Meadowlark Prairie to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own

He does not join the pack, per se. It is only thanks to Miraak's presence that he survives the Dark Brotherhood's protective wrath, and he is grateful for the patronage. He is still adjusting to the new land now, the Wilds, just as the land was undergoing an adjustment of himself. Mal' is tentative to leave the Woods. He is no warrior such as Miraak, despite his brief training. His body is far from frail, but he is slender, coddled for most of his life. The mission was a test for him, a reason for him to grown and expand rather than stagnant at home.

To say that he was annoyed in the beginning, he slowly grows used to life out there on the road. But it is still a great undertaking for the catamite. Used to being combed through and perfumed, to being fed and escorted, he faces the prairie with equal trepidation and excitement, his breath catching as he looked back at the Woods, the familiar scent of Miraak wafting towards him, before he turned back towards the powerful scent of the blooming prairie. 

Audentes Fortuna iuvat, He murmurs to himself with a roll of his eyes, before stepping forward into the greenery, his slowly callousing paws greeting the springy new grass, as he ventured into the prairie, sniffing the ground for any sweet-smelling flowers to roll in. He bore the earthy smell of the road for too long, and if he was to fulfill his purpose here, he would not succeed. With his standards, at least.

Malcanthet finds little in the way of blossoming flowers to is annoyance, but he finds something else: a male. Mal' looks up from his flower hunt at the creature of soot and ash that floated across the prairie in a menacing cloud, headed by golden headlights. The courtesan chuffed at the man, his tail swinging though he was quite disappointed with his current appearance. He would have to make do, he supposed, if he wanted anything done.