Sun Mote Copse When I dream, I’m doing you all night

Setting: Evening — 1845
Weather: 95F — light drizzle, partially cloudy

Using this to use as a forming thread for the Archangles!

The reaper moved from Cedar Sweep to investigate the territory they will claim soon. Once their numbers grow, they will take over the Copse in full force, not to be mistaken for any type of unclaimed land. Santi would be sure to let those who think that some teeth. 

Now though, he moves through the territory, doing what male animals do best and marking his territory. Brushing his body along trees and large rocks, as well as lifting a leg on anything within reach. He plans on exploring this place a bit more, hopefully to get familiar with his new home.

the wolf-scent in this place has grown. 
it would be wise for the jewel to return to her brothers and sisters, to share this knowledge. she will; but there is time enough to do her work.
the wolf intrigues her. he is large and a cool dark. different from the deep shadow, but not by much.
the daylight is the realm of the wolf, usually. the coyote worked the night. and yet, here he was.
mmn, what are you doing here, zala? this jewel is so bold to ask from where they lurk; out of sight of the wolf.

The reaper doesn’t smell his company — doesn’t see them either. Rather, he’s quite surprised to hear the voice that seems to materialize out of nowhere. His ruined ears shift this way and that, silvery orbs shift up from their downwards position on the ground to the trees around him. Where and who? He wonders. 

With his head still level with his shoulders, he stills. Turning his head in the direction he believes the voice comes from. He sees nothing. A passive thought sidles through his mind: am I finally going senile? He’s getting older and it shows by the grey blooming over his chin and whiskers. He’s still in good shape though, the bulk of his muscle is still there and his wits are still about him, as is his prowess for battle, but he’s growing old nonetheless. 

So the two toned male hums back a sound of acknowledgment and wonder. It’s deep and indifferent sounding as he looks about.

“¿Hablan los árboles? ¿O hay alguien allí?” He says mostly to himself, but loud enough for this mystery person to hear him. Nonetheless, he entertains the mystery voice. “I’m exploring. Who speaks?” He finally says gruffly, words lightly slurred by a thick Hispanic accent.

a lonely jewel. they call out, this time from a distance in the foreground.
they know it is unwise to linger and to taunt the mighty wolf, but it is equally dangerous to be caught without an escape plan.
in the dark the courtesan can be everywhere and nowhere; they can be anyone.
have you come to keep me company? obscurity suits jawahir.

Santiago grins when the voice meets his auds once more. The upwards tilt of his scarred mouth is sly and curious, but not distinctly malicious. With the same confidence showing in his smile, he moves casually towards the direction of this alluring voice. He doesn’t aim to find them, but only be closer. 

“Una joya solitaria, eh?” He parrots back in a throaty hum. At their second words the Reaper chuckles huskily. “Quizás. But what would you want from a ruined old wolf anyhow?” He inquires back, but silvery orbs hold flirty interest.

the jewel slides languidly from the shadows. a pleasant smile upon their face, a lightness to each step.
young or old, it did not matter. wolves were powerful and jawahir knew that survival hung upon how well they could manage each situation; for themselves, for the others — always taking risks.
ruined? i would not call you that.
svelte. well-aged. would he one day be pale like the moon entire? how curious.

This jewel sidles from their cover and finally the reaper has a good look at them. A coyote. Sly tricksters they are, so much smaller than wolves and unable to rely much on strength. Still, he gives them an appreciative once over, practically making a show of his wandering eyes. 

Ruined? I would not call you that.

His maw tilts up into a smirk. “Oh yeah?” He practically purrs. “Then what would you call me, cariño?” The reaper inquires with that deeply accented and gravelly voice of his.

glorious! jawahir proclaimed instead; for that was the truth of the matter. wolves were bigger, stronger, and more formidable than themselves, or any measure of their kin.
smiling as they drew closer now, inspecting, shrewd but loving in their gaze.
i could call you other things too, if it pleases you. smirk.