Duck Lake Waiting on this for a while now

The golden woman was still, watching with interested eyes the lake before her. It was truly beautiful; deep, clear blue, however, filled with ducks. The cacophony was quite disturbing, the beauty somewhat tarnished by this. But as she sat, they quieted, seemingly becoming more at ease in her presence. To Maplewood, is where the other had told her he would meet her again. She had no notion of whether or not she could trust him, but she would go all the same. It would do to a start of exploring these lands, if nothing else, she decided. 

But for now, she would rest a while by this lake. It certainly was a well-suited place for resting, as the quaking aspens led shade and cover to the female, and prey ran abound. She settled onto her haunches, watching the lake in silence, thoughts only half on the view, rest elsewhere, schemeing, thinking.

He did not know where he was, nor did he have an interest in finding out. His life now was meaningless; he had no orders, no missions, no brother. He knew nothing beyond that. The ghost's knowledge of normal pack life was second to none, and he had no one to guide him. All that he had known was gone. Masterless, missionless, brotherless, he was a wandering soul, a lost one, if you may, travelling for an eternity but not knowing what he wanted, not knowing where he wished to go. Without a purpose, the albino was nothing.

The scent of another wolf wafted by his nose. Once upon a time, when Icarus was still a assassin, he would've avoided said wolf immediately, but now, he feared nothing, perhaps because, in a way, he feared everything. So the red-eyed ghost glided forwards to the lake, his movements silent and dipped his head, lapping at the clear water, his tongue licking the last droplets off his whiskers as he straightened and fixed his blood red gaze on the stranger.

The peace of the morning was broken, not by her, but by another walking by her line of sight. A male strode to the lake edge, pelt a pure, untouched white. Her stormy gaze lingered on it a moment longer then she should have, interested by the flawless colour. While he drank, she drew herself up to a seating position, reclining on her haunches. Then his gaze turned to hers, and her interest only grew. Two orbs of blood red gleamed out of his chiseled head, meaning one thing. He was a lefkitis, an albino. 

They were rare, very rare, in her homeland, the birth of one, while often rejected in many of the superstitious packs, was celebrated in her own. She pushed such thoughts away as she dipped her head in greeting. "Hey. Who're you?" blunt, even. She was interested in his identity, his appearance and his purpose for being here.

He felt her gaze lingering on his pelt, but forced himself to not seem outwardly affected by it and calmly lifted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly when she pulled herself into a seating position, her eyes meeting his. Icarus did not speak, but stared until she opened her maw and uttered some words. He tilted his head then, his eyes wandering briefly as he contemplated how to answer her particular, blunty spoken question.

"Hey," Icarus said back, almost as if mirroring her words and the way she spoke before lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Who do you want me to be?" he spoke quietly, but there was no sense of mirth or sarcasm in his tone — he was completely and utterly serious.