Kildeer Rest propaganda you should fall for

she is swift, burning, upon silvered legs.

the field is soft and open, full of tiny heartbeats buried in their safe little holes, and she passes through them without hunger, without hurry, just a quiet wanderer letting the land wash around her.

as a hare bursts out ahead, bouncing above soft snow fall, ravah only flicks an ear, drifting pass with little interest. her belly is full, and she has never been in the habit of hunting game unless needed.

only when needed.

the wind tugs at her fur in small, wandering pulls, carrying the clean scent of snow melt and cedar, a twinge of lavender. her eyes stay half-lidded, watchful but unburdened, tracing the long sweep of grass ahead where the land rolls gentle and pale.

she does not know where she goes. only that the future calls to her in the shape of birdsong and lulling hushes.

stealing this if that's ok with you? <33

Barrett moved northbound from Great Sky's valley; the newest initiate, wandering from his pelt-lined den, as if savouring the exploration that called him before finalising his loyalty to the people—or, the wolves—that Sega led. Scouting, he would call it. Patrolling. But in truth, he wanted to breath in the cold, fresh air. Winter was approaching, and for this, he was grateful.
Perhaps, on some instinctual level, he anticipated easy hunting, territory claiming, and... the onslaught of brood from any surrounding packs—and, maybe their own. Sega had spoken about 'finding him a wife', and though it had prickled uncertainty in the back of his neck, there was something about it that he wanted, yearned for, almost, in the strangest of ways. But, nonetheless, he shook the thought from his mind.
All this to say, his mind was occupied, quite visibly so, from the way his brows drew together, the huff of air from his nose as he went. He had hardly realised the stranger in the distance, only pausing when the wind carried forth the scent of another, and yet, a scent so familiar. Barrett looked up, almost expecting to see the large form of Sega, but, no, this was another. A girl, closer in age to himself than the aforementioned band-chief. Moving across the plains with a dancers' grace, airy in her pace and tapered in her build. He paused, for a moment, studying her carefully.
He let out a chuff, low, announcing his presence to the girl before he spoke.

Howdy there, he called to her. Curiously, he asked: You from 'round here, stranger? A slight humour in his rugged, southern tone.

much like a young doe, the graceful woman pauses in her trailing. her neck rising, and upon that slender neck, her face; beautiful, soft. silvered eyes like the moon paling upon the robust form of a darker male.

she turns her head just enough to see him, snow-glow catching along the ridge of her face.

then the doe steps closer, light and unpressed, lifting her head slightly so he can see her properly. not from here, her voice carries. it is a strong lilt, the same ute-flavor carried upon those voices belonging to those dear childhood friends she searched for.

@Ayovi, who's scent had died out farther back. much to ravah's dismay, and then @Sega. handsome, kind covah. and if ravah cared enough yet to investigate the scent of the southern-voiced stranger, she might smell him upon—but not yet.

she looks with narrowing eyes. looking to the faint imprint of his steps already fading where frost creeps in again.

i pass through.

She moved like an elk-mother, returning to the fawn in which she hid within thickets. Thin, though plush with a thick, wintery pelt. And so he found himself curious of her—curious of this woman, ever so clearly opposite of the outlaw that stood just a few ways before her. She revealed herself as not being from here, and now it was not only her scent, but the way in which her voice danced towards him that reminded him so clearly of Sega.
Passin' through, he echoed back to her. Ya got a name, stranger? Carrying himself a few steps closer, though, still, mindful, respectful of the space in which she ought to be granted. Bowed his head a little lower, as to not be imposing. For though he was a brute of muscle and density, he was not completely brainless—however often his attempts at appearing friendly were rather taken as condescending, instead. Still, he would try regardless, for there was something of her that he found himself looking to investigate.
Something so... familiar.

this man, this stranger man, comes closer. and by all that ravah knows, she should turn her nose up at him, snarl and send him away from her. she is a fair woman, of her people. strangers?

she was intolerant of them. or, always had been.

but here, there were no people. no one of the big sky. the ute did not roam, for her family bonds had been destroyed seasons ago. with it, her home. so, here, yes, she searched for those who had scattered. the ones she knew lived.

but this stranger man is respectful, allowing her breadth and that large, gruff head of his slips down into a calm bow. ravah recognizes it, those silver eyes of hers softening—if only a little—and she huffs. cold, visible air blowing from nostrils ringed by wet.

she has never been treated like this, not even by those she loved, and it shows in the small, uncertain tilt of her ears as she studies him.

i have name, ravah says quietly, before taking an approaching step. ravah. she meets him in the middle, while her eyes roam upon him. assessing his strong shoulders, his thick flank. the heavy fur which is warm and dark like the earth itself, and bronze eyes that watch her... studying.

she laughs, airy. you look? she questions. why do—

and it is then she can smell it on him. in this close proximity, the lingering of him. and ravah gawks upon barrett now with wide eyes and a startled disposition, hackles bristling ever so slight. covah... her soft voice darkens. with a sudden stride, she eliminates any and all distance between her and this southern-talking man.

where—... he? breathless, frazzled.

To reiterate once more, Barrett was not the smartest man. He could run, fight, hunt. Could learn, and love, and protect. Wasn't great with his words, but tried all the same. He was not a leader, not good with planning, or making decisions that really meant something. But he could read body language. See it in the woman before him: the way in which something inside of her flickered at his mannerisms. See the way she was invited in, drawing a step forwards.
And it was this small moment that he would allow to inflate his ego, just the slightest bit. A soft smirk rose upon his face. Ravah, she said, and he nodded. Offered his own in return, while her eyes smoothed over his pelt. Pleasure ta meet ya, miss. Callahan, myself, came southern rumble. Gravelly and low. But after he spoke, he listened. Listened rather intently, at that, at the words she begun to say, but paused, as if interrupted by something inaudible. He drew his brows together, confusion washing over him.
Just as quickly did she pull forwards once more, however, this time, she was hardly a breath away from him. Shocked, she seemed to be. Confused, as well. Questioning. I don't know a Covah, miss, he apologised. But, I know a Sega, Chief'a Great Sky, if that, er, sound any familiar? For he knew, now, that there was something that linked them. Their scents, their voices, the way in which they carried themselves. It was similar in a way that he could finally identify. In a way that, if he were to be right, would almost certainly go to his fat head. Ah, just as Sega had warned.

she deflates at the rejection. at the knowledge:

no covah.

but—his scent is strong, here. closest to callahan's shoulder, where perhaps they had brushed. not just once, but in multiple gatherings. and ravah is no fool, no!

so she slinks off, trust sinking away from her like the collapse of a dam. a flood raging, and the woman's lips curl in bitter agitation. does he lie to her? he must be. you smell. she says. stink, of—... her frustration mounts.

covah. she manages, exasperated. great sky? she questions. big sky. then, there, the dots connect. and she sniffles in the cold weather, paws moving swift through snow as she ushers the man.

take me. she demands. to this sega.

She moved away, first, quite clearly bristling. But he would not chase. Instead, lets her connect her own dots. For Barrett came to realise that his Chief, too, was a man of many names, just like himself, and at this, he stifled a humorous scoff. She speeds back towards him, making her demands known: to be taken to the valley of Great Sky.
Yer wish is mah command, princess, he bowed his head down towards her, smile upon his jaw. Turned southwards, toward the valley, and gave a flick of his tail. A silent invitation for her to join him in stride. This Covah—he big? Sandy coloured, bitta grey on'is back? Wanted to confirm while he could. Sooner, rather than later. Speak kinda like yerself, yeah?
His tone was less so interrogating as it was curious. Wanted to make sure he was taking the right lady to the right man, which he was sure, in his mind, that she would understand. Didn't want to bring a threat to the valley. Didn't want to make a fool of himself. But, even if she answered correctly, even if she confirmed that it was Sega that she was looking for, how was he to know either way? Slight uncertainty, though invisible, prickled through him.
Still, it was a risk that he was willing to take.

ravah nearly snaps when he calls her princess, a flash of old instinct rising sharp in her chest, but the sound dies unmade in her throat. he does not mean to be inflammatory, and it is only his his way speaking.

but it does not keep the nervous bile from rising up the back of the silver woman's throat, the apprehension; the hesitation to trust, and the grim thoughts that begin to take root deep within her mind.

she huffs, tail giving the smallest, irritated flick, though her paws follow when he turns east. her stride slots beside his larger lumbering, moving with the slender gait of a huntress. pushing through the beginnings of ankle deep snow, raising her chin to look ahead of them.

ravah’s ears rise when he begins to perfectly pain the picture of the boy she remembers. the tension rocking along her spine melts into a trembling, hopeful line. yes, her reply comes fast and breathless with mounting anticipation. a melting pot of many emotions. yes. that him. covah. ravah breathes.

sega.

the woman trots a half-step ahead of callahan as if she might pull the valley toward her with sheer will. snow kicks up around her ankles in soft bursts. he alive, it is a soft, feather-light murmur, directed more to herself than any other. band chief. there comes a more excited huff.

it is good to know her friend has done good for himself. and that he has not forgotten the truth of their people.

She moves quickly beside him, matching his longer, heavier strides with her own smaller, swifter ones, quite clearly experienced in the move of the hunt. Barrett thinks to appreciate this, but does not comment on it just yet.
Covah. She said it again. Perhaps the birthname of the man he knew. Something of the outlaw felt that he shouldn't know it; that the chief was Sega, and just Sega, and that he knew a part of his past unfairly. Like he had cheated at something, and such made him somewhat uncomfortable in knowing.
Ravah stepped ahead, as though she could bring the valley to her with just a few pawsteps. It ain't a long walk, he told her, smiling. We'll be there rather soon, n' you can find yer Covah. Swayed his tail.
And so still he led, headed south towards the valley. Wondered if this would prove that he was useful, or even, prove his loyalty. A curious thought.

feel free to fade with your next reply or just archive here! i'll get another thread up with them @ the valley if you'd like? <3