Emberwood branch-waving

peculiar new scent on the mudminnow. no — it was the qeya river man.
they were in the grove, where lestan also found to his disturbance the movement of bearclaw wolves. he kept low, slinking, tracking the — saatsine, yes.
he found them congregated at the emberwood and tried to hold back at a distance, swathed in what he felt to be fair cover. were he equipped with binoculars, hands, a notebook, thumbs — he might have scribbled wildly with one hand while the other struggled to keep the looking-glasses focused on those wolves below a small rise.
a big fellow, like a stormcloud, seemed to be the leader, though lestan supposed he couldn't be sure. he forgot himself a little, intent so much upon his investigation.

The woodland was fragrant this time of year, its foliage ablaze. Lonely pillars of somber green pines rose here and there through the sea of choking aspen, their pale bodies looming. A susurrus traveled like waves through the quaking fire leaves, and the birds trilled an alarm as the hunter passed.

Winter’s Wake followed his interrogative nose. Among the last hurrahs of flowers, the forest seeds and nuts and leaf decay, there was wolf. He found the brunette backside of his target, whose front end was aiming curious intensity over the edge of a rise in the land.

But they weren’t exactly hunting.

A disembodied stage-whisper came from behind the peeping tom: who are we spying on?

almost he screamed, metaphorical items spilling from metaphorical pockets into the very real foliage around them. lestan clapped a paw to his mouth, wheeling wide honeyblue eyes on — well. not a saatsine wolf, his nervous system reported, which did not actually make the mayfair feel less nervous at all.
now he held his chest, lashes fluttering; "goodness! my apologies, i —" he paused to catch his breath, glance anxiously around as if the saatsine would descend right upon them; "this pack came down from the t-taiga," he mumbled. "they're v-very close to my p-pack, as it were."
as if that explained it. 
as lestan composed himself, he had another of those belated realizations, and this one was based upon the fact that the stranger behind him was incredibly — pretty.

A startled gasp, a whirl of sunblue eyes; a summerwolf through and through.

Wake casually pulled back his head, expression creasing with mild amusement. His ears tipped and swiveled just as lazily, seeing that no one else had been disturbed, all while his eyes slid slowly down the wolf’s frame and back up again to meet their gaze intently.

He blinked slowly, examining the explanation under a magnanimous lens. He couldn’t have been doing much harm. After all, this was no trained spy—at least not judging by his panicked reaction. Just some looky-loo who probably had more than enough reason to do as he’d done by proximity alone.

Are you going to tell them? He tipped his head, a chaste and knowing smile faintly curving his muzzle. Reserving judgement, but entertained as a god might be. That they are close to your pack, I mean.

"i —" arrested, dear heart, dear lolloping heart; "no. i w-will inform my l-leaders," lestan decided, turning his face right about to watch the newcomers again. "they'll choose what t-to do."
if he was not looking at the man, he was not flustered, the mayfair discovered in short order, and so he peered through the deadfall as if his very heartbeat was dependent on how unblinking he became.
"they're a new p-pack. i w-wonder why th-they've c-come down h-here," he mumbled, becoming for a moment his researching-self once more.
"and they've k-killed a l-lot of caribou, m-more than they n-need, s-surely," he added, a bit of indignant consternation flowering his tone for a heated moment.

Ah. A shy one.

Wake studied the man’s profile, drawing his eyes slowly across ear lobe and jawline and throat. He breathed in quiet breaths, concentrating on the cologne of the investigator, who smelled of freshwater pine and miles underfoot.

How inconsiderate of them. He slithered close, casting a venturous look over the rise. The winterwolf peered down at those gathered, the caribou-hunters below. Tsk, tsk, tsk. A disapproving noise to accompany the other’s disquietude. Perhaps they are ritualists. Those who require sacrifice often kill more than they need.

He tongued a long fang. Should I go ask them? His dark eyes flashed, followed by a glance towards the summerwolf, seeking reaction.

"tell them? tell them wh-what — oh dear. no. no no. not at all," lestan hastily laughed, nervous for so many reasons he could barely keep his head on straight. "it's — w-well, it's swiftcurrent b-business. y-you don't need to h-handle that. deepest g-gratitude," he rushed, hazarding now a glance into the impossibly dark eyes which watched him with divine curiosity.
ritualist felt too close to witch. immediately discomfited by his own birthright, lestan began to slowly slither backward. "y-you c-could come with me. as a w-witness."
it was at once more daring than lestan had ever managed in his entire life. his heart celebrated by souring his belly into flipflopping somersaults he could barely manage.

Do you not want to know why they kill in excess? In part teasing, mostly genuine. Best to get answers straight from the source. Wake looked down the barrel of his muzzle at the caribou hunters, barely withholding judgement. They certainly didn’t appear to be a collaboration of cultists. But looks could be deceiving.

He turned to see the wolf retreat. Fear not my asking. I promise to be polite. This is of just as much interest to me, socius. Snowmelt ears flicked patiently. If I am to belong to these lands, then I must also know these things.

To the invitation, he smiled politely. What would I tell them? I know only what you have told me. Will your pack not believe you? His brow creased, head tilted, concerned and curious all the same.

how had their conversation gone so sideways? lestan felt lectured, though he suspected he only had himself to blame for it. of course they should talk to these wolves; of course he should have something more substantial to bring his leadership.
he didn't want to do any of that. arlette had only just started him on medicines which slowed his stammer; the likelihood of turning himself into a fool before the saatsine was high.
socius. "i w-won't stop you" lestan murmured, attempting to remain warm in the midst of his great new angst. "or t-try. y-you might be b-better suited to speak with th-them anyway."
but he himself continued to wriggle backward until he was away from the treeline. there he straightened, plucked debris from his chestfur, and glanced toward the newcoming wolf. "the v-valley is v-very beautiful. it makes a w-wonderful home."

The stutter persisted long after initial fright should have waned. Wake wondered at this, unaware that his interrogative nature had put off the wolf further from regaining composure, if there was composure to be had. I will speak to them, he affirmed, quieter though no less sure. One last time, he looked, pinpointing a stormdark wolf of particular note among those congregated below.

The shier had retreated more, and the snowmelt followed at an angle, also exiting the treeline but coming no closer, lest he further rattle him. Sunblue eyes alighted him again, and he was somewhat warmed by his look and the words that followed.

I have seen many beautiful things in this valley. Wake’s gaze lingered, glittery as an algae pond. Quite a few I would be glad to claim. But, of course, there was the matter of others. Potential allies and enemies alike. Do you know much of this valley and its wolves?

"i know everything about the valley," mumbled lestan before he realized he had spoken aloud, and in vanity! hubris to recognize his own ability.
lestan, resigned now that all things were out of his hands, as it were, found something else to focus on in the striking man's focus: claim.
claim?
he thought of the three valley packs and their terse acquaintance; he looked back through the tree-cover toward the unexplainable saatsine;
then of his beloved deer, already hunted by teeth in his own pack.
defensive now, blinking quickly as emotions clashed inside his gut, lestan tried to remind himself that claiming beautiful things was indeed their design. "th-there are t-two other packs besides m-mine," came his quiet voice. "kvarsheim and bearclaw v-valley. one is known f-for k-kindness, the other is m-more a mystery."
lestan shooed away the shoal of inner misgivings and refocused upon those eloquent dark eyes once more.

Though claimed without confidence, Wake indeed believed that the summerwolf withheld an inexhaustible amount of information concerning this valley. This one clearly had a propensity for observing things, even if he was not inclined to confront those same things.

Something seemed to register belatedly on the eversweet’s face, blinking rapidly to dispel it. Unfortunately, his expression was an open book to the winter man, practically a billboard, and he watched the change with languid patience, biding his time as a crocodile might.

Kvarsheim and Bearclaw Valley.

One known as generous, the other... not so much. Wake could imagine which was which on name alone.

And what of— Swiftcurrent, you called it? What is your pack known for? Were they all as studious as him? As pacifist, as avoidant? Wake hoped not. He hoped this wolf stood alone in his complexities, so that he might invest the rarity. Herd him close and ferret him away to some private corner of the world, to hoard and bask in this rare bluesummer all to himself.

"we are the l-largest, the most versatile, and the most well-c-connected," lestan said in gentleness, though a bit of humour could be seen quirking one corner of his mouth. "as e-evidence, its alpha is m-my very own relative. cousin akavir. we're m-mayfairs, you see," but now a smile swallowed sweetly what he might have said next.
lestan did not remember that he also had a nephew in the mountains, and had only vague recollections of a man named ashlar.
blossom's name stood brightly in his mind.
perhaps he should not brag about a title that had seemed only cursed. "the betas are a positively l-loving pair, arlette and akavir. she's v-very skilled at h-healing, and he's a very compelling guardian," he went on, looking away and trundling out further from the saatsine along an elk-path. "we have m-many h-healers, and on any g-given day, v-valley wolves are out p-patrolling." together, he alluded strongly, though lestan did not know for certain. "our alliances b-bring a lot of information."

Wake listened raptly, and his nameless associate was delightfully forthcoming.

Mental notes were taken thusly. Akavir, alpha. Arlette and Arric, betas – healer and guardian respectively. An entire pack of healers and patrolmen, balanced and well-connected by the summerwolf’s standards.

If any of this was meant to deter him, it had the opposite effect.

This information only presented potential to the challenge-oriented; potential for allies, enemies, fierce bonds and even fiercer competition. Wake did not come from an isolated community, but a place of many factions and interconnected group, be they bound in love or hate. He did not crave a safe life of isolation; he desired the chaos of closeness.

Eyes of starlit evergreens glittered thoughtfully; a tranquil smile gave him this daydreamy look. You have given me more than I have earned, socius, Wake drawled airily. I must return your generosity. He hummed, and glanced towards the rise. I will speak to the wolves below and bring to your Swiftcurrent what I learn.

He tipped his head. Sound good?

a blush flushed lestan back to eartips. "what d-does socius mean?" almost just now he realized they had never exchanged names, and that he had rambled endlessly about things regarding his creek endlessly. to a stranger.
but the other was not quite a stranger now, the mayfair decided. more of an acquaintance than anything. a striking acquaintance. he chastised himself.
"i'm l-lestan mayfair," the kappa offered, congratulating himself for not butchering the more important of the names. 
dark ear flicked.
he took a breath.
he made a gambit.
"ask for me when you c-come to the pack. i would —" proverbial palms pouring sweat, lestan straightened. "i should like to see you again."
very much!
discomfitted, awkward, removed eternally far from his depths, he waited with a deep and impending sense of rejection.