Wild Berry Meadow I'm a stitch away from making it

stuck it in the middle so you can toss either of your boys in it! @Foxfur

Willowsong crouched in the thick grass, head low over the berries as if hiding his current experiment might make it feel any less foolish. There wasn't anyone around to see it, but he feared being caught anyway. It was stupid, really, the whole thing was stupid. He would have been better off hunting, even if all he caught was a rat or a weasel. The thing was, he really didn't want to hunt. He really, really, really didn't want to. His legs ached and his back was stiff, and he knew it was his fault for oversleeping but... well, what else was there to do?
No sign of Crowfeather, as far as he could tell. Willowsong was alone, and a poor tracker anyhow, so he didn't expect to be anything but alone for the foreseeable future. There was no reason to do anything but the bare minimum. Survive. It sucked. He rolled one of the berries around in his mouth, then bit into it and grimaced at the flavor. It seemed edible, at least, but suddenly the effort of eating didn't seem very worth it at all, and then his stomach clenched with panic at the sudden realization that maybe they were poisonous, and then he really didn't want them.
He spat the berry into the grass, nauseous and fearful and heavy in the limbs. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have hunted. He shouldn't have been so lazy. It was the same old story, only now there was no one to pick up the slack when he faltered. He turned away from the berries, looking for a place to wait — either for death, or sleep.

cameo unless seen, dont mind me, cant help myself

the wildberry field had become one of the little harlot's favorite places to be. she sauntered gaily through the place, practicing the flashy flounce of a classier lady.
today she was not alone. there was another, a round sweet dessert of a creature. feasting on her berries, they were. 
maggie attempted to obscure the pale length of her figure behind an outcrop of tangled bushes, flattening ears so that she could observe the other without being disturbed.

The clouds moved to obscure the sunlight and cast the terrain in a hazy shadow. It would not be out of place if their size increased and rain fell through the evening. The warrior had traveled as far as he would manage for the day.

Foxfur still cursed the boy. He had never once recalled Crowfeather’s ability to remain hidden, to intentionally conceal his path. It had been the sole reason why Foxfur had been able to follow him to the new wilds. Still, something had changed within the fates. It could be felt that the dark seer was on a different journey.

As though stricken with a strange sense of recollection, the warrior froze and stared shrewdly into the foliage. The sweet-tart fragrance of herbs and greenery was in the air. A foreign scent played with his senses and Foxfur spun defensively.

Show yourself.

"all right, all right, yew found me out," maggie sang, lifting up from her bower. the speaker was a good-looking sight, a bright blaze of fox-red capturing the harlot immediately.
"oi'm from akashingo," she purred, coming as close to the pair as she dared. "that way. we cater to travelers, such as yourself, sir."
a glitter of her eyelashes, the pout of her lip, the curve of one well-flung hip. maggie grinned, daring.

A woman’s voice sounded out, though the warrior did not relax his figure so easily.

The figure was pale, ghostly in her looks. Her features were sharp, much like the wolves of the Starsea. For a moment, Foxfur wondered if he had ventured too far back. It was not until he had tried to decipher her peculiar way of speaking that he realized he’d never met this woman.

How do you cater to travelers, miss? What is it that your group offers to a wolf like me?

maggie grinned, small teeth a feral little leer. "food an' a place to rest. besides that, pleasures the loike o'which i bet yew ain't ever seen."
she sauntered closer, taking his scent even as she prepared to leap back if he should change. "for a price o'course, cullie. yew only got to name it."
the icefield eyes were brazen, locked upon his even as she swayed closer, and finally into his grasp, into the dangerous ring of space wherein she could not retreat if she wished.

It sounded as though the place she described was intended for travelers. This was a concept that Foxfur could not quite wrap his mind around. The pale woman’s strange way of speaking, her mannerisms, the suggestion that hung upon her words.

What must the traveler give in return? Foxfur asked of her, his head tilting curiously. Surely, they would not offer food and shelter for nothing. As a warrior, Foxfur understood the deals that were struck – a trade of skills, so to speak.

"time. 'untin'. whatever the lord wants, really." she did not know the matter of men coming to stay at akashingo. "but fer right now, oi'll give yew a taste. fetch me a fat pigeon an' oi'll make it worth yer while."
her canny eyes watched him carefully. no need to trek all the way toward the mesa to hike her metaphorical skirts. this one was polite and well-spoken. she'd had worse in her life.

Whatever the lord wants, he repeated with scrutiny. This implied that there would be something desired of him, something that should be offered in exchange for the services they wished to bestow. It felt like a tricky conversation to navigate and Foxfur was not certain he was all too willing.

If you hunger, I will fetch you something to eat. I am no stranger to hunting, the warrior offered her shrewdly, his light brown gaze squinting on her features. Foxfur was curious about the pale wolf and wanted to know more of her clan. I cannot guarantee a pigeon.

The warrior bowed his head and carved a path through the brush, searching for a scent of prey.

was this one daft or summat? maggie hadn't seen him take as much as a single sniff to what she was offering. perhaps he was one of them m [mdas]
when he turned away, maggie scowled to herself, smoothing it like a rumple. her next smile was brisk, challenging. "oi'll take whatever yew bring me. course then it's on my terms what 'appens after."
the beauty plunked her slender haunches down where they stood, leaning back against one foreleg while she lifted the other to her breast. "oi'm maggie lacewell. can't oi 'ave the name of the princeling willin' to catch my supper?" she grinned, meaning to stop the cull before we went mad off into the brush. "want to know what to call 'im when 'e's back, successful."

Willowsong had frozen and nearly pissed himself at the sound of voices through the underbrush, and had spent the entire conversation simply quivering among the bushes. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, not really — but there wasn't much else to be done, when all he could do was linger and listen. He couldn't bring himself to flee, or to call out, or show himself. At the end of the day, Willowsong was a coward.
At least he'd forgotten all about his impending death by foreign berries (which, he would later realize, wasn't coming at all).
The spell was broken when he heard the rustling approach of one of the conversing wolves, and Willowsong immediately realized he hadn't retained any of what was said between them. He had no idea what this wolf's intentions were. What if they'd noticed him, and now this one was coming to chase him off?
S-stay back! He called shakily, scrambling a few steps back. He'd never been much of a strategist; maybe that was why he'd been chosen to go into medicine, instead. That seemed like a good call just now, when faced with the possibility of a fight, or worse.

A shaky, uncertain voice was heard from the brush. Foxfur stopped immediately in his trek. The pale wolf behind him had been momentarily forgotten in the familiarity of the new sound. The warrior knew that voice, but he could not place the voice with the location.

Come on out, you are in no harm, Foxfur woofed into the foliage, holding his ground. The warrior did not wish to frighten the individual further, knowing that it was more likely he would flee than expose his hiding place and emerge. Still, there was a twinge of desperation in Foxfur’s words.

Don’t run, he thought, pleading in his mind. The woman was almost forgotten.

what was with these sort of culls?
maggie was accustomed to the haughty, unflagging energy of phay-row. this man had his head seized and turned around so quickly that she wasn't certain he was up to the task.
the man seemed to be talking to someone in the underbrush, calling out. natural curiosity stayed the beauty's boredom, and her tall silken ears tilted to listen, her blue eyes missing not a thing.