Lion Head Mesa I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin

48°, currently it is snowing soot and set during the late afternoon. Located in mainland, sub-land here | tagging: @Maegi

As the seasons marched on, the weather began to cool. Midday was still warm enough, but as the sun lowered over the horizon, the temperature dropped just enough to feel the chill that slowly began its creep over the lands. For the winter born Birserkir, Rosencrantz looked forward to the winter, to the cold and snow, and while he emerged from the hole he slept in last night, for a moment he thought that winter had come early while watching what he believed to be snowfall from the mouth of his hide.

It was when it touched him that he knew. The grey ash stained his porcelain pelt, layered onto the ground in a soft blanket. He had never seen such an event before. He didn't know what to think of it - and so, the knight decided to go on an adventure.

Days had passed since he had marched away from Rusalka's borders (for he had not seen or known of their previous ones, Blacktail Deer Plateau was the only one he knew of) and traveled South. Nothing had changed other than the scenery, ash seemed to fall no matter where he went. Its reach was vast and impressive. 

Even as he stopped at the foot of the mountain, the plains didn't carry the usual large prey that one would expect to find - there was no scent or sign of their presence that wasn't weeks old. He blamed the shaking of the earth for that. Even the obvious watering holes were dry... drained from below as the earth called back its liquid in thirsty greed.

With all this, he wasn't certain of what to think of it. What to do.

keepin this vague AF

Maegi, too, was perplexed by the. . .precipitation? It wasn't wet like rain nor cold like snow, but still it fell from the sky. Just another symptom of whatever illness the earth was suffering from. She was lightly dusted in it as she traveled across the meadow toward the mesa, looking after her new borders.

Strange to say. She'd been watching Blackfeather Woods for so many moons now, albeit off and on, that to consider somewhere else (besides the island, of course) her home was an alien concept. She was ruminating on this strangeness when the pale shape ahead caught her attention (oh, Jaes, was it Mou?).

Not Mou. . .but missing an eye, nonetheless. Actually, one side of his face was reddened and scarred; she immediately felt a kinship with the man, thinking of her own ruined cheek. Giving him a chuff, she trotted out of the meadow and onto the beginning of the slope, canting her head in query.

Looking for something? she asked, finding pensiveness in his stance, his gaze.

The silence of the field was eerie. Calm, serene, one could easily meditate in such a place as not even a bird stirred in the branches of the bare trees; but it also felt godforsaken, and freakish for the unnatural silence shook him in his core. The knight felt as if he was the only living thing around for miles, only the sound of his own heartbeat filling his ears could be heard. 

Just as he was losing himself in the silence, the sound of rustling grasses caught his senses, with the eventual chuff to announce their arrival as opposed to sneaking upon him. Ears flickered in the direction before he eyed the figure as she approached. Her leg twisted, face mangled as if she had come into contact with a rabid beaver. He sympathized with her for their half faces should they merge would return their beauties.

A reason for the happenings. A quick, simple answer. The location of prey. He continued. In his one eye, he offered a question, the desire to know should she know anything. A def yearning for an answer or something to ease this creeping feeling in the pit of his stomach that things would get worse before they got any better.

She let out a quiet snort at his response, not quite a rebuttal but certainly disbelief. A reason. I don't think there is one. Anansi's tail came suddenly to her mind; she wanted it gone, gone, and blinked back tears. Some vengeful god or another. And there's no prey—we're all starving. Real cheerful, Maegs.

The Nona cocked her head, breathing in his scent. I don't know you, she said rhetorically, tail raising just a fraction. My borders are just back there. Who are you? Where do you come from? The questions weren't delivered in too harsh of a tone, but she was curious. Strangers made her nervous. Everything, these days, made her nervous.

And Maegi didn't think she was at all crazy for that.

A frown flashed across his face at her snort - only for it to fall back into place, a neutral canvas once more as she continues. As her voice carried on, he noted the snort wasn't quite to mock his words or mission - but rather at their pointless situation and that his hopes for finding a reason would forever be fruitless. Optimism is all I have left. His words were soft, not weak, but merely speaking more so for himself than for her. 

Then, her stance changed. Defensively he leaned back, ears facing toward his rear while his body visibly grew more stiff and watchful. Defensive for neutral lands. He noted. My name is Rosencrantz. I recently joined Rusalka, came here from the plateau. I will be returning after this since there is nothing to be found according to you. His voice was stern, unshaken, and he kept his gaze on her - watching for any signs of a possible scuffle. 

That's right. She didn't know him, and he in turn, obviously, didn't know her. So? Who are you?

If you knew what I've been through over the past moons, you'd be defensive, too, Maegi remarked bitterly, unappreciative of the reaction to her stance. Still, she relaxed slightly, upon getting a name and—oh. Rusalka. She thought of Scarab, then, and decided to keep mum. . .for now. She wanted to get to know this man better before she mentioned the boy.

Maegi, of Blackfeather, she responded, tone cool. Rusalka? I'd heard talk of that pack being destroyed during the storms, she added, brows raised. Evidently, that wasn't the case. They'd settled elsewhere—the plateau? Maegi wondered how far away that place was.

Close enough that, perhaps, they could have an ally in these troubled times.

Everyone had their reasons to be defensive, to build up walls and refuse entry of anyone who came knocking; but he uninterested in arguing, in sharing his own downfalls and mistrust in others. His silence was his own answer instead, the unwavering stance he held as well the steady gaze he held as opposing to flickering in a new direction uncomfortably. No, he had no reason to be uncomfortable. This wasn't some kind of "who is more damaged" competition. 

I assure you, they have not. Though he had just learned something about his own pack. They had been previously believed to be destroyed - and so this could only mean one thing. They relocated from the sound of this woman's surprise. He would have thanked her if it wasn't for her already bitter interaction.

She nodded, saying, I'm pleased to hear it. What else was there to say? Apart from the Redhawks, really, or she supposed the Nightwalkers (most of them, anyway), she didn't wish destruction on any pack. Presumably, they had children to care for—

Children. Scarab. Not yet, her selfish brain cut in, and she once more cast the issue aside.

Where's this plateau you mentioned? Maegi asked, finally settling into more of a conversational rhythm, now that she was reasonably sure that Rosencrantz wasn't an active threat to her family. Can't be too far, if this is just a scouting trip for you. She racked her brain, trying to think of somewhere that would meet that description between here and the sea. . .

But, eh. Maegi had always been terrible with directions and landscapes.

Maybe he withheld the information from her, maybe not. Whatever the case, Maegi eventually ended the conversation and went back to her meadow, agonizing over this new intel every step of the way.