Moonspear Moodi / Cryin

Would love a @Argent but no pressure ever!

One important thing everyone had failed to mention about Moonspear: it was utterly impossible to sleep in here. Every morning, Keen was awoken by two successive howls. The first one just a greeting from Sialuk, the second a call for Swordfish from Meerkat. It didn't take long for her to start to resent this habit of theirs, but she didn't let it show. Instead she would just get up, linger for a little bit until she was sure it would stay quiet again, and relocate to a different sleeping spot.
Which was exactly what she was doing right now. She picked her way among the trees, sniffing around tiredly for a place to resume resting for the morning. Dens felt wrong to her these days, too lonely, so she slept in the open. The downside was that it was really fucking cold no matter where she slept. So really, her indecisiveness didn't make much sense. It didn't matter where she settled. She would still be cold. Nonetheless, Keen kept searching for the perfect spot, as if she might find a magic patch of warm snow somewhere.

The resounding howls every morning was something Argent found almost endearing—a certain greeting to the world as the day began anew. Of course, the man slept little as it was—at least for now, while he looked to settle into his new home. He had yet to determine his worth—and so he would remain restless until then.

He veered towards the borders—a normal routine for him now, once the morning songs drifted to silence. He supposed it might have been proper to seek out Sialuk or Njord to see if they wished to join him, but their companionship had not necessarily blossomed to one of friendship—at least not yet.

So when sharp icy eyes fell upon a smudge of brown in the distance, a soft rumble escaped the man—nearing, who noted as her scent drifted to him that she was one of the village, and his stance would relax. Her pelt was warm where his dull—her eyes bright where his were cold. And while he openly studied her, he gave a gentle motion of his muzzle in silent greeting should she look toward him, uncertain if she was keen for company at this hour or if he should resume to the borders.

She was so tired, she almost mistook the soft, distant growl for something else. What exactly that was, she didn't know. Keen froze for a second in the manner of someone startled halfway to the bathroom at 2am by some distant downstairs crash. Then she realized she had company, and relaxed almost in unison with the pale-furred stranger. Another time, she might have been offended, but instead she yawned and covered her mouth sleepily.
Oh, hello, Keen managed before another yawn seized her. He was very tall, wasn't he? Her posture shifted and closed in a gesture of shyness. She was too tired for strangers! But Keen was ever polite, so she said, Nice morning, isn't it?

The brown she-wolf wasn’t perturbed by his initial rumblings, and Argent hung his muzzle lower in a mollifying manner, icy gaze sweeping over her, unreadable in that moment otherwise. She addressed him—sleepily—a yawn and half-hearted gesture that sparked quiet amusement in the otherwise silent man.

At her comment, he stole a glance around, considering—the snow and ice glinted in the waking light, ensuring a winter wonderland. The trees hung loosely with it—frosted and quiet as they slept the winter away. This was a climate and land Argent was comfortable in, and he offered a quiet chuff in agreement. “It is—but you don’t seem to be a morning person. Unless I’m mistaken?” Gentle teasing—still trying to find his footing with the wolves of the mountain.

She thought she saw a sparkle of amusement in his silver-blue eyes, but she honestly found it difficult to care. About any of it. Sleeeeeep. But he was nice enough, and observant too. She covered her mouth again as she laughed. No, you're right, I - Keen yawned again. Am so not a morning person. She shook her fur out as if that might clear the sleepiness from her.
But it's so cold, I can hardly sleep. Best not to complain about the alpha or her friend, she figured. And it was true. It was winter, so of course it was cold, and in spite of her thick fur Keen had never much liked the cold. Her ancestors were probably cursing and smashing their cups somewhere.

Argent gave a mild tip of his muzzle in understanding—perhaps even in quiet agreement. Yet she spoke of the cold—and his eyes lifted to scan the icy lands—only mildly curious what the landscape they inhabited would look when spring brought its thaw. “Do you not have…. An ulaq?” The word was foreign on his tongue—he tested it, wondering if he had butchered it.

Then, with a step forward more, the Sandraudiga motioned to the direction of Moonspear’s borders. “A walk might help warm you up if you want to join me,” he offered, partially believing she would say no, given her fatigued state. Had he been a smoother operator, he might have suggested other ways in which they could warm themselves—but he found he was motivated to not be chased from the land, and thus, withheld the mischievous suggestion.

An ulaq? Keen deciphered quickly enough that this was another word in Sialuk's language, but she wasn't quite sure what it meant. In the context of their conversation... perhaps a den? She shook her head based on this assumption, deciding to roll with it. Oh, no. Too lonely by myself, She told him, considering his offer of a walk with a slightly thoughtful look. I don't think I'm up for a walk just now, but there are much more interesting ways to warm up, aren't there?
A quick smile graced her features as she said it, but she wasn't joking at all. If he wasn't interested, she would think nothing of it, but why not make the move? It wasn't like she had anything, or anyone, better to do. Talking to strangers was a total drag, but — well, as far as other activities, this wasn't Keen's first rodeo.

His eyes appraised her—she was lonely, by herself—and wished to be warmed in another way. Of course his mind went to one simple answer—and he hesitated. Would starwoman anger from such intimate gatherings of her pack mates? He did not believe the woman to hold much interest in him—so he did not consider it from the perspective of jealousy.

Simply that some frowned upon such things.

And yet—such things were all he had allowed himself to indulge in when it came to the fairer sex. His mother had withered away over the years from the love of a dead mate, and he was reluctant to place himself so readily at another's feet.

A course rumble escaped him then—chest heavy as it expanded in a soft sigh and a low chuckle. “Show me?” She would lead—if only because he did not want to mistake the she-wolf’s intent.

I'm sorry Keen is terrible

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What, was this guy a virgin? Nope, no way. Not today, Satan. Keen knew how this one went: she would get her hopes up, get all excited, only to be cut short by Mr. One Pump Chump before she could even glimpse completion. He would be giddy and spent and useless, and she would be pissed. Hard pass.
Abruptly losing interest, Keen stepped back. Maybe we should stick to walking instead, She told him, trying to soften the sudden rejection. He was a packmate, after all. Gotta get used to mornings somehow, right? Hopefully he didn't need to be shown how to walk, too.

Mirth flickered across his face—exactly the reaction he had expected from the she-wolf. No doubt she had assumed he would balk at her suggestiveness—put off by such a bold request and thus why he had coaxed her to begin such antics rather than instigate himself. He wasn’t one for making a lady feel uncomfortable and place unwanted attention.

So at his rumbling laugh, Argent side-stepped the ruddy woman, paws beginning to lead to the borders. At her comment of getting used to mornings, he surmised quietly she was within a role that simply did not see her out greeting the sunrise as he did. “So if you don’t get up at the crack of stupid like most of us, what is it you do that interests you?” He sought the borders and scouting—both ideal within the early morning hours, though could be argued any time of day would suit. His icy gaze swept over her momentarily, a cant of his muzzle given. “A stargazer into the late hours of the night?”

Keen had lost most of her interest in him, to be honest. If he wasn't up to the task she had initially suggested, well, she just didn't have much use for his presence! Still, she didn't want to be rude. So she followed him and indulged his chatter with a tired smile, and tried her very best not to yawn. Maybe he could help me sleep this way, she thought, bored with the implication that she must be a stargazer.
Historian, actually, She answered, and promptly failed in her mission to avoid yawning. I've been putting together Moonspear's history. Lost track of time. If only she could go back to that sweet state of total focus — but no, she needed to rest first. Keen knew from experience that it was never wise to neglect herself in favor of her histories.

She yawned—countless times—and Argent fell victim to it… the way one tends to do when witnessing another do such an action.

Her energy, her lack thereof, felt absolutely sluggish, and he found himself both regretting trying to lure her to the borders to assist him when she could barely drag one paw before the other, and amusement, given that no one else on this mountain seemed to appreciate sleeping in the way she did.

It would be an unfortunate adjustment, it seemed.

“Historian,” he murmured, a brow arching as he cast her a sideways glance. “I only know of what Njord said—about the disaster that happened when Sialuk first left.” His eyes drifted from her, scanning ahead—“Seems like you’ll have your paws full piecing things together,” he offered—polite, as one was when neither present wanted to be the rude one and stop the overly polite chatter. “I assume that means you’ve learned the history of a lot of the valleys below. You don’t happen to have anything about the Sunspire, do you?”

Now she had both of them yawning, damn. Keen resisted the urge to laugh at the image of the two of them, meandering through pleasantries while her lethargy hung between them like a sheet on a line that somehow managed to hit them both in the face at the same time. Nope, She said instead, this time turning her face away to yawn. Don't know a damn thing about these Wilds. I kept it that way on purpose, for a long time. I was born on the other side of the mountains - but I spent a long time drifting from pack to pack. I stay awhile, turn their history into a story that can be passed down, and when enough wolves have it memorized I move on.
She was oversharing, at least for her own standards. Yawning again, she added, I think I'm staying here, though. I figure Moonspear's got enough history to keep me busy for the rest of my life, Keen wasn't actually sure if that was true, but it was an explanation. She didn't have another to offer. It just seemed like it was time to settle down, really, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that reason yet. So she kept it to herself. What's up with Sunspire, anyway? I could hunt down some information for you. But she would want to know why, of course.

Idly, he wondered if she remembered the stories and histories after she divulged them to those she taught them to—but another yawn from her brought one of his own, and he found the question dying from his lips.

A certain lethargy began to wind it’s way along his spine, and he held back a grunt—eyes drifting back to the direction he continued to walk—hoping that once routine took over, the fog-like feeling of fatigue would creep away with duty.

Instead, she asked of the Sunspire—and he found a rather chagrin expression pulling at his lips before mollifying it—a shrug offered at first before: “I was born there. A pack called Diaspora. My father had rather large ambitions… Too large, maybe.” He paused, considering. Stigmata was almost a story to him, rather than a being who once was—a character in a tale Keen might weave, no doubt… Not quite tangible. His untimely death had placed Mahler as a more prominent father figure… and a surge of guilt threatened at him then, that he had not checked on the man since returning to the Wilds. “He died when I was young. Sometimes I wonder if the opinions and stories I’ve been told of him are… biased,” he added, trying to be careful with his words.