Firestone Hot Springs And it's keeping me up at night, and it's keeping me up, oh

@Smokestep - story time!

Wraen was on her way to Sunspire - the day spent exploring in the flatlands had been fruitful. She had found and followed tracks left by deer, caught some smaller critters in the meadow and had stopped by the river, where she had hunted otters the previous winter. She did not see the animals themselves, but the tracks and remnants of fish told her that they have not moved anywhere.

There was a delay and by the time she reached the hotsprings, she realized that tonight she was not going to get home. And since this place seemed as good as any other to take a bit of rest, she settled down on one of the flat rocks that were warmed by the hot mist of water around and began to groom her paws.

The pirate’s hunt for the missing Ava had taken him further inland than he had dared to go previously. Smokestep had been so closely tied to the coast since his arrival that he had mostly forgotten about all the land that existed before the ocean and sandy shores. Of course, the missing girl’s scent was stale and had only been in that area for a short while. His coat bristled at the thought. There were other aromas that had fallen overtop of her scent – some passing through and others sticking around for a while – but he could still tell that she had been there and that she was alive. Once he returned home, he would confirm to his sister that the girl had left them, and it had been more than long enough for her to be given a chance to return; Ava was a deserter of the crew. She would be hunted down, as was the law of the pirates.
 
Another scent caught his attention. It had changed some; there were new aspects to her smell than there had been upon first meeting her. Smokestep trekked further into the springs before he caught sight of the female and a smile curled his dark lips upward. The pallid young Captain could not refrain from swinging his tail so wildly from side to side that his entire rear end seemed to shimmy. “Wraen!” he barked and trotted toward her.

Wraen froze, when she heard her name called out so far away from home and then seeing a white, tall wolf approaching her. Her last meeting with Charon was very vivid in her mind and, though she had praised herself at being brave that one time, she also did not have the guts to repeat the same scene again. That kind of courage needed time to refill. Therefore, until Smokestep came out in clear view, she remained lying down and watching the man with wary eyes. 

"Long time - no see, I guess," she replied to his greeting with a smile and getting up to her feet to have a good look and sniff of him. With the usual canine meet and greet rituals behind them, she retreated a little and sat down. "So, what brings you so far away from the coast? Sea-monster troubles? Running from some broken-hearted mermaids? I heard that they are not the forgiving kind." Wraen asked, recalling the topic of their previous conversation.

“Oi, I’ll say!”
 
The young pirate beamed at her with all the humility of a prize show dog. It had been months since he’d last seen the mountain-dweller. Her scents had changed, but he would have recognized the lass anywhere. Smokestep had been fond of the stories they had shared.
 
Wraen offered a humorous quip about him trekking so far from the coast. He chuckled at it, but the truth was that he felt the distance in every step and it had wrought a particular kind of madness in the Captain. He was never meant to have dwelled far from the touch of the saline waters. “Yer not wrong ‘bout them mermaids,” Smokestep offered in something of a sober tone. He felt as though he had taken to surrounding himself with fierce women, and while they made for the best pirates, he did not always compliment their temperament.
 
“Wot have ye been up to, lass? Rulin’ yer mountain wit an iron paw, eh?”

"Iron paws, sharp jaws... wait - that did not sound right at all," Wraen picked up the joke and laughed. "Poetry is not my forte - never understood it either," she said, though in her adolescent years she had given a try, coming up with silly rhymes that did not make any sense at all. After a while the fun of creating these had worn off and she had not attempted to renew the craft ever since. 

"I am not alone there though - I am surrounded by tough mountain folk," Wraen had almost used the word "highlander", but was not sure, what exactly did it mean and would it really apply to Sunspire. "And you - found the best gulf to settle down?"

Smokestep released a booming laugh and tossed his head back at her initial remark. Poetry was something that had also escaped him, but he’d been intrigued by the mingling of words all his life. Her attempt had not gone to waste, though. The young pirate cast a crooked grin at her and nodded his head. “I don’t know, lass… ye’ve got a lick o’ poet in ye,” he encouraged her. It was genuine, of course; Smokestep would have never been able to conjure a saying close to what she had. Of course, he didn’t quite understand much of the poetry he’d heard, either. It was easy for him to admire something that seemed so advanced for him.
 
Wraen went on to say that she had found companionship on her mountain and that she had surrounded herself with like-minded people. He could echo the sentiment for his own founding, but Smokestep merely nodded his head to her and smiled. “I’m glad fer ye; I ought to come ‘long an’ visit,” he returned with a thoughtful expression. Tensions were challenging with the crew, but he didn’t think that Roz would have too difficult a time if he were to step away for a few days. She had taken a few beatings, but the young pirate believed that it would only make her stronger.
 
When the green-eyed woman inquired about him finding his own home, the Captain beamed at her and drew his head up with a great deal of pride; it swelled his chest. “Aye; the whole crew is settlin’ in nice. Ye should come see it sometime,” he answered her. The offer would always stand, he felt. Her story telling skills had rivaled his own when they had first met, and Smokestep had not come across another quite like her since he’d landed on the coast.

Smokestep's accent was a little strange and cute at the same time and Wraen caught herself beaming and wishing to hear him talk more. And all in all he was a rather good-looking fellow - not one she would call exactly handsome, but he had his own charm that she was not immune to. The pair of unusual bicolored eyes and a piercing gaze that she found a little hard to keep for too long. And though he was very gentleman-like with her, she knew instinctively that this was a person you did not want to cross or have as your enemy.

Therefore the luck of having him as a friend.

"One day - perhaps," Wraen replied with a smile, but did not disclose any exact details of, where her home was. As interesting, smart and intriguing acquiantance he was, she did not trust him yet that much. "A whole crew? The last I met you it was just you and your sister. How did you find the rest? Were they washed up ashore?" she teased.

There was a lackadaisical glow that fluttered around Smokestep for a vast majority of his existence. He had always strived to ensure that no one could really know just how he felt. The easiest means of accomplishing such a task was to keep himself from caring for much. He was still young, and there were many things that he had not learned about how the world worked. Try as he might, there was always something that he was particularly drawn to. Wraen was not wrong to judge him as the type not to be crossed; the young Captain was a twenty-sided dice and there was no telling which number would strike an end.
 
In comparison, Wraen was a stunning queen from atop her jutting mountain scape. Smokestep stood beside her as a sea-tossed and cut-from-the-salt ruffian; there was very little that was truly attractive about him, save for the lazy charm that dripped from him with every opportunity it found. He was – of course – smitten by her ability to weave a tale, and to know one without much faltering. There was nothing more attractive than a fellow storyteller.
 
The question met him, and he furrowed his brows thoughtfully at it. “Oh, aye… ye see, we pirate folk have a way o’ findin’ each other,” he assured her with a fleeting grin before settling on a more serious expression. “I got to tell ye, I’ve been polishin’ me storytellin’ skills an’ I’m hopin’ ye’d be interested in a trade o’ tales,” the pallid Captain suggested. Of course, he could not help the wily smirk that crinkled his narrow muzzle.

If Wraen had been worried that after the initial polite and witty exchange of words she would have nothing else to tell Smokestep, then it was a pleasant surprise that he had arrived prepared. It had been a very long time, since she had last sat down to tell a story or hear one of them herself, which was a pity - really. Storytelling required a proper mood and audience and lately - hunting and working on caches taking all her mental and physical resources - there had not been a good occasion. 

Therefore she was all the more happier to have this pirate as her companion for tonight. "Can't miss the golden opportunity, can I?" Wraen replied, smiling. "Do go on - I will listen and then go through my own collection of gems to have a fair trade with you."

They spent a memorable evening together and then their paths parted.