Firefly Glen Light Up the Night

Setting: Night — 23:45. 70 degrees — clear skies.

The night is unsurprisingly dark. The thick canopy above hides the ground from any light. Only smaller splotches of the sickly blue meet the forest floor. He’s been walking for hours, no goal in mind. Or maybe just one, to explore these strange new lands.

So the massive man continues on his way throughout this gloomy place. As he goes deeper into the territory, he notices little yellow lights appearing everywhere. They illuminate the entire area and it’s truly magical, bathing everything in a low light. At first he’s confused. He’s never seen fireflies, or at least his pack never had them in the Abbey. So, now he’s left wondering how all of these odd lights at floating about. There’s hundreds if not more and he decides to investigate. 

Trotting towards a smaller group of them, they illuminate his handsome face and he furrows his brows and comes closer. They float away from him, some slower than others and some dart away, seemingly scared of him. Donovan doesn’t understand. So he takes a risk and shoots forward catching one in his mouth. It feels like it’s squirming on his tongue and his face consorts into one of slight disgust. Craning his head down, he spits it out and crouches to inspect it. Apparently they’re fucking bugs. How a bug can produce so much light makes the brindled male even more confused.

Shrugging he casually slurps the bug back up into his mouth and begins chewing. Again, his face contorts in disgust and, for the second time, he spits it out. Shaking his head side to side in disappointment he continues walking. Amazed by the low lighting that the bugs produce, he carries onward, just as the bugs do.

Firefly Glen was a place of magic, but not for Riley. He had encamped in its territory for the last several days, and had watched as the sun fled and the moon reigned -- bringing with it a whole new subset of life that was otherwise hidden from those that roamed during daylight hours.

Dusk had set in, and the familiar drone of fireflies began anew. Riley had little interest eating them, though he watched as a large form first lumbered after them, consumed one (or two -- Riley could not tell), and then continued on. It occured to the yearling belatedly that he was in the beast's direct line of path. Rather than slip off, Riley rolled the dice and played his chances, hoping the male would not notice him camping besides the trail as he strode on by.

Donovan’s curious escapade of eating fireflies made him realize that whatever made the bugs light up so brightly is probably the thing that makes them taste so god awful. He shakes his head in disappointment, he guesses its better to look and don’t tough in this case. Even though he is a bit hungry. Oh well, he’s sure he could find plenty of food here later. For now he continues his exploration of these new and strange lands.

Speaking of strange, a figure appears itself to him. Someone he is unaware of walking directly towards. It’s another wolf, or so that’s what it seems. They’re of chocolate browns and other browns he can’t quite distinguish in the low, pale light of the moons rays. Or the spots lucky enough to make it past the lush canopy above that is.

Still, Donovan hasn’t been expecting a meeting with someone so late in the night. It seems too late for that so he mentally shrugs and looks to the other. “Evening.” He greets lowly. “Passing by?” He asks short and sweet, golden hues shamelessly taking in their form, trying to gauge what reaction they might greet him back with.

Another odd wolf in the Glen for the books. Riley was over Firefly Glen and its habitants; it seemed each one was weirder than the last.

If Tiercel had given him bad jubies, this male gave him straight neggy-vibes -- there was something innately dangerous about him, the way he walked. The way he carried himself. The rippling of his darkwater pelt, variegated by splashes of unusual copper; Riley knew a thing or two about predators, and this man was one -- moreso than he would ever be.

He remained prone, though he loathed the vulnerability it presented him. Several seconds passed by before there was an answer; it was flat, and dull -- much like the lack of light behind Riley's eyes. "Sleeping." He corrected, for he had no reason to lie despite the fact his safety might be on the line. "But you are passing through." He observed, wondering just what business this man had in so melancholy a place.

The brindled male gazes down at him through the darkness, fireflies lighting the scenery in the corner of his eye. The other continues to lie there, clearly confident enough to not be worried of Donovan’s intentions. Or perhaps he’s gambling with death by not keeping himself more alert. Anyhow, the large wolf dog just stands there, he will not act aggressively as long as the other doesn’t give him a reason to.

Though as those dull, golden eyes much like his own look at him to him, he seems unworried by Donovan’s presence. At the single word sentence the brindled male quirks a brow and a smirk slowly begins spreading across his maw. Then at the other obvious observation Donovan gives a single, shallow nod.

“Oh? Sleeping then? At this time of night?” He says sarcastically though, a bit of him is partly serious. “It’s prime time of the night for some action, no?” He hums slyly, mischief swimming about his eyes. “A hunt, a spar. Who sleeps these days?” The male asks cocking his head. Perhaps it’s just Donovan that doesn’t ever sleep. It’s obvious he’s asking for some kind of entertainment, whether or not the other gives it to him is iffy.

"Yes, sleeping." Riley responded, completely missing the contextual clues that suggested this stranger was being sarcastic. He remained in his position on the ground, thick limbs with their tapering, blunt claws outstretched before him. "I sleep these days." Riley answered, again missing the subtle conversational tones that might have suggested such a question was rhetoric.

His gaze flickered to the fireflies, and then back to the beast of a man. By Riley's estimation, this wolf was no slouch -- and it occurred to him that any wolf that was wandering in such hours was often up to no good. He scanned the man's face, his body language, his posture -- adding up whatever syntax he could that might help him better read the wolf's mood. At length, he made to speak. "What do you want?" It was obvious to the boy Donovan wanted some sort of action, but unless it was spelled out (and painfully so), Riley would be unlikely to offer any sort of amusement on his own behest.

Donovan laughs at the males dry tone. The man’s blunt, there’s nothing wrong with that. So finally, while Donovan stands there in all his massive glory. He shakes off the laugh. “You look like you can fight.” He puts out there. “I want to see if you can.” Though at first his tone is normal, it drops down to an inquisitive baritone towards the end, mischief written all over his face. “You look young after all. Young warriors have potential to become the deadliest if trained correctly.”

The brindled male paces, head held tall and his body language confident. “Let me see what you got, kid.” He teases deeply. The smirk underlining his expression an invitation to spar all on its own. Donovan needs some entertainment tonight.

Riley got his answer, but not in the direct manner he had become accustomed to. With Laurel, things were always black and white. He was finding the rest of the world came in many confusing shades.

He resignedly rose to his feet. It was not his nature to be trusting, and he did not like the idea of a spar with a wolf he did not know. "How can I trust you?" Riley countered, his stout limbs tense as he studied the leviathan that, despite his own sturdy constitution, thoroughly dwarfed him. "It might be a trap." He surmised this was a wolf unused to not getting his way -- either way, Riley was certain things would come to blows if Donovan wished.

At the males first words Donovan releases a bark of laughter. “You can’t.” He says still coming down from the bout of previous laughter. “That’s the best part. I can’t trust you either. Makes it exciting, no?” He asks with an easy smirk and a cock of his brow.

He paces away from the younger with his pack towards him, but Donovan’s eyes are still locked onto his own. “It could be. Or maybe I’m just fucking bored and need some substance in my life.” He hums with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “You scared, princess?” He taunts smoothly, turning back towards him. “Show me some talent if you’re not.” He says challengingly, teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Nothing but a friendly spar to gauge where you’re at.”

Donovan definitely testing him. Every good warrior needs to have their beliefs and talents tested by an unknown force. All it does is improve.

According to Riley, that was not a convincing argument for sparring with a stranger. He passed over Donovan with a skeptic glare, unmoving as the cogs in his mind clickety-clacked and drew out their own scenarios.

None ended well for him.

He was nothing if he was not Laurel's child, and a spark of that streak showed in his indolent expression as he went from mildly-interested to wholly-shut down.

"I don't want to." Riley replied, tone childish, bordering on churlish as well. Who fought random strangers in the forest? He was beginning to feel he was not safe, and so he rose slowly. "I'm leaving." He expected the man might argue to the contrary, but he was already walking.

We can fade here or on your next post. I’m okay with whichever! Thank you for the thread! :D

At the word, I don’t want to. Donovan is actually surprised. His facing becoming comically straight. Remaining like that when the other turns his back to him. Huh, no one has really denied a spar with him before. It’s humbling he supposes. Though obviously unsatisfied with the outcome, he huffs a stubborn breath.

“Well...alright then.” He hums awkwardly. Not really expecting such an outcome. Then he turns his own body and continues on another direction. “Shows what skill you have then, pup. You could probably use some training.” He comments slyly as he pads away. The tone of voice isn’t as toxic and accusatory as the words. Rather he says it like stating a simple fact out of a history book.

With that, he will depart unless stopped.

Was that all?

Riley remained still, as if stupefied, as Donovan parted.

He was not one to trust strangers easily. The best fight was the one avoided, in his mind -- and he knew from looking at the brute, that there was very little chance of victory here.

Like a mindless lizard sunbathing on the stones, Riley remained rooted to his spot a while longer. Eventually as the crickets ceased their chorus and the fireflies faded away, his form was seen slithering through the dark, searching for a new place to rest.