Ouroboros Spine vi. two hands longing

It was well after brother sun had risen against the backdrop of a sky brushed in shades of orange and pink and red -- so bright and beautiful that the artisan wished she could have pulled them down to earth and dipped her paws in them, that she might use them for her paintings -- when the girl returned from a hunting excursion with an ermine dangling from her jaws. Like the other small pieces of game she had caught, she'd stripped the weasel of its pelt and then sectioned the meat into portions before stashing it in one of the hunters' caches.

After depositing the fur, which was uniquely splotched in browns and whites where the stoat was transitioning from its winter coat to the earthen tones of its spring pelt, at her half-dug densite (intending to cure it later), Lótë set off into the depths of the blackpine at a slow trot. She'd decided to rest for a moment, her energy depleted after hunting the weasel. She relaxed best in the midst of nature and sought to find a corner of the territory to make her own while she recharged, her olivine gaze searching as she wound along the ring of the Spine's summits. At last, she settled on a good spot along the edge of a small clearing in the thick trees, climbing up the slant of a low boulder as she came across it.

From within the embrace of the trees, beneath their shade, she could go unseen amongst the branches and brambles of undergrowth if she remained low to the rock and kept still. She stretched out in a position that would not be too uncomfortable and then waited patiently -- soon rewarded when a small flock of snow quails scuttled slowly out from the grasses and into the clearing a short time later.

They stopped for a moment, unaware of the mousy wolfess who observed them with fascination, pecking and scratching at the grass and melting snow. A few fluttered their wings playfully at each other, chasing and playing as they ran and hopped around one another like wolves might play together. The elven girl noted that their plumage was mottled with brown and white as well, a sign that spring was surely here.

They'd been singing for days and Zane was more than ready for them to be done with it.  The songs were pretty, sure, but they were also eerie as hell.  He wasn't the superstitious type but he also wasn't the type who much liked to contemplate death.  He was just fine livin, thank you very much.

They had to be almost out of songs.  Zane didn't know a single one, so he couldn't imagine they'd have many.  Grumbling softly to himself, he edged down the incline of the mountain.  He'd not slept well and was not in much of a mood.

Wasn't time to hunt just yet, so he was walking carelessly when he passed through the trees next to his packmate.  Since he didn't see her or catch her scent (he was pre-occupied, alright?) he brushed right on past, unfortunately also likely passing close to the birds that she was observing.  If they took off, he barely registered it... just kept on a-goin, lookin for a place to grab some z's before he had to drag himself out and make himself somewhat useful.

Lótë had not been birdwatching long when the ptarmigans suddenly stopped in their frivolity, perking warily in her direction with outstretched necks. The mouse's brow rumpled, knowing that she had not disturbed them, watching as they swiveled their heads this way and that before one let out a sharp chirp. The flock scuttled away on frantic steps, feathered feet scurrying as they were swallowed up by the brush once again. The tracker's head turned as she heard a soft shuffle of movement, evergreen  gaze landing on the agouti who prowled by. Another of Raimo's hunters, she mistakenly presumed, pallid emeralds trailing after him. This one, she had not learned the name of yet.

The girl made no move to draw his attention to her nor did she call out. She would watch him go by if the male did not notice her presence of his own accord, wait for the forest to settle, and see if the grouses returned. For now, the botanist watched Zane as she had watched the birds -- with a studious, collected gaze of peridot.

Zane didn't notice immediately when the birds fluttered off, but after a moment he stopped and turned, looking towards where they had been.

Shit, that coulda been lunch,  he said a little dolefully.  Least no one was around to see him scare off the prospect.  Birds were full of feathers anyway and he wasn't much feeling picking those from between his teeth today.  He had to look fresh n fine to make an impression on whatever new chicks he might run into.

Speaking of.... he kinda had an inkling he needed a new move for Duchess.  She hadn't exactly leaned into his charms so far like other chicks.  Maybe she was into broody fun-sucks like Sarge?  (Yeah he didn't remember anyone's name in this place.  Rambo?)

Hey babe?  Wanna stare at a tree and keep a face like you just ate shit?  Zane snorted and let out a low laugh, then glanced around quickly.  It would be just his luck if the dude was lurking around here somewhere. He had the tendency to sneak up and weird shit - guy was a fuckin ghost.

The yearling's gaze of spring growth widens considerably at the harsh language that spills from the man's lips in absent rambles, the scene reminiscent of when she would wander too closely to the groupings of hunters and warriors as a child. Her head cocked, not quite understanding what he meant with the last string of words.

The strange agouti didn't appear to be speaking to her and Aiwëndil wasn't sure if she should approach. If his cursing was already making the hermit clam up, she likely wasn't up to conversing with him. She resigned herself instead to watching him in place of the birds, silently trying to puzzle out why anyone would want to stare at a tree or eat...that. 

Unfortunately for Zane, his perception rolls are shit, which means he gets to keep on embarassing himself. And continue he did because there was no better way to feel better about your comparison than take a shit on the subject of it. What a fuckin tool. Forget stick, he's probably got a whole tree up his ass. Probably got stuck there last time he fell off the damn mountain. He huffed.

Honestly, it wasn't like he was jealous of Sarge's rank or some shit like that. If the guy wanted to be 'first hunter' or whatever, that was fine by him. Meant he wasn't responsible for anything more than his own shit and that served Zane perfect. He just wished the guy would crack a bit, once, rather than feeling like a constant source of judgement. Felt a little like the instant he got a clawhold into the wider decisions, Zane'd be out on his ass. And that was not ideal.

He should probably bring something back, speaking of. Maybe mini-Duchess could use a stoat or somethin. Zane began to sniff around, sorting through scents. No stoat... but raccoon? Beggars can't be choosers.

Aiwëndil's diadem of caribou-pelt taupe swiveled in the opposite direction, ears fluttering indecisively as if uncertain whether to pin to her skull or perk attentively as more colorful expletives flew from the man's tongue. She'd gathered by now that another hunter must have angered this one with the pelt of earth and stone, fighting back the makings of an amused smile despite the nervousness quickening her heart rate. 

"Excuse me," she dares to call out softly at last, curling in on herself ever so slightly -- not unlike the shy petals of a blossom curling inwards. "But um...what are you talking about?" her voice hedges, hoping he won't be angered by her questioning. 

Hoshit, Zane exclaimed as he whirled, searching for whatever just spoke. He fuckin knew mountains were a bad idea. First heights and now ghosts.

Not a ghost in the end, but almost just as bad. How long had this gorgeous chick been standing there? Zane recovered pretty quickly, lifting his head with some confidence and smiling disarmingly.

Just enjoyin the forest and the lack of certain company. Yours, though, is more than welcome. You got a name, gorgeous? He waved his tail lazily. Mine's Zane. Nailin that charm, see there?

The herdstalker's ears flattened and she edged back a step, dusk-rose tongue sweeping over her chops anxiously but thankfully this male didn't seem inclined to lunge towards her as the night-pelted woodsman had. A grimace of an apologetic smile tugged at her lips uncomfortably as peridots the color of new growth flickered to meet amber gold and away again. "Sorry, I was watching the birds. I didn't mean to startle you," the mouse murmured, fairly wisped in her velvet tones. 

A burst of nervous laughter escaped her at the compliment, green eyes widening a tic as they slid aside of the suddenly confident, cocksure smirk reconfiguring Zane's expression. "I, uh.." the yearling faltered for a moment, stumbling over the thought that she might be considered a beauty of some sorts -- an idea that had never quite occurred to the recluse before. "I'm Lótë," the vagabond introduced herself, grateful again that the lie came easily to her. "It's nice to meet you."

Watching the birds? What, afraid they'd make off with something? He guffawed at his own joke, but gave her a curious look. Like she was the weirdo here, not him.... right.

Her name was as pretty as she was, though seemed a habit around here to have names needing a reference to pronounce. Pretty name. Really, though. Why watch birds when it's way more fun to chase 'em, eh?

"No," the girl laughed again, though her brow quirked to vaguely reflect his expression -- thinking it an odd question but perhaps the yearling was merely too serious for her own good. "I aspire to be a Naturalist, you see," she informed Zane matter-of-factly, giving a slight nod of her fallow crown. "And I have a fond spot for studying birds amongst the other creatures of the woods." This came in the tones of admission, the herdstalker shrugging lightly. 

"Are you one of the Hunters?" she asked him, thinking of the pantherine shadow that seemed to be the head of the village's hunting party. She'd never gotten around to asking him who her other packmates were -- he was scary enough without her pestering and plying him  with questions -- but the leaders had made it out to seem as if all the men were Hunters. The dove only sought to confirm what she thought she already knew.

Wasn't any less odd for the explanation, but Zane wasn't about to judge her for watchin vs chasing. Not in any real way, at least. He definitely got the appeal of sitting back and letting someone else do the chasing for you, and a girl pretty as she was probably had plenty willing. Fuck, if he had a face like that, you wouldn't catch him scarin up his own meals.

He was pretty, of course, but dudes had it different. I'm a hunter, don't know if I'd consider that my whole purpose though. I'm good at plenty of other things. He couldn't help but lay on the charm with a smile that definitely gave a hint at what that comment meant.

I could give you some tips on nature, sometime, if you wanted. He absolutely did say that. And he absolutely meant it in the worst way possible. Gdi.

"I'm sure," Aiwë demurred, Zane's meaning lost on the birdwatcher. Adrastus was the first male to pay her any sort of attention, having never spent much time in the company of male peers in her native tribe. She understood on some level that the Ostrega was flirting with her but much of his innuendo was lost on the inexperienced yearling. She assumed that the he-wolf's words were innocent, that he referenced a talent for ordinary crafts like tanning hides or composing songs.

"What kind of tips?" the fawn agouti wondered softly, another miniscule ripple creasing her brow as the cad's suggestive words fell on splayed auds. Her head canted to the side slightly, waiting for an explanation.

Her not being immediately put off was the only invitation Zane needed to push forward eagerly with the current track. He never missed an opportunity to shoot his shot.

Oh, nothin too fancy. Mostly just when to focus on the chase, and when to appreciate the view. He moved in closer for that, in an attempt to let his pelt brush against hers. There was a pretty obvious drop to his voice, and he tried to catch her eye as he said it.

Internally, he figured that was probably one of the smoother things he'd ever fuckin said. Holy shit. Maybe his game was improving the older he got.

Oh! 

The realization struck her like a blow to the head, as if she'd been kicked by a deer midhunt. The dove's green gaze widened as he brushed up against her, flitting away nervously to the trees as the yearling shied in a slow recoil -- her steps backwards small and measured as if she didn't want to anger him. The caramel swathe of  Lótë's throat bobbed in a gulp as she cleared it, lips twitching in an attempt of smiling as she feigned nonchalance despite the way her face burned beneath the cover of fawn fur. 

"I'm sorry," she managed, though her octaves warbled ever so slightly with anxiety. For what, she couldn't quite define. Her ignorance over exactly what he meant? Accidentally leading him on -- had she done that? She couldn't say for sure. By the spirits, you're horrible at this flirting thing. She shook her head slightly, reminding herself that she wasn't trying to flirt with Zane. 

"It was nice speaking with you but I should go. Border patrol and all," the girl murmured in a weak excuse, her skin crawling with some emotion that had been long repressed. Shame, maybe, as the memories trickled into her thoughts. She shot the he-wolf a tight smile, eyes not quite meeting, before darting away -- trying to smother the past as she loped through the pines. 

Too bad, but he shrugged it off easily enough. Wasn't his fault if a chick was too prude to run with a guy like him, but it was a shame. Fuck, she'd have been a nice little time.

See you around! He called after her lazily, but turned and went the opposite direction. He'd found her line and wouldn't cross it again, though he'd tease along it every now and again.

There were surely plenty of chicks around more his speed, if not in the pack then nearby. He'd never really been fond of chasing anything that took too much effort... and he didn't much enjoy making a girl (too) uncomfortable.