour, believing the world reflected in the water would be so much simpler if it didn't include himself gazing back with eyes full of doubt.

how uncanny to witness a wolf adorned in such scented armour appear to be rattled by a glimpse of her. of course there was nothing the dove sought more, to inspire unease in the souls of those with such allegiances but being realistic, she knew she wasn't exactly built for intimidating first glances. she blinks at the gentle touch of earthen eyes set deep in their frame of polished ivory, head tilting with lingering bemusement. however chary press to keen eyes lessens a little at his agreement despite the note of unease hitching a lift upon the passed syllable. yet before having a chance to so much as dwell on it, he catches her by surprise and coaxes forth a laugh with such an unexpectedly declared statement. she finally lets scintillating eyes flicker free to skim upon the glittering surface, finding their warped versions trapped in the liquid's cool grasp; animations making up the narrative she fed back to them with such alluring fervour. 

a delicate frown presses dark lips as she blinks to the waver of his reflection, announcing with casual zeal; "i don't see a silly face in there!" curious look is tossed to his solid figure once more; ears leaning to the side as her head cocks. surely he did not see himself as ugly? there is an ethereal beguile to him, a wraith of angelic woe...he is, well, beautiful. so does it go beyond that? she cannot help but judge him for his choice of home, hypocritical of her considering her own time spent lingering fretfully amongst the nightwalkers and yet...judgement stirs nevertheless. but she does not let it taint the moment, intrigue ruling a much more dominant hand as a roguish smile plants itself firmly upon angular features and she asks "please enlighten me, what exactly is it about that face that you have deemed silly" and there is a challenge shivering in the feverish look of her pinning stare.

Ico was quietly relieved to have coaxed a laugh from the other, and it was a gentle and melodious laugh that put him somewhat at ease. Not that he'd dropped his guard completely (such as it was), for she had an otherworldly air about her that made him distantly suspect he might be dreaming. Or perhaps not. Either way, Ico felt sure he had little to fear.

The girl was kind to reject his self-deprecation, and he smiled lightly himself, appreciative and somewhat humbled. But still, something compelled him to... play. In his own singular manner.

Oh sorry, I didn't mean my face. I meant the face of my friend — the water spirit; and a very silly spirit he is too. Ico turned matter-of-factly from the willowy femme to peer back into the river. Can't you see him?

It would be clear to an insightful sort that Ico wasn't teasing or trying to be borish. This was just how some storytellers finally let down their guard.

pleased grin perches upon charcoal lips upon noting the upwards tilt to grace his own pallid features. how breathlessly curious she is about this unorthodox fellow! if someone came across her and asked why on earth was she babbling away to herself she would most likely actually believe them without mere moments of dithering. a whimsical sprite, appearing, as beautiful a delicacy as a snowdrop blossoming within the clutch of a burning forest. but why?

brows arch at the waggish retort, tail swishing languidly above shivering blades of grass as she spun around to peer expectantly at the liquid's riveting surface. "hmmmm" she muses, brows furrowed in the most intense concentration as she scanned the ripple of the two staring back. finally an exasperated sigh jolts forth as she flopped back onto pale haunches and lamented "i don't think your water spirit likes me very much! they seem intent to hide from my prying eyes" a huff as she pouted, seeming as genuinely disappointed as that of a naive child expecting a whole circus show to sprout from fanciful musings. "his loss i guess, he must not realise just how fantastic i am"

scintillating look prances across him as she breathes "may i ask the name of he who even the water spirit deems worthy enough to call a friend?" the warm breeze gives sprightly tugs at pale hairs as she blinks, clement and yet expectant.

Ico smiled softly, pleased and rather grateful that the sprightly soul was content to play along with his imagining of the water spirit. Truth be told, he wouldn't have minded much if she turned out to take the whole thing with tremendous earnestness, but light-heartedness was very welcome as well. Any tension he'd felt was fast evaporating.

He does like you, he's just a little shy, Ico responded, and sat back on his skinny haunches, following the girl's lead as she relaxed her stance. My name's Ico. What's yours?

She looked a bit like a water spirit herself. Now that would be a twist in the tale.

sorry for the wait<3

a pleased hum at that, content to accept such reasoning for the spirit's reluctance to display itself. "well that's a relief, there's something just rather fantastic about being liked" lilted along the sprightly breeze, wondering press of keen eyes seeming reluctant to reside anywhere but upon the pallid sprite in her company as she smiles. how does he find himself living at home amongst such serpents, are there others there that entertain such whimsical chattering? it is a surreal image to the girl, this boy and his spirit's conversing with the witch whom had stolen upon their lands or the described ruffians that had taken it upon themselves to attack west. toes press hard against the spongy earth, the only allowed telltale of befuddled ideas squirming restlessly within. 

"ico" she repeats, rolling shoulders back as the tilt to her lips flickers with renewed zeal and she trills "i'm polaris, it's nice to meet you ico" head tilts as she draws a paw forth to brush it lazily along the shivering tips of bladed grass. she had never been one to deny her thoughts a place upon her tongue, having always found difficulty in resisting curiosity and attempting anything other than being quite direct and now was certainly no different. blinking back from where thoughtful staring had drifted idly to the progression of her paw, she is unwavering in her press against his uncannily benign, sloe eyes. "i'm from easthollow and you...are one of our newer neighbours right?" she restrains herself enough to pose only this for now, intrigued as to whether this means anything to him or not. 

after all, even the most beautiful of fae were not to be underestimated; she who wears her emotions on her sleeve would always be most vulnerable to those who can conceal it behind intricately woven cloaks of softly spun kindness.

..."something just rather fantastic about being liked". Ico could not help but smile at this, for it was a very fine philosophy; and not one he'd much considered. Partly because he quietly assumed, from experience, that most who regarded him neither liked nor disliked him, but also because he was preoccupied by liking others. Sometimes he forgot that being liked in turn was also nice. Or, as Polaris said, "rather fantastic".

He nodded; nice to meet you too. And Ico meant it, warmed as he was to this pleasant fusion of amicability and imagination.

I've heard of Easthollow, but know nothing about it I'm afraid, the youth admitted. Truth be told, the only utterance of "Easthollow" he'd ever heard had been in passing, up by the woods, spoken by someone in a spiteful tone. I live at Bearclaw Valley — Ursus. I... I'll take the liberty of assuming our packs are friendly, he smiled a little nervously, for he knew it was quite the risk to assume Ursus was "friendly" with so much as a passing woodpecker.