The Sunspire the greater the love, the greater the loss.

I've shamelessly made sooooo many assumptions

In spite of the welcome he'd received, Fig still felt odd wandering around the Vale without his parents there. He hadn't really pledged himself to their ranks, and while they'd been nothing but kind, he still felt like a trespasser. So, he wandered the Wilds around Epoch instead. Exploring, hunting, and generally just loitering until they returned from Moonspear with news.

He still felt guilty over the fact that he'd declined to join them. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Fenn, but only that he knew he needed to do so on his own. Fig harbored no resentment towards her, but he had learned the lesson very well that he needed to establish boundaries between himself and his family. It was why he hadn't joined Epoch's ranks. It was why he likely wouldn't join Moonspear. He wanted to live his own life for himself. Living it for his family had simply never worked out.

All of this was running through Fig's head even as he crouched low to the ground, his eyes glued to the small herd of deer that grazed peacefully on the grassy slopes of the Sunspire. His gaze fell to a young doe, generally not the optimal choice of prey but for the fact that her belly looked heavy with pregnancy. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he did want to repay the wolves of Epoch for the hospitality they'd shown him. And, more than that, he wanted to get his mind off of his troubles, if only for the ten minutes it took to run her down.

The scent or prey drew Solveig toward the herd, who tracked along the mountainside with a quiet step. A deer was ambitious- but a fawn would be an easy meal, if any of the does had given birth yet. More often than not, they’d abandon their newborns in order to save themselves, unlike other species. Solveig meant to take advantage of that sacrifice if the occasion came up.

She moved, looming just above the ground with her legs crouched and form lowered. She expected to find herself watching the herd alone, considering the isolated feel of the mountainside, but instead found herself crossing the fresh path left behind by another wolf.

She was curious; the reason she had been sent out from her pack was to recruit, but her instincts compelled her now as well- though she did her best to smother those urges. Still- it was perhaps something she could use to her advantage, should she be more appealing to men as she was, now, than she might have been had she not been receptive.

She approached carefully; she did not want to risk startling the deer in an attempt to get his attention, and would not risk her own safety by wandering within his reach, either. She simply positioned herself downwind of him, and stared across the distance between them, waiting for him to realize he was no longer alone.

It took Fig a moment to realize he was no longer alone in the hunt. For the briefest moment, the scent on the air changed, stealing his attention from his prey to searching the slopes for the source of the disruption. He eventually spotted her, a pale cloud crouched in a sea of green. And while he couldn’t exactly tell from where he stood, he suspected her eyes were trained upon the same herd of deer as his.

Fig’s first reaction was instinctual—a sudden, territorial urge to drive her off that, quite frankly, surprised him. It was the surprise that leveled his head and put him back in the mindset to reason. His chance of making a kill were far greater now with a hunting partner, and there would be plenty of meat to share. He wondered at the aggression he felt with her near, but suppressed it for now. It was time to hunt.

He gave her a significant glance as the doe he targeted lowered its heavy body onto the ground. It’s moment of rest was their opportunity, so Fig broke cover and charged just as it finished tucking its legs in inconveniently beneath it.

The sharpness of his ripe, apple-green gaze ensnared her as they silently appraised one another. She remained motionless, watching for any sign of hostility, but aside from the absence of an inviting grin, there was nothing that warned her he might be unfriendly. 

Her eyes turned, taking note of the doe who bowed down to rest. She looked back to the male, who didn’t bother to return his gaze to her. She saw him gather himself, and made herself ready too- so she might lunge forward at the same moment. 

She didn’t look to him, but kept him in the corner of her eye. If he had any qualms with having an assist, he’d be foolish to blow the opportunity now by veering for her instead- they could squabble over the corpse if necessary, afterward.

Their onslaught was sudden and unexpected. She heard several blasts of air, a warning signal by those on foot and capable of fleeing. The doe, heavy with the lives she carried, might not have the same fortune.

With not a single word spoken between them, the pair fell upon the doe like two arrows shot from a silent crossbow. Fig ducked and dodged as the other deer broke and bolted, leaving the expectant mother to her own devices. She scrambled to her feet with clumsy desperation and while she couldn't hope to flee as quickly as her herd, she still had just barely found her footing when Fig reached her.

The Redhawk swerved at the last moment as she took a single bound towards safety, twisting his head to snap is jaws onto her foreleg. He clenched his jaws down in an iron grasp and tugged hard, trying to pull her off her feet. The doe cried out in pain and fear as her bones crunched beneath Fig's teeth and he got his first enthralling taste of her warm blood on his tongue.

The darker male grabbed the deer by the leg, rendering it incapable of fleeing, holding it in a stretched and drawn position that was perfect for Solveig’s angle of attack. She slammed into the beast with such force she felt something in the herbivore’s chest crack against her own. She’d leapt, tossed one leg over the deer’s withers and as soon as she doe keeled under her weight, she gripped the doe at its poll, and swiftly jerked her head to the side.

Soft spasms announced its death, not painless but swift. The stutter of its feet did not trouble Solveig, who knew the doe had been slain. Within minutes, she knew it would stiffen, and go still. 

This then brought her face to face with her companion, with the apple green eyes. She raised her head, a light smile on her lips as she panted softly, and took in the sight of him now, drawn close by necessity. But she felt assured, given her performance, he wouldn’t dare challenge her now.

And if he did- maybe she would’ve liked him all the more. Her hormones had already begun to make themselves known once again, now that the adrenaline from the hunt began to wear off.

Fig had no problem at all with letting the stranger be the one to make the kill. He had seen his role the moment the doe had leapt across his path, and he committed himself to it fully, not letting go of the beast's leg even as it writhed and fought against the pale wolf's killing blow. He let go only when he felt the doe's final shudder as the life fled from its body for good. He stood tall then, licked the blood from his lips, and let his gaze settled on his surprise hunting partner.

She was staring intently at him. There was something simultaneously challenging and inviting in her aspect, which he found to be simultaneously unsettling and intriguing. She stood over the kill as he did, but Fig commanded the instinct to protect the spoils of his hunt to settle. There was plenty to share, and he felt strangely eager to keep her around for a bit.

"Nice job on the attack," Fig commented, shifting his posture into one of wary neutrality, "Quick and clean."

Had they not been so dissimilar in looks, the effect of their mirrored calm might have felt like staring at a reflection on a perfectly still lake. She sought to disrupt the peace with a gentle wave of her tail- amused, provocative. He was a welcome accomplice now, one who embodied what she was looking for. A wolf who would choose cooperation over hostility- and one who could be simultaneously confident and calm.

She nodded. ”We make a good team.” She said- after all, she would not have had such a clean kill (or a kill at all) had he not disabled the doe. She dipped her head toward the kill and stepped off its shoulders, surrendering her position for a moment so she might brush her shoulder against his amicably. ”Let’s eat. Talk after.” She said hungrily.

Her response was a positive one—one that would've calmed his nerves under different circumstances. For some reason, Fig still felt tense. Even more so when she came near enough to touch him, though he had to admit, he didn't like it when she moved away again.

If there was any innuendo in her comment, it went entirely over the Redhawk's head. Fig nodded once at her suggestion, then leaned down to dig his teeth into the soft space where the doe's leg met its stomach. He tore into the meat, enjoying the warmth that flooded his tongue. It had been over a week since he'd eaten, and as much as this strange woman interested him, instinct dictated his priorities.

Solveig was a ravenous eater. She spared herself no cleanliness when she gorged, and knew which cuts of meat were her favourite. Raven circled overhead, and a turkey vulture seemed interested too- but knew to stay well back when the wolves were consuming the kill this rapidly.

Once she had eaten her fill- which took sometime, considering her appetite, she sat, and then rolled lightly onto her side against the remainders of one of the deer’s hind legs. ”The only thing better than a full belly is one that is more than full,” she admitted with a belly laugh. She reached out to swipe his shoulder amicably with her forepaw. 

”Tell me now, hunter, as it is time we talk. What is your name?”

It was good to be able to eat until he actually felt full. He'd had little opportunity to enjoy a spread like this when he'd been traveling on his own. He and Penn had managed to take down some larger game, but they hadn't been together long enough for it to occur on more than one or two occasions. Most of his meals had been small—a hare here, a pheasant there. To have more meat than he could even finish in one sitting was almost heavenly.

He licked his lips contentedly once he reached the point where he couldn't fathom taking one more bite. He stepped backwards and looked over at his companion, smiling at her comment and at her touch. "Agreed," Fig said with a wag of his tail as he settled onto his haunches, "It's been a long time since I've gotten to experience one."

"Figment Redhawk," he answered, almost instantly feeling silly for randomly decided to share his full name, "Most just call me Fig, though." He smiled a little bashfully. Why had he done that? "And you are?" he asked.

He ate a great helping of food, until his belly swelled just like hers- and that was something she could appreciate in a man. A man with a good appetite, who would eat his fair share, was a man who was fit to survive, thrive, and create good future generations. It was in harmony that they had felled the doe, without a word uttered between them- and like old partners they had dined side by side until they were both rendered sufficiently useless. 

She had always lived a life treating strangers with civility, and it was for reasons like this. Investing trust in a stranger could come at a cost- but more often than not, putting trust in a stranger, she found, she would find the same trust returned. And it was those wolves who seemed to understand that code that were wolves she wanted to have in her life.

”Figment Redhawk,” She murmured thoughtfully. ”Figment…It means…Like a ghost, yes? Something unreal?” She asked. ”English is not my first language,” She chortled with a slight shake of her head. ”I am Solveig,” She answered. She felt her cheeks warm. ”Charmed, to meet you, Figment.”

Fig smiled as she repeated his name. He liked the sound of it on her tongue. He wondered what else her tongue could do that he would like... But no, he refused to follow that line of thinking. A woman's season was the time when Fig generally stayed away from them. He had no desire for children of his own, and fun as it might be to do this dance with her, he didn't like to be forced into the ultimatum that would need to come first. Women generally didn't like his boundary.

And yet, here he was...

"Yes, that's about right," Fig said with a smile, "Not sure what my parents were trying to say with that one." Perhaps that he wasn't supposed to exist? He did wonder from time to time, consider what he knew of his birth mother. But anyway.

"You as well," he replied, "Solveig. What language is that?"

He spoke of his parents, but not in a way that was malicious. That was a relief; she knew many wolves who would sooner complain about their parents than simply joke about them. No parents were perfect, and no children were perfect. Solveig was both, and knew that her own children likely said similar things about her.  "Perhaps they had a premonition that you would be...Spooky," She said, grinning. 

She liked being asked about her language. "It is my language," She replied smoothly. Transitioning to her birth tongue was easy; switching back required a bit more thought. "I believe it is called 'Old Norse,'" She explained. "My name means...From the house of strength." Her eyelashes fluttered lightly, as she wondered what he might make of it.