Phoenix Maplewood first star I see tonight

@Ruona

All his life, Dusty had been nocturnal.

The Red Desert, where he’d been raised, was a broiling oven in the daylight hours. They hunted in the evening, right as the sun was going down. They, and every other predator in the basin. The buff-colored cat that stalked in the shadows. The night bird, a black phantom against a starry sky. These things could kill them.

Other things, they killed. Fat, orange snakes still warm from a day of sunbathing. Lizards and mice poking their heads out of their burrows. Long, rangey hares — some of them almost as big as the flower eater — and thrashing, tough, plated centipedes. These things were all for them to eat.

It was different, here in the great north. The sky was occluded day and night by mountain and tree and clouds. The rocks never got quite as warm as they ought.

And the nights were lonely. Quiet. After Dusty had finished his hunting, he would lie in the tall grass with a not-quite-full belly and look up at the moon. He’d think about the racket of his family’s scream-songs. He’d think about tussling with his siblings or tossing stink bugs at one another. He’d think about the cold, gray dawns he would spend in a warm puppy pile, with Dad and the flower eater watching over them or else sprawled out in similar repose.

The nights were very, very lonely out here.

So he looked up at the moon and sang a scream-song by himself — something that was not quite a wolf’s howl and not quite a coyote’s shriek — hoping that someone, anyone might answer. He would even welcome the company of the flower eater, but for the first time, Dusty thought he might finally have shaken his stalker for good.

Ruona tried not to travel through the night; she often used it for rest and relaxation but after her run-in with the strangers in the Hollow, she had decided to keep moving… and with her, the cold seemed to follow. She had followed the North Star, or more of, she had moved opposite of it in hopes of greener pastures. The world had been white for her for far too long, and she longed to see some color, and the warm breeze that came with it.
 
The priestess moved swiftly across the ground, finding a burst of energy to propel her further. She did not want to stay still for long, not with the bulk of her mission and journey ahead of her though she knew soon she would need to stop. Her stomach grumbled uncomfortably, and the woman was not entirely sure how long it had been since she had last eaten.
 
She knew she would need to pause to find something.
 
It was then that she froze in her tracks, hearing the scream-song in the distance that sounded vaguely like a wolf’s howl but different though the woman could not place quite what it was. She found herself responding, her maw lifting to the sky and she allowed her own song, more melodic than that which had come before it.

Deep in the maplewood, Dusty froze to listen to that distant howl. He recognized on some level that it was different than his own — and he could, for instance, identify that the caller was almost certainly a wolf, but he was so accustomed to hearing wolf and coywolf and coyote calls together that he didn’t consider how strange his singing voice might sound to others.

Of course, he called back again, unconsciously smoothing his voice to better match the strangers’. It was a question to the spirit of, but soft, what light from yonder window shines?

Dusty didn’t wait for an answer before his paws began to carry him in that direction.

The Maplewood was an explosion of red and gold all around him, though the colors were darkened and muted in the night. Violet and burgundy under an indigo sky — a good rainbow, perhaps, for one who’d seen only white for so long. For Dusty, however, the real intrigue was in the vegetation itself, and in the creeping thyme and detritus under his paws, so very different from the gritty sand and smooth, red clay he’d grown up trodding upon.

He was very close when he lifted his head again, this time to shout, ”Hello?” into the thinning trees. He’d traveled some distance by now, and the branches before him were more and more barren, and there was more and more of the strange white snow that Dusty had only heard stories about, up until a few months ago. He still hadn’t see the great, white fields of it that he’d been told of, and what snow he did run into was hard and sharp instead of light and soft. But it was still novel to him, and it made the night seem all the more strange to see such a landscape before him — a desert of an entirely different composition.

She heard the response, her eyes softening as she waited patiently where she was, her eyes scanning the white-covered foliage around her for some semblance of someone coming her direction. It was not long until she heard the sound of paws crunching against the brittle earth, a weary look on her features as she approached the stranger with the same thing she approached all with: caution. One could never be too careful, especially travelling alone, and she did not wish to cross paths with any who would do her harm.
 
There was a greeting, a shout this time as her ears twitched again. “Here.” She stated, the common tongue foreign on her lips across the blanket of the thick northern accent, the consonants slurring into their vowels as if they were clustered together. She very much missed using her native language so often, but she had not run into anyone in quite some time who could speak it as she could. She was not certain anyone this far south knew of the Sami of Saivo, or what the strings of their tongue meant when they spoke.
 
What greeted her was strange in appearance: wolf but distinctly different, just as his call had been. Her nose twitched lightly, her tail flicking from side to side for a moment before she continued. “Who?” She stuck to the simple questions now, voicing, uncertain if she should let on how much of the tongue she spoke… it was easier with foes at times if one did not speak the language. Some did not like to play with their food unless they could fully manipulate them.

The view was so striking that he forgot to prostrate himself before this new acquaintance. But she was just little, so Dusty figured that was alright. It certainly made him much bolder in his approach. His bushy tail still wheeled in friendly excitement, but held away from his body instead of underneath. And his head still ducked and his ears still splayed, but he was keen on getting as close as possible so that he could shove his black nose into her pale fur.

"Who?" he repeated, attempting to circle her so that he wouldn't have to approach her head-on. His neck stretched to close some of the distance he left between them, but he was quick to dance away at the first flash of teeth.

"That's what owls say," he told her, but he'd picked up on the accent, of course. She wanted his name, and he was inclined to give it to her! It was just that he wasn't usually much bigger than the next wolf, and having those extra few pounds and inches to lord over her made him feel just a little puckish.

But he realized he was being terribly rude and licked his chops in a contrite, solicitous smile.


"My name's Dusty," he told her. "Who are you?"

Rana heard the noise, her head swivelling, trying to catch sight of the creature who had made the noise, catching him on the starboard side of her body as her gaze analyzed his gait and stature. He did not seem threatening, though her nose twitched in irritation as he stated some dry comment rather than answering her question, her jaw stiffening in the process before she sighed softly. He would be of no assistance, it would seem.
 
But then, he offered a smile, a name, and asked the same of her. “Rana.” She left it simple, a woman of few words as her head tilted to the side. “What are you doing here, Dusty?” She asked, a curious nature to her voice that gave no hints of aggression. As a priestess, she nearly never resorted to violence, and never had.
 
Her paws freshly stained with the juice from berries she had stomped in the day before, spreading up her hackles a small distance that left the sharp fermenting scent of berries on her, and with it, she hoped came, the protection that they were supposed to provide her.

When no opposition was offered, Dusty thought nothing of poking his snipey nose into her fragrant pelage. The stains were an anomaly to him, and one that needed thorough investigation! But he was disappointed to find it was only berry juice, and not a natural marking or coloration.

And then it turned out the woman spoke the common tongue quite well, and Dusty was terribly flustered. He'd assumed that she wouldn't understand, but her command was such that he doubted this could be the case. His investigation turned at once into an apology, long legs jellifying and dropping him to the cold ground. He laid on his side, his withers leaned heavy into her forelegs and his neck extended so that he could attempt to slobber on her chin in contrite supplication.

The childish, boisterous display was one that had often convinced family members to be lenient with him, and he did not consider that a stranger might not find it quite as charming.

As quickly as it had begun, however, the excitement became too much for the youth, and he sprang up and performed a graceless pirouette before turning to smack the hardpacked earth with his paws.

"I'm blooming," he told her, and he seemed disinclined to make any further explanations. "Why're you all ruddy?" he wanted to know, belly-crawling back to her to try and poke at her paws. Did it taste as strong as it smelled?

Sorry for the delay! Adjusting to a new writing schedule now that I’ve started working!

His nose sticking towards her paws caused her to stiffen, taking a step back in uncertainty though with some time she realized he was only inquiring about the stains on her paws, a dark purple color from stomping in berries, trying to bring about visions of what might happen next… in time, it had become something of a comfort to her, even if she no longer believed herself possible of bringing visions about.
 
She blinked at him as he dropped to the cold grown, taking more steps back as his neck extended and he attempted, and failed, to slobber her chin up. “What are you doing, stranger?” She asked, confusion clear in her accent-laden tone. This creature, which she was not wholly convinced was a wolf, was so confusing, she had found… and she didn’t know what to make of it.
 
Blooming. “Blooming?” The confusion continued before he asked about being ruddy. The term was foreign to her, but the context of him trying to poke at her paws was enough for her to put together what he was asking. “I crushed berries with my paws recently… it leaves a coloration on my fur because it is so light for some time afterward. My family believes it a sign of good fortune to come.” It had stained, and she had technically lied over it's origins, but the man would not know any better.

His youthful exuberance, as it turned out, was not catching. Rana did not seem at all charmed by it, either. It was still difficult for Dusty to cut it out entirely, but he restrained himself to sniffing intently at her paws rather than jumping all over her person.

... until the source of the stain was revealed, and the tidings it supposedly foretold were shared with him. Dusty hoped fervently that it counted even if it were on the paws of another wolf, and then sprang up as a thought occurred to him.

“Will you show me?” he asked her, making his best puppy-dog eyes at the woman. “I’ve been hoping for some good fortune, you see. This is my first time away from my family.” As if it weren’t obvious. He tried to creep closer again so that he could convince her with another round of slimy supplication, and then at the last moment remembered himself and did his best to halt his tip-tapping paws.

For some reason, knowing it wasn’t allowed and that she as not impressed with him made it that much more imperative that he throw himself at her. The male couldn’t stand to be at odds with anyone! Let alone a bruja — and Rana clearly was.

Ruona had never seen such behavior out of another… specifically, out of someone who was no longer a child. She had seen children play and experience as such but to see such happen in a grown wolf was enough to startle and confuse her rather than give her the motivation or energy to play along.
 
He asked to be shown, and she found herself frowning at the request. She had never been told the practices of her culture were reserved, but it felt strange, the idea of sharing them with an outsider, one she had just met, and one so playful… she was not certain what her parents might have said should they be there in that moment.
 
“It is… cultural.” She explained as best as she could, politely trying to decline his request without hurting his feelings. “It requires a connection to my ancestors, which you do not have… I am afraid it would do you little good, Dusty.” She added on in the hopes that he would not take it hard.
 
She reared back once more as he crept closer again, preferring to keep a decent distance between the two of them with his nature. It was… unnerving, and she had decided in that moment that she did not like it.

A naïve as he might seem, Dusty recognized the let-down, and was finally seeming to internalize that this wolf didn't want to be friends with him. He gazed at her wordlessly for a moment, his dark eyes blank and his crooked whiskers quivering. It was the longest break in sound and motion that Ruona had experienced since Dusty first came into sight.

"Thank you for explaining, ma'am," he said at last, a little more reserved than before as an incredible loneliness welled up in his chest.

Not for the first time, Dusty thought about turning around and marching home. Or better yet, wailing at the moon until the flower eater tracked him down once more, and then he'd even have company on the long journey back to the desert.

"You've got some awfully helpful ancestors," he remarked, but he'd begun to backtrack as he retreated (for the first time) back into himself. "That's really somethin'. All mine's good for is passin' on a singin' voice."

This was a joke, but it fell a little flat.

Ruona had found herself hesitant to make friends since she had taken the advice of Colt… the suggestions he had made had unnerved her, and with it came a professional distance she placed between herself and others she interacted with. She did not want to let others believe what he had believed, that she would do such things…
 
He explained more, and then he started to speak of her ancestors, her tail flicking from side to side, almost contemplatively though her expression was cool. “My ancestors have a special bond with the earth… Rana, the name I was given… it is bestowed upon the wolves born white as snow, with eyes as mine… we are believed to be conduits for their thoughts, and are only born once in a generation.” And with it, she began burdened.
 
She missed the idea of his joke entirely, having focused in on her own beliefs which she held to the core, even though she had wavered in it in month’s past. She had been shown the error of her ways, for look what happened when she strayed from that she was born for: chaos erupted and she ran into despicable wolves.