Hushed Willows there's a syncopated beat

As ever, the coywolf moved through the territory as if he were up to something, an all-over slinking expression not just on his narrow face, but in the rangy lines of his body as well. He might've been called sneaky — except that the game hen he carried in his snipey jaws was still squawking, one wing free and beating against his nose.

If this bothered him, he didn't show it. He seemed not to notice the ruckus at all, and he carried on at a steady clip in the direct of Reverie's den.

hello come play with me

A squawking sounded outside Reina’s den, the haze of the sun beaming in through the mouth blocking her view as her eyes squinted open, her nap ending abruptly. She had found herself fatigued as of late, mostly due to the stress of travel, and maybe a little to do with the two children she housed. It was a task she had always wanted, to care for something other than herself, but she hadn’t quite realized what that meant.

Until now, her bones tired and eyes heavy lidded, she wished nothing more to return to her nap. But, try as she might, it was to no avail—especially when the squawking just wouldn’t stop! With a long drawn yawn, she stood and stretched deeply, giving herself a quick shake before emerging from her home.

Azure eyes found the source of noise clutched in the jaws of Dusty Rose, a Hearthwood member whom she wasn’t really acquainted with yet. She continued to watch him trotting along with the hen smacking him in the face. It caused her to release a chuckle for the sight was purely comical.

She called out to him, a smirk in his direction. “A nice little prize you have there, though it still seems to be fighting back.”

The coywolf's sail-like ears were ever on the move. One twisted toward the sound of a yawn as he skirted the territory of another of Reverie's followers, but the rest of him did not acknowledge her until she addressed him directly.

He paused, turning his dark blue gaze on the wolf. Like her, his knowledge of the woman was limited to her name — Reina — and to some vague notion of her place within the pack's hierarchy. She was close to Reverie, but she was not blood. That made them equals in his mind. This was not his preference.

Dusty Rose lifted a paw to scrap at his muzzle, releasing the bird from his jaws only to pin it just as swiftly to the dirt. He licked blood from his lips; it would clearly never fly again, but it still struggled weakly to escape.

"It ain't gonna be much fun for them if it don't have any rabbit left in it," he replied, still taking in the sleep-mussed state of her, and the lofty amusement writ across her face. "Kids need somethin' with a lil bit of kick, y'know?"

He had fond memories of live prey being dropped in front of him and his siblings. There was still a scar on Laredo's face from a resultant scuffle.

He had turned to her then, offering up the tidbit that the hen was for Reverie’s children. “Ah, smart move. I’m sure the babes—especially Fox—are going to really enjoy their new toy.” 

She had moved towards him while she spoke, getting a better look at the younger coy-wolf. His eyes were similar to hers, though they sparkled with way more mischief than she could ever muster. His pelt was surely true to his name, gray-coated with a reddish tint to the browns, easily seen in the overhead sun.

He was adorable.

“You’ve been here in the Willows for some time, yes? I’m sorry we haven’t really been able to connect before now. I hope you’ve been enjoying it here?” She made to accompany him on his journey to deliver the hen, but stopped, unsure if it was something he wanted.

His expression remained impassive while she approached, though his brows lofted briefly at the word toy, and then again at what sounded like a name. Fox. It was a little more personal than he would've liked. Singling one out of the bunch at all seemed like a bad idea — but wolves were always doing strange things.

"A lil while, yeah," he agreed, finding that he could not accurately count the months he'd been among them. He knew that Reina had been there already, though. She tended to be in the thick of things — something he'd noticed when the band of healers had paid them a visit.

The bird continued its struggle under his paw. Dusty Rose ignored it, his attention focused on the wolf before him.

"I don't tend to connect much, anyway," he replied, excusing the lack of time they'd spent together. One wolf was usually as good as another for him. He'd taken a special liking to a few along the way, of course. He thought that he might as well count Reverie among them, at this point. But he'd learned to keep his distance from other wolves. Now in his third year, he'd lost much of his youthful optimism. He'd been scorned too many times for his mixed heritage, and he was wary even now in the face of Reina's friendly words. "But yeah. I've enjoyed it. Sure. It beats slummin' it on my own."

I don’t tend to connect much, anyway.

What a rather lonely life, she thought. The healer couldn’t deny that she had felt much the same way during the days where she traveled from her home and into the Wilds. Then, by happenstance, she ran into Reverie and the rest was history. The Hushed Willows changed her for the better.

“I’m happy that you’re here and enjoying yourself. And, thank you for thinking of the babes—it surely does take a pack to raise young ones.” She smiled at him. There had been coyotes and wolves who would mingle together in Rhodesia, their young being mixes of both, much like the male before her. Many were a part of her pack and she considered them much the same to her as would a full-blooded wolf. There were no differences in her eyes.

Though he seemed rather indifferent towards her, she stayed put. There would be another time to see Reverie and the babies, but she left this time for the coywolf. “It was nice to finally meet you, but I’m afraid I’m keeping you from your task.”

Dusty bobbed his head, acknowledging Reina's praise. Privately, he was of the opinion that it didn't take a pack. Not really. He'd grown up with older siblings, of course, but those earlier litters? His parents had raised them in seclusion. Dusty Rose was half tempted to mention this, because he was proud of the rawboned and vicious stock he came from, and he was sorta proud of Reverie, too — to be associated with her at all, he supposed, precisely because she didn't need him.

It was just that there was something to be said for job security, and Dusty Rose was nothing if not pragmatic.

"Just doing my part, ma'am," he said, upbeat and sincere. His bottlebrush tail wheeled with manufactured enthusiasm that he very quickly bought into himself — after all, what wasn't there to be happy about? "Why don't you come with me?" he suggested, deciding that a chaperone wouldn't go amiss. Reverie trusted this woman, didn't she? Everyone would probably rest a little easier if he didn't see the kids without a witness — himself included.

He picked up the grouse and offered Reina a rakish grin around the feathers: Ladies first.

She had started to take her leave before Dusty Rose’s invitation and, truthfully, it surprised her that he had done so. Reina turned to him, then, an upturn to the corners of her lips, eyes twinkling with happiness that someone—beyond the Medeiros family—wanted her company. It was surely evident to many that she attached herself to them like a burr tangled in fur. 

Head bobbing once in acceptance, she was grateful to the coywolf as she stepped in line with him. The pack had undergone much in its short life as leadership has changed, members have come and gone, rogue attacks, death, birth. Because Reina was in the thick of it all, she found it hard to connect with others outside of the constant that was the Medeiros family, but she jumped at this opportunity, grasping it tightly. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that Reverie found me upside down in one of the willow trees on our borders when we first met?” Her head shook at the memory. “You could say I got a little wrapped up.”  

If she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, Dusty Rose might have understood a little about her woes. Not that he was in the thick of anything — it was just that he was accustomed to being an integral part of his group. He'd only been part of one, and they'd lived on top of each other and squished together under the moon each night. Thousands of miles of desert, and they'd stuck to each other like glue. He didn't know how to function in a pack where wolves chose who to hang out with and when.

It was a lonely sort of feeling.

He shot Reina a quizzical look when she hinted at a story. As they reached the furthest he was willing to go on his own, he stopped and set his prize down once more.

"I guess I'd say I've got no choice but to believe you," he replied, his tone dubious. "If that's what you're gonna tell me, anyway."

“You don’t have to believe anything I say, really, you have that right, but I will say that I don’t make a habit of fibbing—especially to someone I have only just gotten to know and who is also one of my own. I think it goes against all that I am as a person of the arts in healing, too.” And really it goes against all that she is. Heart always on her sleeve, nothing to hide, much to her own dismay at times.

She looked upon him with an inquisitive look, friendly enough, as she spoke. “How did you come upon our neck of the woods? I haven’t seen many like yourself around here—though I can’t really say I’ve been outside these borders often enough to know, truthfully. Not after the attack…” Her words died there, not wanting to overload information on the poor soul. He didn’t really need to hear any of that.

Silently, she offered to take over carrying the animal if he wanted to speak, but she would settle for the stop and start while they conversed. Her coyote friend from home had difficulty handing over things she loved, or claimed was hers, and Reina knew an open offer and the promise of return worked, then. She wasn’t sure if it would work for the male now.

The coywolf's ears flew to the top of his head, which cocked just slightly as Reina hurried to assure him of her truthfulness. It was a little alarming, but he didn't get the sense that she was about to get snappy with him. "Alright, alright — easy, tiger. Just makin' conversation," he replied, trying not to be annoyed at being claimed as one of 'her own'.

Reluctantly, he allowed her to pick up the bird, murmuring a quiet thanks in return.

"There's plenty of my kind around," he told her, not loving the direction the conversation was going. "Not as many as there are wolves and coyotes — but the half-breeds are around. They tend to be shy, 'cause either side might wanna take a bite outta us, y'know? But they're around."

As for where he was from? Dusty Rose almost didn't feel it was worth mentioning, which was why he forced himself to go ahead and mention it, anyway. He felt small, and he wasn't about to let that lie.

"Me? I'm from the Red Desert," he told her, gazing warily around, lest one of the little punks sneak up on them. "It's a long ways from here. But there weren't all that many like me there, either."

He shot her a look, silently asking for her to be cool this time and take him in good faith.

"Where're you from?"

She noticed the alarm in him at her reassurance; what she had thought was lighthearted enough had clearly been lacking. It seemed that however her demeanor, it was not received how it was intended. Taking the bird in her mouth, she gave him a respectful nod to go ahead, but she did not continue their walk. Instead, she sat where she was, her ears swiveled in his direction as she listened.

He finished and she returned the bird to him. “I haven’t heard of the Red Desert, before. Admittedly, I’m a bit sheltered, I don’t know much of really anything beyond my home. It’s north, way above the Wilds—Rhodesia. Cold, but beautiful in its own right, I guess.” She missed the place her family had once lived, only for the fact they were there, but she had decided some time ago that she liked the Wilds much better. There was life here; a different kind of life that wasn’t bleak and dreary. And cold.

His eyes had looked around if waiting for something, or someone, and she had realized then that she kept him from what he had tasked himself to do, so returned to her feet to take her leave. “Thanks for letting me come along and chatting with me, but I must leave you here. I’m sure Reverie’s children will enjoy what you bring to them.” Her smile was genuine, warm, regardless of how he received it. She knew her truth and the truth was that she was glad to have more pack members, maybe more family, if he ever allowed. “I know you’ve been here a while already, but welcome to the Hushed Willows, Dusty Rose.” 

"I'm sure," Dusty Rose said in response to her, I guess. Every place was beautiful in its own way. He imagined the icy north to be much like a cold, white version of the Red Desert. He wondered if they had water hunts, there.

They came to the point where he could draw no closer. The coywolf was embarrassed to be relegated to the outskirts of the family's dwelling, even knowing it was right and proper and perfectly normal. Nothing else about the Medeiros family seemed right or proper or normal, so he could not help feeling a little wrong-footed when he toed the line.

"I'm sure," he said again of the squawking toy, still sorry to see it go.

And then!!! The audacity!!! The coywolf's ears pinged to the top of his head once more. His expression remained perfectly polite, but on the inside, he was seething. To be welcomed after so long felt like so pointed a dig it was difficult for him to turn the other cheek. So he didn't. He said,

"Welcome to you, too,"

In as pleasant a tone as he could manage. And, Dusty Rose, being the actor that he was, managed very well indeed. He smiled at her, then, his tail whisking at his hocks, and then turned to trot off back the way he'd come. Only when he'd passed out of her line of sight would he sigh and deflate.