Silver Creek strange, the way it felt like home - to wander through the dark alone

Snow flurried down around him, dappling his coat in droplets of starlight. The dark skies overhead spoke of storms, but he was not concerned with this. He had faced much worse in his time. The jagged tendrils of his vantablack coat stood rigidly along his neck and shoulders. The lean frame moved with a confidence that could only belong to a creature that knew itself well. It was as though he had found himself precisely where he’d intended to be. The scent of other wolves did not deter him. He was a passer, and he did not intend to stay in their claim for long. Sojourn knew his path was never to find a home - at least not one that would last him long. All his life he had prepared for that way, and he had found comfort in knowing that he was an intended vagabond. 

The moonlight lit the earth in a ghostly blue. Sojourn did not marvel at it. He’d seen the moon touch most landscapes. Before, it had breathed life into his weary limbs. Before, it had given him hope of the unknown. Time had made him a wiser soul. The dark crow stepped through the stream without pausing at the touch of frigid water. Once on the other side, he lifted his crown to search the trees beyond. That was his decided goal; the forest would allow him some comfort before stretching out into the open air. The mountains beyond were luring. In his bones was the lust of a jagged rock crawler. In time, he knew that he would reach them. Until then, he sought only the dark of the wild wood.

Cyclone had skirted around the other women since Addison had insulted her in front of them. She preferred to keep to herself, and she was certain that the Odolf girl would somehow turn that against her, too. In time, Cyclone knew that she would rise to power and Addison would be beneath her. That thought alone kept her motivated and cheery around the men. As for the other women, Neasa distanced herself. She did not need them, and they were merely distractions from her goal: to find a husband.

An unfamiliar scent caught her attention when she was out for a midnight whizz. Curious, she approached with caution, only to be faced with a dark figure lurking within their land. (Okay, so it wasn’t officially their land, but it might as well have been.) He was not a pleasant sight, and Cyclone dreaded the thought of having to do anything with him, but she was pretty sure she had been spotted. She laid in wait, wondering if he had smelled her or if he would be on his way.

The blue light cascaded along his frame. It seemed to suit him, until it reached the thick band that sat behind his shoulders. It looked as though the sun had broken through his dark frame there. The wanderer was painted in the peculiar colors for a moment longer before a thick layer of clouds brushed past the moon and buried him in darkness. The vibrant glint of his poison gaze darted upward and caught the first glimpse of the shadow woman. She did not concern him, in spite of his questionable trespassing. Sojourn froze for only a moment before he lowered his crown and prowled forward. 

The shape of him was like a hunting jungle cat; his frame swayed while his lean figure rippled with muscle underneath his jagged coat. The brute was not much for talk, so he did not think to reach her with word. Instead, he made his way as though he aimed to saunter past her. It was not her gender that caused him to disregard her, but his own confidence. Sojourn was a mercenary, and he did not feel as though there was a soul in the world that could have halted him. The sharp glint of his gaze did not leave her as he drew close to her frame. Fel magic danced behind the venomous green.

He moved forward, and Cyclone remained where she was, still and observant. She watched him carefully, wondering if he was seeking asylum with Rosings or merely milling about. When he moved even closer, she let a low rumble grow in her throat. She would not let some man from outside be so bold. It was one thing if it were Grayson or even one of his brothers, but she would not tolerate this, no matter how unladylike she appeared. Once a flirt, now chaste, Cyclone was determined to stand her ground and make sure he knew that he was unwelcome here until Grayson had met and approved of him.

If her leader decided upon that, she hoped to the stars that she would not be bound to him. He was an ugly creature by her standards, and she considered herself to be quite the beauty. The last thing she wanted was ugly children. Addison would surely make a mockery of her if that happened, but Cyclone knew she would persevere no matter what. She would not let the Odolf girl push her down. Blackthorns were not a name to be pushed down, and this wolf lurking her way was no different.

If he continued forward, Neasa knew she would need to take action. Already, her muscles tensed as she readied herself to spring forward and take him down, should he attempt any sort of frisky business or attack of any variety. In fact, if he did not make a move to get out of their claim in the making, Cyclone decided right then and there that she would call for the men to take care of him. Surely they would not be pleased with a skulking predator out to get their women.

It seemed as though the woman had made herself into a guardian of the terrain. That meant little, in the grand scheme of things. For all the growling and fussing over what he was doing, they both would have been better off if she had just allowed him to slip past her and carry on his way. As rugged and unsightly as he might have appeared, Sojourn was nothing more than a passerby; he aimed only for his next stretch of land and found that nothing else was enough to hold him down. There was no intention of staying on or near her prospective home.

So, the inky crow continued on his lean-limb prowl. The blades of his shoulders seemed to roll with his gait, but he did not slow his pace and he did not counter her growl with one of his own. Instead, he seemed to move like a dark wraith across the stretch of terrain. His eyes did not vacate from her dark features. He wanted to make sure that he would not be surprised by an attack that could jeopardize his movement onward. Instead, he dipped his muzzle in a peculiar sort of greeting – a 'hello' without words – to smooth the ruffled edges.

Nothing about the Rosings lifestyle would have fit the rangy figure. Sojourn had no interest in limiting women to inflate his own ego. He had less interest in the types of women who agreed with that particular lifestyle. To say that he was a predator, stalking their women, was something of a laughable thought. It was best that it wasn't shared between them.

Cyclone did not move toward him, and he seemed not to want to bother her any more than he already had. The fur along her back did not become unruffled, but her lips lowered and she only followed him now to make sure he would actually leave their claim-in-the-making. She said nothing as she did this, just kept up a few lengths behind him, grey eyes watching as he continued forward.

Once he was well on his way, Cyclone returned to the rest of the group, bedding down and falling into a fitful sleep.