Morningside Cuesta it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise & rationality

"paa, what does 'bastard' mean?"

rajendra blinked, then blinked again—a stupefied double-take. "where did you hear that?" the man demanded, fur beginning to bristle.

"rohan called me that when we were fighting the other day." the boy's verdant eyes were guileless. some anger, perhaps, left over from the quarrel. no pain. . .yet. mostly curiosity, the spirit of adventure that had marked him since birth.

rajendra so hated to shatter this kind of youthful ignorance.

"it means—" the man broke off, sighing, swallowing. but no use hiding the truth when his. . .son would surely discover it from someone else.

he continued. "beta, a bastard is someone whose real father is not dedicated to their mother. not dedicated to his. . .to you."

---

he still heard rajendra's words. he had never stopped hearing rajendra's words. rohan's first pejorative had not wounded him, but the clinical explanation, the definition of the slur, had hurt him greatly.

would that he could live in ignorance again! he wished, often, that he had never asked the question.

"paa, 'dogala' kya matlab hai?"

surya shook his head somewhat violently, as if trying to rattle the memory from his mind. it stuck, though; it always would. the moment his life had changed forever because of one stupid little question.

the yearling trotted across the expanse, kicking up remaining frost in his wake. it was too cold, still, with spring taking its sweet time. like his father (not that he knew this) the warmer southern climate was more to his liking. the winter had lasted too long.

with the winter came hunger, and surya stopped, nose lifted and scenting for game. hunting was still somewhat of a challenge; with no teacher since he was seven moons, he had been forced to train himself in order to survive. perhaps a mentor could be found here.

right now, all he wanted to do was go home—and that just wasn't possible.

Before him, sprinting just inches from the jaws of a predator in hot pursuit, a snowshoe hare bolted in desperation to keep his life.

Artyom thundered heavily after the wide-eyed creature, weaved with careful precision as his intended prey attempted time and time again to evade capture. He galloped directly past a tawny stranger, mindful of him as he shifted his weight to avoid collision. The hare was swift on its paws, but so too was the wolf - just not quick enough to gain a better hold on it as it made to disappear underground via one of its many secret burrows.

Having managed to claim only a mouthful of alabaster fur, the hunter attempted  to remove it from his teeth by sweeping his muzzle across an upper forelimb - not before spitting some obscenities in Russian and digging uselessly at the solid earth around the warren's entrance.

surya barely had time to register the sudden appearance of a hare before he noticed the white blur behind it, the pair racing past him and rustling his pelt. the yearling wheeled, slightly slack-jawed, before picking up his pace again and jogging toward the scene of the action. when he arrived, the pale wolf was digging furiously at the entrance of an underground burrow, spitting words surya didn't understand.

uh— he began awkwardly, then chuffed to make sure he didn't catch the man unawares. do you want help? surya continued, giving a toothy smile in tandem with his offer. he moved forward, but gingerly, ready to depart if the other wolf was not looking for company.

the smell of small game was close, mouth-wateringly so. it had been some days since he had eaten, and a tinge of desperation marked his words.

Artyom huffed a sigh, then inhaled deep as he attempted to regain control and ease the frustration away. His recent hints had yielded poor results, the pale leader thought with annoyance as he shot the burrow's entrance one last sharp glare, before he moved to turn away.

A young wolf lingered nearby, with a tawny pelt and a boyishness to his features, and Artyom's earthen gaze found his own vivid emeralds with ease. The colour stood out, bold against the warm hues of his face, and to him Artyom shot an almost guilty smile.

"I think luck has run dry here," he rejected the offer with an awkward little laugh. Artyom doubted very much that his intended prey would be coming above ground again anytime soon. "Sorry you had to witness that... not my finest moment."

oh—that was too bad. surya shook his head. it's okay, he insisted, smile growing a bit wry. we all have those moments. some more than others. the yearling himself was prone to fits of foul mood, especially when things didn't go his way.

feeling emboldened by the man's now amiable nature, he took a few more steps forward. i'm surya, he introduced himself, feeling the familiar pang that his littermates weren't there by his side to chime in their own names. they made their choice, and i made mine, he thought sourly, but it didn't help the heartache. they had been inseparable before he had left.

do you live around here? he asked in an attempt to spur conversation (and to get his mind off his faraway family). his nostrils flared as he examined the scents upon the man's pelt. way too many there for him to be a loner. who was he hunting for?

An introduction came, and the pale leader's expression softened. "I'm Artyom," he offered in return, the words accompanied by a friendly sway of his tail. Surya's question came as no surprise, and the hunter appreciated his effort to progress their conversation - small talk or not.

"Whitebark Stream," he answered simply, gaze lifting as he turned his head to point his ivory muzzle in the general direction of his home. "What of you?" Artyom inhaled deep as he shifted to look upon his companion again, testing the air for any suggestion of a local pack on Surya's pelt. He found nothing recognisable, and thus felt safe to assume that he might be new to the area.

artyom, surya repeated aloud, as if saying it would help him remember. the last few moons had been such a whirlwind that the strangers he'd met. . .the faces remained, the names did not. and as for the places— of whitebark creek, he continued, and nodded. where is that?

the man questioned his own whereabouts, and the yearling shook his head, turning—well—which way was home, again? he'd zig-zagged so often that he'd almost lost track; only the motion of the sun and moon could help him now. no, my family lives far to the south, he ventured a guess, knowing that the world had gotten considerably colder since departing. i'm traveling.

but for how long? it was a journey without a concrete end. a journey made from outrage and hurt. surya didn't know when to stop, when to give it up. when to go home. he had not yet forgiven his parents, but god, he missed them so!

When the boy asked where it was Artyom made his home, the pale leader figured he had not picked up on his suggestion by the gesture he'd made. He wondered quietly for a moment how to describe the location, and chose to offer: "not far." This time he gave a backward cant of a velvet ear to signal the direction from which he'd come. "West, where the tree bark appears most pale."

He studied the young wolf's features quietly as he shared that he himself had ventured from the Southern lands. "These wilds are as far South as I've ever come," he commented with a smile. Having noted that his newest acquaintance carried an accent that seemed oddly familiar, Artyom couldn't help but wonder what brought him to disperse. One of Bhediya's abandoned offspring, perhaps, searching for a mother who never wanted him? "Looking for anything in particular out here?"

it wasn't surya so much as his author that missed artyom's initial gesture, but the clarification was helpful to both. the yearling tried to keep the location in mind (unknowing that he would stumble upon it within a snowstorm later). it sounded nice; he was intrigued by the idea of "most pale" tree bark. perhaps he would seek it out, eventually.

no, not really, he responded, shaking his head. his shoulders rose and fell in an amiable shrug. i've been traveling for a while. i just. . .needed to be on my own for a while.

so close to divulging the darkest part of him to this near-stranger. he kept mum, though, not wanting to burden the light conversation with what had been placed upon him moons ago. so much he had learned since then! and, yet, he was still young and dumb—and perhaps part of him always would be.

he tilted his head. what is the north like? he asked. even colder than here?

they chatted for a bit and then went their separate ways. until they met again. . .?