Spotted Eagle Mountain Sad nights linger through the blackness of a hound.

The sound of gliding steps through the grass would have alerted anyone of her approach, but all that thrived here were tired trees clinging to life. Their trunks were narrow, black, and twisted. The uneven ground was not welcoming to her presence, and the longer she lingered in the foothills the less inclined she was to climb across the mountain proper.

The tickle of hanging moss across her hackles roused a sour look to her face—and as Stryx looked drearily over one shoulder, she thought she saw something white-capped in the trees. No doubt one of the birds that made this place its home. She ducked and prowled among the trees thereafter, letting loose a huff of disdain as she investigated the soil. It was as if something had scorched and salted the earth. Many places were blackened, although moss clung to many surfaces and there were tiny shoots struggling to thrive.

Around the corner was an exposed granite deposit; Stryx paused here, noticing a cluster of vibrant purple buds crowding against green shoots. The plant did not look like much. It wasn't fully grown yet, the buds having not yet flowered, but that did not stop her from sweeping to where the weeds grew. She began to pluck them free with her teeth, chewing at the stalks with her molars, enjoying the burst of pollen as each bud was popped between her teeth—less so the strong, almost clinical, peppermint smell of the penroyal that hung around afterwards.

Viinturuth followed the creek upstream, made his way pointlessly into the mountains. He wasn't sure what the hell he was supposed to do with himself now that his plans in reaching out to his estranged family had gone to shit, but he felt a need to keep moving. Swiftcurrent seemed destined to remain a source of bitterness for him, a breeding ground of sour memories and lost cause.

Entirely alone, the white wolf roamed along the edge of a mountan lake and beyond, deeper into the range. He rather enjoyed the views from up there, the crisp mountain air that freshened his lungs and the chill of an open breeze through his dense pelage. He told himself he was content with his own company along the way, that he didn't need anyone else, until his dark eyes found the ashen frame of a stranger move among the rocks.

Ears pricked forward curiously, Viinturuth veered her way. He picked his way carefully across uneven terrain and emitted a soft wuff in attempt to attract her attention. Should she look his way, she would find him loping toward her with a lolling tongue and a cheerfully swinging tail, so eager he was to share her company.

Once the buds had been pulverized she could swallow them, the pollen forming a paste that coated the back of her tongue. It was awfully bitter, but the green shoots off-set the flavor enough to prevent Stryx from vomiting everything up again. She was reaching for another clump of the flowers when she thought she sensed a presence, and froze with her mouth open around them. Her eyes darted around first; but when nothing emerged except the sussuration of wind in the trees, she deigned it a non-issue and chomped.

At about that moment, the stranger appeared and wuffed. Stryx was trying to mash the flower buds against the roof of her mouth and somehow managed to do a myriad of things all at once, mainly: bite the edge of her own tongue, shove a deceptively large cluster of pollen directly to the back of her throat, and fail to swallow.

Cue gagging, and coughing, and horking, and her eyes going owlish and wide as she struggled. She braced herself against the ground with the posture of a bull preparing to charge, her sides heaving and head bowed, until the spasm concluded. A nice wad of half-chewed plant matter rolled off her tongue, and after one more defiant half-cough-half-hurl, the soggy purple buds spattered across the stonework.

Stryx's fur puffed, her crooked tail twitching once as it stiffened over her hips, and she shot the offending stranger a look of pure outrage, as if he had done that on purpose.

In an instant, all the joy was gone from him. After a brief coughing fit he she-wolf swung toward him, silver fur bristled, and glowered right at him. Viinturuth hit the breaks and stumbled, alabaster ears smoothing back against his crown as he ducked submissively to the side. Keen to remain outwith of the sour female's wrath, he rumbled a soft apology - though he wasn't sure what the fuck her problem was.

"Hey, uh..." uncomfortable now, the pallid wanderer lifted his burgundy gaze to dare a glance at his newest acquaintance. Immediately his stare was drawn to her muzzle, where a visible piece of chewed-up plant matter remained stuck to her chin. "You've... got something, uh... right there." Viinturuth flicked his tongue across his lower lip to indicate the location, then smiled sheepishly.

As the look on her face gradually receded and her usual sunken, sleepy expression took over again, she flicked her tongue out to gather a wad of plant matter off her chin, then emphatically chewed and swallowed. The entire time Stryx did not take her eyes off the other wolf.

He looked healthy, and large, and possibly threatening—except for the sheepish expression on his face.

You make a habit'a scarin' folk? She comments dryly, turning to properly face him as she staggered back to her full height; he was still so much larger than she was, but the spiking of her fur helped a little to even things out. Irritation was plainly wrought across her face by this point.

"No," the pale wolf answered, maybe a little defensively, and he twitched a pale ear, "it was an accident!" He stood there, awkward, and considered just turning away and leaving this sourpuss to whatever weird plant-eating shit she was up to, since his presence was clearly unwelcome. What kept him rooted was a reluctance to turn his back on a stranger who might see it as an opportunity to sink her fangs into his flesh.

Viinturuth blinked, burgundy gaze sweeping briefly over raised sterling hackles and a pointed glare. "Uh," what the fuck was he supposed to do? Standing and gawking wasn't much of an option and was likely to further provoke her, unintended or not. He swallowed, and fidgeted uncomfortably; "what are you, uh... doing?"

He seemed repentant. Or, as apologetic as she'd expect from a stranger. Her eyes did not leave him as he spoke, though her ears pivoted, keeping track of her surroundings in case he was not alone. The last thing she needed was to be chased off by some testosterone-rich fools. But he didn't leave either; perhaps he was intrigued by the plants she'd destroyed — his question made her narrow her gaze slightly.

These plants, she shifted so he could look at the crumpled shoots missing their buds, if he felt the need, relieve women of unwanted parasites. Her agitated expression melted as she spoke, becoming something closer to a smirk, as she wondered what he might glean from this explanation. It was a morbid way to speak of pregnancies.

Parasites? Viinturuth scrunched his nose, feeling his skin crawl at the mere mention of such a term. "You mean, like..." he swallowed, realising too late that he might further offend her by speaking what was on his mind without pausing to think about it, "worms!?"

The pale wolf took a careful step away, uninterested in being infected. "Can't you just, y'know, shit them out?" He'd suffered from a vicious bout of the shits once before and, though worms were an unlikely cause, he vividly recalled that his nurse had insisted on inspecting his excrement for any sign. The idea of them thriving in his guts, wriggling around and feeding off him, was quite possibly the most disgusting thing he'd ever imagined.

He did wonder, however, why some plant could remove these bugs from only females, as she suggested. Perhaps guys had more robust bellies? Viinturuth, obviously not at all blessed by the gift of common sense, blinked dumbly at the ashen rogue in silent expectation for a better explanation.

His outburst told her all she needed to know about him. The leap he'd made gave the indication he knew of medicine, but nothing specific. His assumption was wrong. His evident abhorrence - his reaction and backpedalling - made her emphatically roll her eyes.

No, not worms, she states sharply. A small huff punctuates the moment, and then her voice is discoloured by a fresh disgust as she elucidates: Clearly your parents did not educate you on the birds and the bees...? I refer to the parasitical nature of pregnancy. You know, the aftermath of a man's lust? Speaking of this was frustrating. Stryx shakes her head as she concludes.

I chew these buds whenever I find them, she motions to the ruined weeds, the slovenly scatter of half-chewed purple wads she'd spat out in her surprise. Now, do you need something, or are you going to continue harassing me?