Hushed Willows the answer's somewhere deep in it, i'm sorry that you're feeling it

tags for reference <3

the pair headed east. the darkening sun to their backs. red ridges aflame, the trees outlined in burgundy flares. soon the world would turn to dark, and the wolves of the night-world would awaken.

now that their vision was clear, given in name of bruin-god, astara moved with new direction. her trust and world entire had always been in @Merrick -- and now her one-eyed lover had become something more -- vessel to a spirit even more malevolent than the one he had been born with.

astara ranged ahead, piecing scent to scent, stalking. here a scattering of vole droppings, there the faded scent of hare. her stomach growled, but astara did not hunt tonight -- she canvassed, making sure the way was clear for her beloved.

He'd gone a wee bit farther than he'd intended, searching for prey. If he had known Bhediya had gone the opposite direction, he would be kicking himself. As it was, Pygmalion voyaged northwest, eventually entering a beautiful forest. The boughs of willows gave it a peaceful, quiet atmosphere, and—

He paused, nostrils flaring, and his lips burst into a smile. He could smell the salt of the sea.

Pyg was about to carry on down the trail when a little shadow crossed the path, obviously on the hunt for something. At first, he thought it Bhediya, but no—it was too large to be his packmate. Didn't have her scent, either. Warily, but with a friendly expression, he chuffed and moved toward the stranger at a slow, easy pace.

if the pale stranger had slunk after her in concealment, he would have soon found in astara a hideous demon in the turn of fangs and claw; since he opted instead to make his presence known, he was spared such horrors and regarded with a cool flick of her indigo eyes.

he was larger than her by what should have been a threatening difference - white - and well-fed. astara noted that last; how plush his figure seemed, how soft and in harsh contrast to the cold rebuke of her black body, thin as a rail and ugly, too.

had she words she might have greeted him warmly, with a trickster's smile on her lips. instead she possessed only silence; she met his gaze and strode towards him at once, yet did not speak.

She didn't speak, so he supposed it was up to him to make the first move. Hello, lass, he greeted, letting his face fall into a smile. The girl was young, perhaps about the same age as Ibis, but they could not be more different. Where Ibis was friendly and open, there was an aura of mystery about this shadow-pelted wolf that put him on guard.

Still, he was well-muscled, older and better-trained. She was whip-thin and youthful. If it came, somehow, to a fight, he had all the confidence in himself to handle it.

Ye live around here, or just passing through? Pygmalion inquired, trying to suss out her origins.

astara slowed on approach, muzzle extended to greet this male in the manner of the old ways. he carried various samplings of scent on his coat -- most surprisingly, the scent of the little dove astara had met and toyed with some weeks back. a brief flare of recognition crossed her gaze, yet of course, she did not speak.

pygmalion's demeanor appeared somewhat guarded to astara. she registered the light wave of his tail with a scant pass of her own, but then pulled away. this exchange of information in the form of scents had been just as educating as speaking might be, for astara detected the scents of many others as well. his question was met with a flicker of her indigo gaze, and then one slow turn of her head. no. she lived on the road, and made the wilderness her home.

It appeared the girl had no voice (or chose not to use the one she had). That was fine, at least for now. Pygmalion knew he couldn't go on much longer with a one-sided conversation, but he wasn't about to give up just yet on the stranger. He watched her shake her head, a clear enough answer to his question.

I do, Pyg responded. Live around here, I mean. Ye lookin' fer somewhere tae settle doon, this winter? As long as he was out here, he may as well engage in some ambassadorial duties for Ibis. That way, the trip wasn't entirely wasted—pretty scenery notwithstanding.

astara had found it took most wolves about three minutes to understand she did not speak. some never understood it at all -- but on average, many simply accepted her silence and moved on.

this wolf, however, seemed fine with filling in her share of words. she was bemused as she looked upon him, an ear cocked to the tumble of accented words that spilled from his darkened maw. if he lived around here, astara wondered if his pack would resent their (eventual) neighbors.

to answer his question - which she understood implicitly - astara canted her muzzle away in the direction she had come. he would not find a recruit in this one -- not that uaine gorsedd had use for her ilk -- but he might find his meeting not entirely fruitless.

astara looked to the male, and then bent down. she drew in the snow a rough circle, then glanced to the sun's position before etching rough lines in each of the four directions of the wind: north, south, west, east. from this crude drawing, astara's claw raked a single, long line to the southeast, coincidentally unknowingly in the same direction as pygmalion's pack. she pressed her paw to the snow below the ling, and when she lifted it, her pawpads were imprinted cleanly into the crisp white surface, one claw-mark lined perfectly with the etching line from before.

she looked from her crude work to the man, wondering if he would be astute enough to understand her rough drawing; the pawpad being where she was going.  for him to follow her back to bearclaw.

then, astara did something that likely would cause pygmalion some disturbance. she reached for his own paw with her slim dark arm, and if he allowed, would drag his paw towards the crude compass as if to say where are you? on the rudimentary diagram she had drawn.

He watched her with puzzlement in his expression, head slightly tilted. What was she. . . His brow furrowed as she reached out and pulled his forepaw toward her, toward the strange circle. He stared at it for a long while, unsure of where to put his print. She'd put hers there, by a line; he turned his head to look—

I dinna understand any of this, Pygmalion said honestly, shrugging. He faced the girl again, looking grimly amused. If this is just yer long, drawn-oot way of sayin' ye dinna want tae join my pack. . .I get it. Nay offense taken, lass. 

She clearly was on a different level than he was; he doubted at this point that they were even of the same species. But she was deeply fascinating, and Pyg didn't want to go just yet. Do ye talk at all? he asked, a little insensitively, though there was no malice or scorn in his tone, merely ignorant curiosity.

as one might expect, astara's cryptic and crude drawings were unintelligible to the silvery male. astara sighed in frustration, which was perhaps her first signal of emotion in this encounter. she quickly made her pains to communicate indescribable, by dashing their markings along the snow with a furious forepaw.

fine. it was not as if she was used to being utterly undecipherable to others. the flare of fur along her ruff had temporarily receded, and she looked to pygmalion as he asked that age old question she had heard a thousand times before.

still rather frustrated by her own shortcomings, astara's gaze hardened and she looked away with a glare -- any emotionally astute wolf would see she was seconds from emotional shutdown.

He watched this small meltdown with a bemused expression, ears flattening in turn. Och, I guess not, he responded to his own question, shrugging. He'd never really heard of a wolf who didn't speak. Quiet wolves, yes, but not completely mute. Pyg supposed the ever-chatty Pangloss clan had sort of ruined his idea of average behavior. This well well out of the realm of normal.

Sorry, Pygmalion said, his voice straddling the line between contrition and pique. He didn't exactly know what to say. Can ye point yer nose in the direction ye're goin', at least? Perhaps we're headed back the same way. If that didn't work, then he was toast, and he was growing tired of this circuitous, one-sided dialogue.

intuitive enough to recognize that the male's patience was coming to an end, astara's ears pinned in answer and she turned her muzzle southeast. he could accompany her, if he wished -- but as he had already found out, she was not scintillating company.

astara did not wait for a reply. wishing to put distance between her failure to communicate, the blackbird stalked quickly through the snow following the faded scent of a long-passed hare.