Fox's Glade over the rocky cliffs that you leave to peer over and not forget what feet are

dated for the 3rd. zephyr is in heat. only one other participant please <3 maybe @Ashlar?

he ventures further, out of the taiga now and into the valley he loathes so much. the memories are scarce and hazy, yet they linger, tangible enough to remind zephyr of his distaste for this place. enough to remember his birthplace. enough to know he doesn't want to go back there. so he wanders the glade instead, a wintry ghost trailing bright feverthreads of heat-scent like a beacon to any who might cross his path. by now he knows what this is — but it's far too late to care. so he doesn't. he simply pushes forward, driven by the need to reach some nameless goal he's certain he won't understand until all this is over.

Ashlar had needed some space to think, so the boy took to the lands beyond, tracking a kill to the early hours of the dawn. If you cannot fight, you will heal. The words resounded in his head as a chorus of failure. Long ago he had decided that the path of a healer was not for him, back when Baba had first shown him the ways of the medicines he practiced. Baba had not forced it, had told him to follow his own path, but here it was to be all he was good for.

And what else was he good for?

In his fretting, the boy was disheveled. His silver-touched coat had gone wild and there was a touch of misery to his gaze that had not lain within before. He was not the sort to dwell in dark places but failure laid heavier than most anything else had capacity to do.

The scent had little effect on him, but the sight of the stranger caused him to freeze. His ears tucked back, but he lifted his head to look at them with unusual directness. If only his blood would serve Ursus... then perhaps some stranger would take it, and then the bear would be satisfied.

a wild-furred dryad in the distance, willowy and wanderfooted like an earthbound spirit of the wood. zephyr feels sunset-gold eyes on him, and halts, instantly taken with the pretty earthen boy staring from afar. he meets the stare, head canting slightly. a single step forward, and then he speaks. hello, he calls, uncertain what he might expect from the meeting. it seems not every wolf falls under the spell of heat-scent the way wintersbane had, but the wraith has yet to find any outward indication that might tell him whether to expect one or the other. perhaps in time, he will.

The stranger called out and seemed neutral, overall. He stayed where he was, but he could feel the other wolf's eyes on him. Unlike Avicus and Merrick the gaze was icy in color and almost felt cool. Yet like them, it incited in Ashlar a sort of intimidated awe.

His tail tucked some and he lowered his muzzle. H...hi. Sorry. It wasn't clear what he was apologizing for. Existing? Being here?

Heat prickled at his pelt as he realized what he'd done. Sorry was right... and he didn't know what else to say.