Razorback Ridge you carry the heavens in your eyes

tags are for reference. <3 also shitty post b/c i can't seem to stay focused.

though melkor really has no reason to venture from courtfall's borders the tundrian informs @Andraste he is stepping out for a few hours to check the neutral territories bordering the vale for any signs of loiterers. while it was true he couldn't stop anyone from lingering in neutral territories, the season sparks a rampant of possessiveness in him that he could not curb even if he wished too. the tempting and intoxicating scents of the valeian women that have gone or were going into their heats stokes more than just desire into his belly and he seeks to burn off those feelings by chasing off unwanted loners too close to the vale.

the snows are thick but taper and thin to a dusting at the lower level of the ridge where forest reigns supreme. it is here that melkor prowls, not wanting nor caring to venture higher up.

Wylla was starting to feel more like herself again, and that meant realizing she'd made some pretty poor choices. It seemed prudent to get out of dodge for a little while just in case Takiyok decided to go on a rampage. She departed Diaspora's territory just as the sky was beginning to blush with morning's light, ignoring the strange feelings of separation that accompanied her as she left Mahler's scent markings behind.

She went a lot farther than was wise, prowling absentmindedly over shelves of rock and snowy fields alike on her descent from the higher mountains. She maintained enough sense to keep an eye out for signs of prey while she walked. Perhaps she could soften the blow of her actions by supplying the pack with meat. It didn't take long for Wylla to convince herself that that was why she was out here wandering around, and not because of the possibility...

No, she dared not think of it. It was a good thing she banished the thought and took a moment to realign herself with reality. Otherwise, Wylla might not have noticed the blue-grey wolf in the trees, directly in her path. She faltered, but it was too late to hope he wouldn't notice her, so after a moment's hesitation, she kept walking toward him—he would either stop her or let her pass by.

idle scents criss-cross but none that are fresh or lingering enough to warrant melkor putting forth the effort of tracking anyone down; and even so he won't stray too far from the vale. among the dense trees he picks up scents of mountain goats, too; keeping that in mind for later if any of their hunters sought bigger game than the small woodland creatures that co-exist within the vale. ears cup forth atop his skull at the sound of approaching footfalls too much like his own to be anything other than wolf. melkor is immediately alert, muscles tensing and glacial eyes scanning the trees for where the other might emerge based upon the origin of their path.

it does not take long for her to appear; a shadow cloaked woman smelling of a pack, though not one he could immediately place. melkor releases a low, raspy chuff of greeting.

Somewhere on an errant breeze, Wylla picked up the unique odour of a mountain goat or two, but there was no telling how far away they were. Without back-up, she wouldn't have a chance in hell of even ripping a chunk off a mountain goat, and she wasn't about to assume this stranger would lend her a hand for no reason. She certainly wouldn't if the roles were reversed.

She did pause when he made a low sound at her, standing to attention and pressing her lips tightly together. Hello, she said, not without her usual brand of questioning suspicion tacked on at the end. Can I help you? One could argue that Wylla had approached Melkor, making her question an oddly placed one in this situation, but Wylla never paid much mind to trivial details like who started what and who owed an explanation to whom.

She opted instead to always point the finger elsewhere.

❝hello,❞ the tundrian parrots back to her; knee-jerk greeting. though melkor does, indeed, find her question odd he makes no attempt to point such out to her. a brief rise and fall of his brows is given but he offers an errant shrug of his shoulders; despite that he isn't immediately sure how to answer her. as far as he's aware this is neutral territory and he's not trespassing. i don't know. can you? lingers on the tip of his tongue but the fact that they are complete and utter strangers his attempt at a joke might not go over quite as well as he hopes and so he bites his tongue on that, too.

❝i'm just tracking.❞ he responds in a neutral tone that he hopes is as peaceable as he means it. herds. loners. whatever's scent trail lingers within the ridge. ❝the return of the herds spells a good omen for spring.❞ he offers her in small talk.

Ooookay then, said Wylla's eyes when Melkor revealed his reason for being out here. Hadn't he chuffed to get her attention, or was she just hearing things? Maybe where he came from, that meant something different. She was here now and she'd stopped so she might as well make the most of it. Not that there was anything to be gained. Melkor smelled too much like other wolves to be open to recruitment for Diaspora, she was certain.

Sure, Wylla said in a tone wreathed with dry humour, flanking Melkor to walk with him a little while, only if the wolves are still strong enough to hunt them. She wouldn't be surprised if some packs were hit so hard by the famine that they wouldn't have able wolves to hunt the large prey. She swept her muzzle over the ground idly, then chanced to ask, what are we tracking?

❝though hungry i haven't seen too many wolves suffering from malnutrition,❞ he murmurs with a shrug. not that, mind, since coming back to the teekons he's conversed with a whole lot of wolves outside of courtfall. he hadn't really had much of a reason to leave and besides that with age his urge to run has finally calmed down. ❝i think they'll be fine and if not ...well, that just means more herds for those of us that can hunt them.❞ melkor rasps with a glimpse at wylla as she flanks him. perhaps, he realizes, it's a cold way to look at it but melkor was very much a 'survival of the fittest' kinda guy and far from a bleeding heart; traits he's gotten straight from his father.

❝i was keeping a close eye on the mountain goats. they're not big game but they're nothing to snub either.❞ and luckily, there seemed to be plenty of mountain goats to spare.

Melkor must've come from a more fortunate place than Wylla, then. Diaspora was getting by alright, but the wolves were more than a little hungry most days and wasting energy going after the few large prey animals that still existed in the mountains wasn't often worth the exertion. Beyond the mountains, things had been even worse. She'd be surprised if a handful of lone wolves hadn't died already. They simply couldn't subsist for so long on a diet of small prey only, not in winter when so much of it was hiding away.

You've been fortunate then, Wylla noted, not without a dash of suspicion for how that was possible. The herds were returning now, so maybe Melkor's pack simply had enough wolves that they'd secured a kill recently and had a lot more energy. Diaspora was small, their efforts more easily hampered by chance, bad weather, and hale prey. As for his observation that there would be more prey for them, Wylla responded only with a smirk. She, too, believed in survival of the fittest.

What world do you come from where mountain goats aren't considered big? Wylla scoffed. Was this guy for real? Granted, he was a pretty big wolf, so maybe to him the goats were small. In Wylla's experience they were as large as any deer, if not larger, and twice as dangerous. Deceitfully surefooted and equipped with sharp horns regardless of sex, they were risky prey to go after.

oops, i did not realize how big mountain goats actually were.

❝it would appear so,❞ for the most part courtfall hadn't appeared to suffer too much during what little bit of the famine wintersbane had been in the wilds for. luckily for him, he'd missed most of it and on the tail end there was more to hunt. he offers a casual shrug of his shoulders.

❝in the enok tundra we ate beached whales and hunted seals.❞ his time spent in his mother's homeland and the famine upon his return has, perhaps, construed his view of how big or how not big the normal game was. but he is woefully aware that this wasn't the tundra; so far away from the land of snow and stone, glaciers and ice capped waters. ❝there's no better way to celebrate the end of a famine then with a grand hunt.❞ he murmurs his opinion distractedly as he lowers his head briefly to inhale the scents.

They're a fair size! Anyway, hope you don't mind if I fade this out here. I need to cut back on a few threads and make room for some fresh ones once I get caught up, and this one's fairly outdated since the merger!

Ah, Wylla quipped dryly, so you didn't need to work for your food. Big man, referring to mountain goats as small when he was accustomed to prey that either couldn't run away, in the case of a beached whale, or was unwieldy and awkward on land, in the case of seals. At least seals could pack a punch. For her part, Wylla thought hunting mountain goats on a mountain was probably a stupid idea.

Enjoy your hunt, she offered, but she wasn't going to stick around to find out how it went for him. Lots of ground to cover. She'd left Diaspora under the guise of scouting the mountains, but now that she was out here, it seemed like a good idea to do it for real.