Overture Downs New sights to behold, new adventures to be... made?

A soft thump sounded as cream-colored paws hit the wet, morning dew covered grass. The young male adjusted himself from the descend and peered up at the ledge he had just jumped, giving it a quizzical look of sorts. It had seemed steeper above. Shrugging it off, Faelan unhurriedly gazed back with warm, bright eyes toward the vast open meadow before him, dirt-stained paws automatically guiding him further down the slope and deeper into the pleasantly vegetated terrain. This place was very much unlike his homelands, Duskmire, where most of the landscape was capped with rocks and boulders aplenty. He couldn’t recall there being this much greenery, but either way it was a delightful change.

The air was refreshingly cold this morning, the chilly breeze dancing around through the large territory, its icy touch toying with the high canopies of the scattered trees and long grass surrounding. Body shivered as it swept against the roaming, medium sized wolf, wafting with it the many aromas of wet grass and other damp flora. His nose to twitched, nostrils flaring as his head tilted toward the ground, detecting the smell of nearby water and the occasional scent of various scattered fauna. Gradually, lifting his head, Faelan decided to press onward, ears pivoting a top his head as he remained cautious, yet in awe of this new environment.

He wove his way past the creek and to the nearby territories. For now, his intent was to track the herds going past—perhaps, closer to spring in the next few weeks, the packs of the Rising Sun Valley would gather and hold a large hunt with one another—a feast to celebrate reigning peace and growing families among them.

The white-tail deer had been through here—though the shadowrunner was keen on even larger game. Three packs, after all, was a lot to feed—and the creek would be welcoming at least one litter of puppies.

Veering, Akavir found his way to the downs, exceptionally pale eyes casting upon a form in the distance. He didn’t recognize the tawny man—and uttering a chuff to garner attention, Akavir made to close the distance between them, his own form held amicably, his nose drifting upward to try to scent the other.

As the timber aimlessly strolled through the land, he found his mind trailing off to think of his family. An irritated sigh slipped from parted jaws and his brow furrowed. Yes, his family weren’t happy with most of his life choices, and the thought of one of their own ‘abandoning’ the pack, (as they liked the phrase it at the time), to merely chase adventure, just wasn’t fathomable. But what was done, was done. Faelan was free to do as he pleased, fate be his.
 
Slowly, he approached a small, nearby stream to quench his growing thirst, but, before Faelan could lower his snout to the waters surface, an unexpected chuff snared him from his thoughts. Warm amber eyes blinked for a moment, widening at the sudden realization that he was no longer alone here. Crap. His body became stiff, ears flicking back against his head as the young male cautiously turned himself to face the shadowy figure. Unsure of what to do now that he was looking at the stranger, Faelan instinctively lowered his head as they seemed to be approaching, the yearling offering a respectful bow of sorts before letting out a friendly chuff of his own in response. It had been a long time since he'd conversed with another.

His presence had caught the other off guard—he saw the other’s amber eyes sharp upon him as he approached, and as the tawny male lowered his head closer to the ground in mollified wariness, Akavir maintained his own posture as neutral, spare for the sweep of his dark tail in a welcoming manner.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he offered as he moved closer, eyes swinging from the other to briefly glance to the source of water that had been found. “I’ve just been tracking one of the herds that came through here,” he offered in brief explanation. He offered a small pause—and then, with the intent of maintaining polite conversation, the corner of his lips allowed the trace of a smile. “I’m Akavir, from Swiftcurrent Creek.”

An apology was offered and Faelan gazed at the ebony male awkwardly, mind slowly registering the man’s words before giving his head a swift shake, ”Th..that’s quite alright.” He replied softly, ears twitching nervously as his paws began to fidget against the damp earth beneath them.

 

His warm eyes observed the other as he continued speaking, head tilting curiously when the stocky man before him mentioned about tracking one of many herds that had passed through the land. Faelan paused. The wandering male hadn’t been paying much attention to the movements of the wildlife, for he’d been too captivated by his new surroundings since his arrival. Now he couldn’t help but think that maybe he should consider redirecting his attention to more important things for the time being. Like food.

 

The stranger seemed to give a smile, shortly offering their name as well as where they were from. Akavir and Swiftcurrent Creek. Information the young male made sure to absorb before giving a gentle wag of his bushy, unkept tail, ”Faelan.” The yearling replied with a nod. ”Formerly of Duskmire Ridge, a pack situated far East of these wilds.” He added, blinking for a moment as he considered whether or not he should have just left that part out, ”I uh, I’m not really familiar with these lands.” Faelan smiled meekly, ears swivelling back against his head as he looked down to his paws.

The man was reserved in a manner—hesitant with his words, and seemingly nervous. The Mayfair regarded him coolly, watching as the stranger’s eyes drifted down to his toes and then back up.

Faelan previously of Duskmire Ridge. Akavir appraised him silently—the youthful man was just at the age of dispersal, really—whether he was booted from the nest or held a bout of wanderlust, it was hard to say. He recalled his own days of such and gruffly wondered where the time had gone.

At the mention he was unfamiliar with the valley, Akavir gave a motion of his muzzle to the direction of his home. “Swiftcurrent Creek lies that way,” he offered. “This valley has two other packs besides us—Riverclan and Kvarsheim. We’re trying to forge an alliance now to keep some of the… riff raff from our borders.”

Faelan’s eyes followed Akavir’s motion as he pointed in the direction of his home. The young male’s head gave a nod of acknowledgement before looking back as the larger male went on to reveal that there were in fact two other packs located within the valley. Riverclan and Kvarsheim. The yearling took a mental note of both titles, aware that it was good to know such information - especially since he was a complete newbie to this region. The last thing Faelan wanted was to accidentally wander into another pack’s territory. He’d seen before, what could happen if another trespassed on another’s land. And the thought of inadvertently doing it himself made him uneasy.
 
An alliance was mentioned, and the youth offered a smile. From his understanding, through watching and listening to the elders of his birth pack, it was always good to build and maintain a friendly union between neighboring groups. It was a nice thought. Achievable, though sometimes it didn’t always go to plan. Regardless, Faelan quietly wished Akavir success in such an endeavor.
 
Riff-Raff... The word caught Faelan’s attention and brown, inked rimmed ears perked upwards, ”Oh.” He said, ”I hope no difficulties have befallen you and your lands…” He questioned with a troubled look creeping across his face. Light eyes still gazing at the ebon male, ”Do you get riff-raff through here regularly?” Faelan asked curiously, unkept tail swaying behind him as he finally fell quiet, waiting for Akavir’s response to his many queries.

The man made a generic comment of kindness—stirring the hint of a smirk at the corner of Akavir’s lips at the maintained pleasantries. Idly, he wondered what the yearling would say if Akavir revealed to him that they no longer had trouble in their lands—Akavir had quite literally thrown the riff-raff down the creek.

Instead, he tipped his muzzle softly in quiet acceptance of the comment, though it was the rogue’s next question that beckoned more thought from him. “It’s been quiet this winter,” he allowed, shifting his weight. “We had a gang of wolves try an attack on us when it was just my Beta and I… but they’ve gone now, it seemed. Cleared out of this valley, for now, at least.”

He shrugged, his eyes drawing back to study the other man. “I would think you would witness more than enough ‘riff raff’ and trouble being a lone wolf.”

Attacked by a gang of wolves, with only himself and his Beta? Wow. Faelan wasn’t much of a fighter and nor were any of his siblings, at least as far as he knew. Having been brought up by a skilled hunter and an avid healer, most of Faelan’s time had been spent studying. And these lessons mainly consisted of learning about herbs and their uses with his mother, to tracking and safely taking down prey with his father. All useful information that had been passed down and drilled into his mind by his parents since pup-hood. Whether he liked it or not. But fighting was rarely done within the lands of Duskmire and not often practiced. Why he did not know.
 
”Oh my…” Faelan replied with an amazed look within his gaze as he listened to Akavir’s short brief, ears swivelling as the shadowed man then mentioned that the gang had been cleared from the valley. That was certainly good to hear! Faelan didn’t fancy being jumped by a group of wolves whilst roaming the land. ”Well, it’s good to know that they’re no longer within the area.” He exhaled softly, tail giving a gentle wag behind him, though the large shadow’s next words caused his tails movement to cease. Faelan had indeed witnessed a few unsavoury characters along his travels, ”I-uh, I have.” The young timber replied, ”Though I usually try to avoid those that appear troublesome.” He said with a long sigh, ears pinning to his head as peered down to his paws, ”I’m not much of a fighter, you see.” Faelan revealed, light eyes slowly peering back up to the man, ”My parents were more for hunting and medicine.” He offered a faint smile and a small shrug.

The youthful man responded in a mannerism that reminded Akavir of Lestan in many aspects—unassuming and with a certain intrigue for knowledge. His muzzle tipped down lightly to reveal he was listening as the other spoke regarding his home and lessons—a faint curiosity pulling in his chest. Since they had established the creek, he had come across many who admitted to having very little knowledge in sparring and tactical battle practice.

Maybe the fact Constantine had bore it within his children was a red flag in many regards, then?

“Well, we have great need for both skills in the Creek if you ever seek to settle down,” he offered then, his tone contemplative as he considered. “Alternatively, if you’re in the area sometime, one of my pack mates is hosting a session to teach others the basics of sparring and defense tactics. Attend, if you wish—just let them know you have Akavir’s permission to do so.”

After another few moments of idle chat, Akavir would continue on his way.