Chimera Fields pastel ghost

She had travelled westwards for the remainder of winter, selfishly unimpressed with the mountains and the calibre of those she had met there. They had just been no fun. Dour and stony-faced, just like the land they called home. Plus, the rocks hurt her paws; she missed the feeling of soft grass and the scent of flowers.

So naturally, Pukei was immediately drawn into the wide embrace of a sweeping meadow as soon as she chanced upon it. The morning air was still crisp, but the warm sun was making its presence known and dousing the meadow in a golden, dreamy haze. The girl fell into the welcoming grasses where the first buds of spring were beginning to grow.

She landed on her back with a satisfied huff, before wriggling back and fourth like an upturned beetle, desperate to rid herself of the cold, stale air of the mountains.

He is looking for food -- those are the extent of his days, an interminable search for the next meal, always the next meal -- but the scents he picks up are all stale. He has never been a good hunter, has always preferred to scavenge for scraps, and he isn't sure why he is making a show out of tracking, holding up a finger to measure the direction of the wind when he doesn't know the difference between a rabbit and a hare and now, two years deep into life, is too afraid to ask.

Instead his nose leads him to a field, which even to his untrained, artless eye, he can tell that it will be beautiful in a few days' time when the flowers come closer to full bloom.

He sees someone about his age from afar, rustling the grass, and looks at her with the smallest thorn of envy lodged in his side, wanting to join her but unsure of how to announce his presence. His winter had been one-note, antisocial, endless.

She doesn't notice him immediately, continuing instead to revel in the feeling of dirt and weeds entangling within her fur. Had she fingers and opposable thumbs, the girl's head would be adorned with a permanent crown of daisies. Alas, she only had paws, so this method would just have to do.

A chance look cast sideways revealed the golden form of the other and Pukei rolled to her stomach with a start, not particularly embarrassed at being caught rolling around like a pup – just surprised by his quiet presence. She remembered the dark stranger who had watched her fishing in a similar way; was this just the weird custom of greeting of the wolves here that she was not privy to?

"Hiya!" she calls out, only then noticing the awful mark marring half his face. Her stomach turns slightly, the impulse to blurt out what happened to your face?? catching in her throat. Don't be rude.

Instead, Pukei waves her tail, motioning beside her with a toss of her muzzle. "Don't be shy, come over! I don't bite! Unless you do, in which case maybe you can stay over there, yeah?"

Shit. He doesn't know how to respond. What is it that one usually says upon meeting a stranger? How's it going, a cursory remark on the weather, maybe, have you seen any prey nearby and hasn't it been cold as hell recently? 

Gavrel's mouth opens. It closes. It opens again. There's a little something in your fur, yes, that's what he'll say. Something charming and harmless.

Your fur's all fucked up.

Almost immediately, his face pales with horror. This always happens; his words barrel through whatever paltry filter he attempts to set up, and he, the incompetent sheepdog, the corraller of absolutely nothing, can only watch.

I don't bite, he tries to amend, fails miserably.

He approaches, scuffing his heels against the dirt, not wanting to seem too excited at the prospect of social interaction -- though the lashing of his tail betrays him.

His response caused her ears to flip up in surprise as if she wasn't sure what she had heard at first was correct. Well, that was a bit brash. Thankfully, despite the man's distress at the comment that had slid unexpectedly from his mouth, Pukei was not the sort to be offended easily. She laughed, before rolling onto her side and wiggling against the earth once more in an effort to make his statement even more true. "Oh, it is? I hadn't noticed!"

She then paused, angling her head to peer at his upside down form through the grass. She was tempted to tease him back with a jab at his own fucked up face but decided against it, in case the stranger was still sensitive about such a scar and did indeed bite. Pukei didn't want to be chased away from the field just yet.

However, he assured her he was of the non-bitey sort and moved forward, though stopped short several paces. She waved her tail in tandem with his own, hoping to ease his nerves. "You got a name, mister?"

It takes a moment for it to register, being called mister. Truth was, he still felt like a yearling, often times even lesser. Truth was that he was stunted and the world had seen fit to pass him by. With every passing day the tide rose; Gavrel loitered at a sandbar, stranded on a surly island of his own making. He is just able to manage a wan smile at her retort.

Gavrel, he supplies, tilting his head so that her face is almost right side up. Gav, if you like.

When was the last time he said his name aloud?

What's yours? He rights himself, pads a few steps closer. The grass tickles his belly, and he represses a shiver. Are you like... a medic?

As the stranger – Gavrel – introduces himself and steps closer, Pukei rolls back onto her stomach, remaining relaxed to try and appear non-threatening to the slightly apprehensive man. "Nice ta' meetcha', Gav!" she beams. "You can call me Pukei!"

At this she reaches up a hind leg to brush off some grass from her neck, adding with a laugh, "and n'aw, just a fan of flowers!" Although the idea of becoming a medic had crossed her mind once or twice, the realisation of having to actually memorise what each herb did and not just admire it's prettiness had her hesitate. And then she'd have to responsible for someone's life? Nuts to that.

"Why? Are you looking for one?" Sudden concern softens her voice from it's previous light-hearted tone, eyes roving Gavrel's tall form for any sign of injury – well, recent injury.

Pukei, he affirms, warming up to her company. Oh, I assumed, 'cause of the flowers and all... His voice trails off as it always does when he is prompted to explain himself, but thankfully she asks him a question he can cling onto.

What, for this? he asks, screwing one eye -- the scarred eye -- shut. It took a comical amount of effort to open and close the eyelid, thick and uncooperative with scar tissue. Half of his vision was like footage retrieved from degraded film, at best some jittery, Brownian approximation of the world.

My sister used to put chewed up mint leaves on it, when the itchiness got bad. As the words leave his mouth, he is wondering why he is divulging this to a virtual stranger. Her bright face and mussed hair puts him at ease and makes him feel shockingly normal. He doesn't remember the last time he had a conversation like this, something rambling but not unpleasant. But I don't see mint here...

...not that I—I know anything. I'd end up killing myself if I tried to do anything with herbs.

Beneath her watchful eyes, he can't help but square his shoulders.

Thankfully, it seemed he wasn't in search of a medic – Pukei's knowledge on healing was woeful and she wouldn't have the faintest clue on where to begin asking around if he did need one. Her nose wiggles as she tests his scent, wondering if he had come from a pack but finds herself unable to pin down any one smell that is stronger than the others. So he was a loner like herself?

As he draws attention to his scarred over eye by winking – or what she supposed was an attempt at a wink – the girl winces sympathetically, suddenly grateful she had no such disfiguration and wondering what had caused it. Frostbite? A bear attack? Prying questions danced on her tongue but she holds back.

She listens intently instead to his explanation, before letting out a round of laughter at the awkward confession that follows. "Ah, don't be so hard on yourself, Gav!" she says, ever the optimist. "You remembered what to do about it when it itches, yeah?" She stands then, humming thoughtfully. "And it'd be pretty hard to overdose on mint." Right? Maybe she'd ask the man's sister if she ever met her.

"Anyway, surely there's plenty of herbs around here!" she continues on a ramble, glancing over the fields before turning back to her company. "Maybe we can find something else that could help!"

He doesn't expect such a flood of relief to surge through him as she breaks out into laughter; it makes him feel like he has passed some sort of test. It speaks to the social coding doubtless inside all wolves, woven into the warp and weft of biology and mythology alike.

Anyways, it doesn't feel so bad to hear his name spoken by someone else. His ears flick back, venting some of her infectious energy.

Maybe you'll find a new kind of flower, he muses, half-serious. You could call it... Pukei-lyptus.

Or, he says, with his nose to the grass, get this: a Pukei of flowers.

His voice is dryer than snakeskin, but a sure smile slants his mouth. He looks up and back at her as if to ask, eh? was that anything? before he sets his attention to the ground again, though all the blossoms might as well have been skunkweed to him.

The unexpected puns coupled with a flat tone which didn't quite match his words had Pukei release a round of laughter into the air. She was grateful that he seemed to be warming to her company; even enough for a wisecrack or two – terrible as they were. "Hey, the man's got jokes!" she shoots back in response to his imploring smirk. The laughter dies down into barely contained giggles as her tail wags enthusiastically behind her.

She follows his lead then, nose brushing the ground as she gently tilts over the bud of a new growth, wondering what colours would erupt when it finally bloomed. "Imagine that, getting to name a flower after yourself," she ponders to herself, quietly delighted by the prospect.

"And what would you name your own discovery, Gav?" she questions after a moment, brow crinkling as the cogs slowly turn in her head. "Lav...Gav...ender? Gavrelrod?" Hm, her own puns needed far more work than his own.

Thank you for the lovely thread. Mild powerplay here -- let me know if this isn't okay and I will edit accordingly. If it's fine, feel free to reply once more/archive. Thanks again, Pukei is so cute!

Pukei deserves more credit than she gives herself. As far as he is concerned, Gavender is fucking genius.

Gavrelrod, he exclaims wryly. What a lovely way with words.

Eventually, they do find their patch of mint. He takes a mouthful of the furry leaves to chew up into a poultice, but something amusing she says makes him swallow the stringent bolus.

His eyes bulge. She laughs and laughs, and as soon as he stops spluttering and choking, he joins her until his stomach hurts and he is thoroughly out of breath.

No worries at all, I'll archive here! And thanks too, this was such a fun, sweet thread <3

The jokes continue as their search does, eventually cumulating in an unfortunately timed comment that leads to Gavrel choking on what they had been so hard at work looking for. Another round of laughter, and many apologies later and after ensuring the man was okay, they finally parted ways, with Pukei hoping she'd run into Gav again one day.