Firestone Hot Springs and our throats were bare for god

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The sun has just begun it’s descent into the sky, painting it a myriad of colors in it’s defiance. Valtamr draws in a deep breath, upper lip lifting over a sharp canine at the sulfuric scent that hangs heavy in the air around the springs. The stench remains awful but he believes — or rather is ridiculously hopeful — that he has begun to become desensitized to it. As the days continue to grow warmer the limp in his left, hind leg smooths out, the ache of the old, grievous wound soothes and grows dull. An echo to the spikes he endures in the colder months. It is not so bad now but the cold is not entirely gone and even so the damp seeps into the wound and even if he could mask the limp the grotesque scar that begins at his hip runs down his leg and tapers off his hock is and always will be tell-tale. The air of the springs is heavy with moisture, a permanent damp that curls the longer tendrils of his fur at the nape of his neck and along his cape; yet, he is instinctively drawn to them all the same. He submerges one paw into the steaming water and then another and the rest follow. A low groan escapes Valtamr’s muzzle and he closes eyes of ardent red as the heat seeps into his ruined flesh, a low shiver rippling down his spine as the warmth seeps into the marrow of his bones. It feels heavenly and slowly he sinks into the shallow pool of water, lowering himself to his haunches and then slipping further into a sphinx-like position so that all but his neck and head are submerged in the steaming water. It is not cold and he is not chilled but the water is a miracle on his old battle wound.

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me me ?

she left the coast, traveling forward still-- further than she'd ever been. her travels had always been to the west, and now her paws led her east. her fur was more disheveled that she'd had liked it to be, but slowly the pale sylph began to keep up with herself again. no longer was she dusted with dirt and debre that she didn't bother to clean-- she was white and luminous again. the scout-- dare she call herself once more-- came across a sight, one she was a bit surprised to see. hot springs, something she herself hadn't seen in ages. it smelled a bit funky, she'd admit, but one toe dip in and the smell was ignored. her tail wagged a bit, enthralled with the warmth, though she was forced to pause when she noticed that the small pile of rocks in this particular pool was actually a wolf.

her nose twitched, but the pearl was only able to smell the springs themselves-- his scent completely disguised. cautious, she took a few steps into the water, it's warmth welcoming and much needed-- her legs ached from her travels-- but her eyes remained solely on the stranger, not willing to risk her life for a few minutes in the water.

thank you for joining! ♥

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The (ex)legionnaire peeks an candescent, ardent red eye open at the sound of approach. A pale sylph appears through the steam as if little more than a lovely mirage. For a brief moment, he thinks that she is but her form appears corporeal as she moves closer diminishing the distance between herself and the pool he relaxes in. An old habit disallows him from pretending like she is not there — too many years of militaristic habits drilled into his head as both a growing boy and a training hersveit; however, he does not rise from his pool, does not regard her with hostility confident that she is hardly aware of his presence. At first. The dull ache in his hind leg has faded, soothed by the warmth of the water and his tendency to favor his right leg habitually (though he regularly forces the issue with his left leg lest the muscle begins to degrade due to disuse) but he doubts very much he will be able to rise and strike with the swiftness of a cobra as he once had. His days of fighting as a young man — and a robust man are long over. He is healthy but the limp presents complications and he knows it is a disadvantage with the uncertainty of the fact that knowledge beats brute force and youth. Whether she has brute force or not is unknown to Valtamr but she certainly has youth.

Ears perk and cup forth atop his skull as she notices him and her demeanor subtly shifts to once much more cautious but she does not flee. Instead, to his immense curiosity, she takes a few steps deeper into the pool, watching him he notes as he watches her. He does not move. Not to chase her out and not to depart himself. He is not opposed to sharing as long as she isn’t. “Hello,” He offers her in way of greeting.

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he does not strike, does not attempt. aria is not a fighter, but her anxiety has made her a keen observer, and she does not see his limbs flex or his body twitch forward. he lies still, shpynx-like and almost regal, and aria allows herself to moved deeper into the pool. it is not until he completely acknowledges her-- with a calm, simple greeting-- that aria relaxes fully into the water. she does not respond right away, instead settling in and allowing the warmth of the water to gage her full attention-- it's sensation much needed. but, once she's situated, her pale gaze gives a half blink through the heat that radiates from the water, focusing on him curiously. "hello," she repeats with a small dip of her head. her chin grazes the pool, rising to release a few water droplets back into the water. then she is still.

"have you been traveling?" she asks, wondering if he entered the pools for the same reason she did.

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Valtamr is struck with the realization that he cannot actively recall the last time he has been in the company of another and there is a ghost of a frown tugging at the edges of his lips but it smooths out before it can fully take shape. He does not wish her to think he disapproves of her company for he does not. He does not perceive her as a threat and thus she is welcomed to relax in the wolf jacuzzi hot spring pool with him. The reality of the situation is, anyway, that she has just as much right to it as he does. The hot springs are a neutral territory and he did not realize how utterly starved for conversation he was until he made the decision to breach the silence with a verbal greeting. She returns it after a few moments and his attention drifts back to her — for it has drifted to the steam rising off the adjacent pools within his view — as she poses her question aloud for him. “Yes,” He replies with a small roll of his shoulders, stretching beneath the water to loosen his muscles. “The warm water soothes my left, hind leg.” A much younger Valtamr would have visibly winced and sputtered at revealing his physical disadvantage so openly to a stranger but older Valtamr only seeks to use his honesty as an olive branch. She would see the ruined flesh eventually, if she does not depart before him, that is. It isn’t as if he can exactly conceal it. It is ugly and the fur has never regrown to cover it. Perhaps, even, she could see it through the water — Valtamr does not know. He has fallen victim to age, to strife and to the wounds of war. It happens to all, eventually. “What of you? Have you been traveling also?” Valtamr asked conversationally though without obligation.

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he stretches, disturbing the water around him. it ripples, distorting the clearness of the spring and therefore enabling aria from seeing the leg he mentioned was wounded. her nose twitched, curiosity tugging at her tongue, but she did not ask about his injuries-- not yet. she herself has a wound on her shoulder, that perhaps he could see, and though it does not pain her-- the story does. perhaps his story is similar, and she doesn't wish to be the stranger that pries. "from the west," she replied with a perk of her ears. she doesn't know how familiar he is with the land, if saying 'moonspear' would ring any bells. if he asked, she'd share, but direction was sometimes enough of an answer. "this is a nice break," she adds, a small smile tracing her lips.

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The water stills as she is settled and as his muscles relax once more to a stillness that represents the stone she has (unknowingly to him) first mistaken him as. It is only the movement of his ardent gaze that keeps him from becoming a grizzled statue. It remains fixated upon her, less out of caution now and more for politeness as she provides him with a response that is partially specific and partially vague. Valtamr is a foreigner in these lands and knows not what lies to the west of the hot springs. The neutral territories blur together to him — it is only the packs that remain flagged in his memory but this is only so he can use aversion tactics. He does not feel the need to push himself into making any sort of hasty decision and does not currently actively seek any pack out. Not that he harbors any knowledge of them anyway beyond their existence — and that is only the two he actively avoided as he made his way here. “Mhm,” He agrees in a low, throaty hum that concurs to her words. The damp is humid and heavy, and the smell is unfavorable but the pools are worth all of those things. “I’m Valtamr,” He offers her his name realizing that he has yet to do it. Perhaps their whole conversation could have gone without it but he feels the impulse to offer it regardless. “Val for short, if you prefer.” The small grin he offers the lovely stranger holds a wisp of his cheeky nature beneath the enforcer, militaristic exterior.

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val, she repeats to herself, though she rather liked valtamr better. she was never a fan of nicknames, entire names were so much more important to her. "aria january," she replied, her tail swishing beneath the waters surface. january felt more purposeful than it had weeks ago, and it felt nice to feel a sense of purpose-- even if it was just in her name. she wonders if there is anything else she can reveal casually in conversation, but she is a loner. she has no rank or pack or real family to share with her new acquaintance-- it is only her name that defines her.

"where are you headed, valtamr?" she asked instead, pale crown tilting to the side. her ears cup forward to receive his answer, wondering if he had a reason for traveling. she had no real destination. floki and constantine were her destination. they were not where she had guessed they might be--donnelaith and stavanger bay-- and so she was back to wandering, searching for leads.

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Valtamr tucks her name away as she offers it in return. Aria January. Last names had never been very important to the caravan and until he rose from legionnaire to king had he even been given one. þyrnirstjórn — thorn ruler. It is lengthy and though it will flow easily off of his tongue, used as it was to making those sounds he does not bother offering it to her. He does not doubt that it will mean little to nothing to her and thus he sees no use in it; besides, he thinks, it is more decoration than anything that defines him. “I don’t know,” Valtamr replies honestly to her question with a roll of his shoulders in a shrug. He is a vagabond and he has no destination though this is less because of his need to strategize and plan and more because he is a foreigner to these lands and is not sure where to look, or even what he is looking for. He didn’t know enough about these Wilds to be able to have a destination in his mind. “I don’t have a destination.” Valtamr concludes, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls. “What about you Miss Aria,” He is so used to titles, to formalities and pleasantries that “miss” slips off of his tongue like melted butter and wholly of the subconscious. He has not realized he even said it at all as he continues on with “where are you headed?” She does not have to tell him, of course but he returns the question out of curiosity and courtesy. He is open with her but he does not expect her to hold to the same level of honesty for they are still strangers and he understands any caution she may harbor for him.

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it seemed that wherever he was headed just about lined up with hers-- meaning she too was headed nowhere. she nodded, trying to remember what wolf she'd known in the past had always called her miss, drawing a blank. it wasn't important anyway, she decided, and merely gave valtamr a small smile in response. when he turned the question back to her, she shrugged and watched the ripples roll away from her and fan out into the water. eventually, they settled and she found herself looking back into her own, luminous gaze. she looked back up.

"i couldn't tell you either," she shared with that same half-smile still smeared across her lips, her brows twitching inwards. "originally, the coast, but now i'm here-- so i suppose i'm just wandering." someone would turn up, she decided, if she would just wander. whether it be constantine or floki or casmir or even deirdre-- or someone else from her past. someone would turn up if she walked for long enough.