Deepwood Weald the boom, boom, boom of your heart

she lies awake, unable to settle into sleep. she does not know how long it's been since she's curled up at the base of the pine, but can only stare out into the dark, mind working as she works to preen her shoulder. the fur there is damp, raw, and yet she can not shake the feeling that somehow she's missed a spot, and her fur remains filthy. 

then, it's morning. the girl blinks, dread settles. the time is somehow void from her memory, and yet she can not remember waking. a stiff shake of her head, and she rises, heading south. best not to dwell on it, not when her paws long to get moving. this wanderlust she's not felt in a long time, and it brings a careful grin to her features. 

her shoulder, unnoticed, bleeds.

With the mountain behind him, and every stride onward carrying him further into the wilds at large, he began his way into the forest of tall trees without a second thought. It came to him alongside a growing confidence in his ranging, though rarely did he make it all that far from the dominion of his family--especially lately, when there remained plenty there to stay occupied with even at home, but summer had opened a new interest in the opportunities beyond. However, some may just recognize it as that timeless urge to simply see what there was to see, and unbeknownst to him, his bloodline was rife with its desire.

When along the way, the winds speak of blood, he first thought comes as he has misinterpreted. Just a trickle on the wind, and it came with scent of someone unfamiliar to him too, though he has been prepared for that (maybe, to an extent, hoping for it) so with a curious pivot, he decided to check it out.

Weaving through the trees and the ferns, he tracked down the source before long. He lifted his head immediately for a better look: a leggy wolfess, a stranger, and indeed, it smelled like her blood, oddly enough. Antares moved himself to intercept her pathway, coming from the direction she was heading already, though did not say anything to introduce himself yet beyond the hawkish look he centered on her first.

swathed in midnight, with blue gems set into his crown. she is come to a stop, gaze shifting up and down the boy who can't be more than a few months of her own age. he's sharp, quiet, and for a moment she's taken aback, silent in turn. and then, after a beat in which her surprise turns to curiousity, she offers a careful, "hey." 

gaze shifts behind him a moment, wanting to ensure no further dark-pelted kin will come creeping out of the bushes. "I'm Moony." she offers next, shifting her weight atop her paws as she hopes for something besides silence from him.

He watched her, and it seemed it made her watch back for a beat now that he had come into her route. The dark yearling kept to his keen eye, but dipped his head to her greeting. One of his own doesn't make itself fully formed, though he switched his tail slowly enough to say so--only for the most discerning eye; he had too many questions.

Moony? He blinked, and accepted this, glad to have something without having to ask after it. Never had he heard a name like that one, however, even hailing from the pack of moon-mountain wolves--not that he got out much, yet. Antares, he said to break his silence, nose gesturing a touch to himself to say what he needed to say. Where are you going? he asked, considering he had likely interrupted her progress to somewhere, somehow. Still, he could not place any of the scents she wore and he suspects that this is what wants to throw him off.