Wapun Meadow set yourself on fire

AW. Will archive if left lonely or unanswered after a week.

It was his kind of place. The flowers, the open space to roam--and empty. Gloriously empty. There were packs, nearby (he could smell them when the wind turned) but this place was unclaimed. Zamael stood alone in the middle of the meadow, fiery eyes shut, breathing in the aroma of freedom.

He had mixed feelings about leaving the golden boy behind. He was saddened, sure, for as little time as they had spent together, he had warmed up to the speechless wolf. Perhaps their paths would cross again. But young and damaged as he was, he reminded Zamael much of Alarian. The pain of separation was still too fresh; there was a certain amount of relief in walking away, too.

Now he wandered alone once more, paws skimming idly over the floral-carpeted ground. After a rainy day, the sun was out, and the air was crisp and cool. The leaves on the trees surrounding the clearing were starting to turn from verdant green to that red-gold medley that hearkened autumn.

It was peaceful, here.

So why did he still feel so unsettled?

His days were spent tending to his family, walking on eggshells before his mate, marking the borders and now, scouting in the nearby territories outside of their home in search of potential recruits. Autumn descended with its cooler grasp, only now beginning to paint the leaves with a smatter of red and orange. Within a month, the frost would come, and the leaves would begin to fully change and fall.
 
He wished to buffer their ranks not just for the winter, but for the coming years – many had come and gone within the creek during their short claim, and he found his patience wearing thin toward those who had used the pack as a means of a quick visit, partaking in their meals and caches and then leaving when convenient for them.
 
He had visited the meadow a time or two – had even wondered if he would find the presence of one of the nearby pack wolves. Soon he would need to travel further, to introduce himself to these other packs and determine their standing.. but for now, he kept his visits outside of his lands short.
 
Dew gathered upon the grass from the previous rain storm. The sun beat down upon his dark spine, though the heat was not sweltering as it had been in the summer – a comfort the male was grateful for. It was when his bright eyes locked upon a silver figure that he halted his steps, his form stiffening as he studied the stranger in silence.

A dark brown man with eyes of fire emerged in the near distance, staring at him. Zamael made no moves to get up and approach, nor did he feel any sort of fear. He knew a border when he smelled one; he certainly hadn't crossed one now. And if this guy was anything like Takiyok--stick placed firmly up his ass--he should bounce sooner rather than later. Not because he was afraid, but because he didn't really feel like being annoyed on such a beautiful day.

"What's up?" he called out, head tilted. "Can I help you?" He was relatively sure he'd never seen the man before in his life, and he didn't recognize his scent, either. Just another friendly(?) stranger in the wilds. Zamael wondered whether he was missing his tongue, too.