Hushed Willows all alone

The forest of willows stretched wide, their pale branches swaying like ghostly arms in the cool breeze. The air was thick with the sweet, earthy scent of bark and damp moss, punctuated by the faint trickle of a nearby stream. Lorcan prowled through the shadows, his dark fur blending effortlessly into the dim light beneath the canopy.

A low hum vibrated from his chest, a tune without words, melodic yet haunting. His golden eyes glinted as they swept across the terrain, keen and observant. He moved with practiced grace, each step purposeful but unhurried, savoring the quiet that enveloped the grove.

Stopping beneath a particularly ancient willow, its gnarled roots twisting into the earth like a web, Lorcan tilted his head back, letting the strands of its branches sway around him like a curtain. The hum deepened, resonating in the stillness, a predator’s lullaby to the silence.

For now, he waited—perhaps for company, perhaps for nothing at all.

The limitations on hunting grounds between the vale and the ridge had made things quite difficult for Pala. Or to put it less eloquently, it was a real pain in her ass.

She was far better suited to hunting in open grounds, and the field between the territories was perfect for that. But of course, her preferences were not worth a war.

Instead she had traveled over the vale into a grove of willow trees. It certainly was not her ideal either, but she was interested to see what may be here nonetheless. The scent of a stranger was nearby however, and she was sure to keep an eye out should they decide to be trouble.

The willow branches swayed gently in the breeze, their soft rustle providing a near-perfect backdrop to Lorcan’s idle hum. He had been lost in thought, the rhythm of his melody reflecting the tranquility of the grove, when her scent hit him—a stranger, faintly lupine but undeniably different.

His dark figure moved with practiced silence, his steps calculated as he closed the distance. When the woman came into view, he paused, taking in the sight of her. She was an unusual creature, her Anatolian build evident in her broad shoulders and sturdy frame, though softened by the more familiar sharpness of her wolfish features.

Lorcan’s lips curled into a faint smirk, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity. Far from home, are you? he drawled, his voice rich and teasing, though it carried a subtle edge. His posture was relaxed, yet the tension in his muscles betrayed readiness—a predator gauging his company.

He moved a step closer, the weight of his presence pressing into the space between them. Not many wander into the willows alone. You’re either brave—or reckless. Which is it? His head tilted slightly, his gaze unrelenting as he awaited her reply.

Lips curled momentarily as the stranger entered her sights; a simple way to tell him not to get too close. Pala was never one to run from a fight.

The vale. She responded, her voice blunt and accented. Close enough for the mountain men to join us. Her posture showed tension, and she had no issue displaying it. The man carried the scent of the ridge; something she had been told to be cautious of.

His next question was met with a grunt, her head remaining high as he moved too close for comfort - as though attempting to make herself larger. If you are the only danger here, I think I will survive.

Lorcan’s gaze swept over the she-wolf with the kind of deliberation that bordered on rudeness. His golden eyes lingered on the scar that marred her face, its crude "X" impossible to ignore. The corners of his lips twitched upward in something that could have been amusement or disdain—likely both.

The vale, he repeated flatly, his tone low and gravelly. And you thought it wise to wander into the willows with that on your face? Brave. Reckless. Both, maybe. His smirk grew sharper as he stepped closer, just enough to make her tension spike but not enough to be overtly aggressive. He relished the way her posture stiffened, her attempt to appear larger almost comical under his scrutiny.

Survive me? Sure, you might, Lorcan said with a lazy shrug, his voice carrying the faintest edge of a taunt. But surviving isn’t the same as walking away whole. His golden eyes burned into hers for a long moment before his gaze flicked dismissively down the rest of her battered form.

You look like you’ve had that lesson before, he added, his voice dropping to a near-growl as he gestured vaguely toward the scar on her forehead. A pause, then a sly grin as he shifted his weight back, the tension in the air palpable.

The ease in which he brought out her disdain for men was nearly impressive. Do you see shame in scarring? She eyed his own as she asked the question, raising an eyebrow. For Pala, it simply meant that one was willing to fight. The majority of her own had been gained protecting the sheep that lived with her natal pack - wolverines, bears, anything with nasty claws had more than likely met her skin now.

His words spoke of a threat, though she was unsure how it should be taken. A part of her thought to call Chaudry - better safe than sorry, but her pride would not allow it. Not yet. I came to hunt, not to be bothered by the ridge's men.

She would not sit in silence while he harassed her. It was a blow to her ego, a stain on her good name.

Lorcan’s smirk deepened, a slow, deliberate expression that radiated arrogance and dark humor into the cold air. His gaze followed hers, tracing the path to the scar that slashed across his own eye. He let her words linger in the silence for a moment before finally responding, his tone dry and laced with mockery.

Clearly not, he drawled, gesturing casually toward his own disfigurement with a slight tilt of his muzzle. You wear it like a crown, don’t you?

His sharp, calculating eyes swept over her, taking in the rough edge of her demeanor. She intrigued him, though her pride, brittle and defensive, was almost amusing.

Hunt, then. Nobody’s stopping you. His tail flicked lazily behind him, his posture at ease despite the tension simmering beneath the surface. His voice dipped, low and edged with challenge. Unless you need help? Wouldn’t want to be ‘bothered,’ after all.

He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his grin sharp and predatory. Lorcan thrived on friction, and she was proving to be just the spark he needed to feed the fire.

Her posture remained tense, but her eyes spoke of boredom as they worked to meet the stranger's. Why not? What should they be, if not a sign of achievement? Her scars had come from victories, through and through. She felt no shame.

I do not care what you do, so long as I can see you. She stated. The words could be taken as flirtation, but really Pala just refused to be caught off-guard like a fool. Will you tell me your name, or will my neighbour refuse me such a common courtesy? A jab at his poor manners.

Awaiting his answer she carefully checked the air for the scent of prey, though with the ridge man growing ever closer he was completely overwhelming her senses. Her nose wrinkled, and for now she refocused on him.

Lorcan’s sharp eyes roved over the shepherd's scarred visage, his own marred face betraying no flicker of judgment. Her tone held an edge, one he might have admired under different circumstances. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his dark fur catching the faint light of the setting sun.

Lorcan, he replied evenly, his voice smooth, yet tinged with the faintest trace of amusement. He let the name linger in the air between them, a deliberate gesture. He leaned slightly forward, his towering frame purposefully imposing, his lips curling into a faint, teasing smirk.

And you are...? he added after a pause, the question a soft challenge. His golden eyes traced her form, noting the rigidity of her stance and the flicker of determination in her gaze. She was scarred but carried herself like one who knew her worth. That alone was enough to keep his interest—for now.

He straightened, his posture relaxed but still radiating a quiet strength. Whatever prey might have been near was long gone, no doubt driven off by the sharpness of their exchange. He didn’t care. There was something more intriguing here. Something he hadn’t yet decided whether to humor or dismiss.

Pala. She returned with her own name, tail curling behind her. The wolfdog made a point to push past the man, eyes stilled on him as fur brushed together. Soon she stood on her own once again, Lorcan out of her sights momentarily. It made her fur bristle.

She was yet to hunt in the willows, and it was far from her ideal grounds. With the ridge man to keep an eye on, she was unsure how well this would go; but she was determined to bring something home.

You come from the ridge across the vale, yes? She asked, her nose to the ground now. How is life there? Admittedly, she was curious. Viskani had hoped to have gatherings with the neighbouring pack, but nothing had come to fruition. Pala and the rest of the vale had been left to wonder.

Lorcan’s amber eyes tracked her movements, his expression unreadable as Pala brushed past him. Her question, though seemingly casual, pulled a low hum of thought from the back of his throat.

Life in the Ridge, he began, his voice carrying a wry edge, is rather… boring. He shifted his weight, one paw moving slightly to better balance his frame, the faintest flicker of a smirk gracing his features. Not much changes up there. Same trees. Same rock. Same routine. He shrugged lightly, as though the monotony didn’t bother him—but perhaps it did, somewhere beneath the surface.

His gaze followed her as she moved, her nose to the ground now, evidently more interested in the hunt than the conversation. And the Vale? he asked, his words deliberate. Is it as lively as I hear, or do you just talk big to make up for it?

There was a glint of something teasing in his tone, though not quite enough to cross into mockery. He was testing her, in the way he tested most. After all, boring or not, life in the Ridge required one to keep sharp—even in the company of intriguing strangers.

She took note of his words, one ear lifted towards Lorcan as he spoke. The vale is peaceful, but there's never a shortage of work. She responded, tail flicking upwards as if to emphasize her words. Puppies will come, borders will close. I can only wait to see what will happen.

They had quite a few guests and new members coming in and out as of late, and it was somewhat disappointing to know that such a thing may soon stop. Puppies, however, were certainly an exciting prospect for Pala.

She knew well that Viskani would not approve of her sharing too much. The Matriarche was vicious in the face of her duties as a mother.

I work as a Glaieul, a guard. I do not see much of what happens inside the territory when I am on the borders, so I have nothing to gossip.

A shame, Lorcan tsked softly, his amber eyes flicking over her with a glint of teasing disapproval. What’s a life without gossip? Makes the quiet dull.

He shifted his weight slightly, his dark form a stark contrast against the snow-dappled ground. Puppies, though. Now that’s something. Keeps everyone busy, I imagine. His tone was casual, though there was a faint undertone of amusement in his words, as if the thought of a bustling pack with demanding pups amused him.

Glaieul, huh? Guarding borders sounds like it leaves little time for... fun. He raised a brow, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. What about you? Anything worth sharing, or are you just as quiet as your Vale?

She began to move forward, her main focus the prospect of a hunt. Yes, they're hard work. She spoke, tail waving lightly. Do you plan to have children of your own? A single green eye looked to him as the question was asked, purely curious.

He asked of her, and Pala was left without much to say. My life is not interesting. I herded and hunt sheep in my birth pack, and then left with my siblings when I was mature. The plan had been for them to meet her in the vale, but now she was alone. I came here, and now I work beside Chaudry instead.

She then grunted, her mind drifting to the vale's local giant. Strange man. He keeps smiling at me. A sharp frown grew upon her face. She couldn't understand it. He won't even smile at his mother. They worked together; that didn't mean they had to be friends.

Lorcan tilted his head slightly, watching her as she moved forward. Her question hung in the air for a moment before he gave a low, bemused chuckle, shaking his head.

Not a fatherly man, he admitted, his voice edged with a trace of humor. The idea of himself surrounded by pups seemed almost laughable. He wasn’t the type to cradle young ones or offer soft reassurances. His world had always been too sharp-edged for that kind of tenderness.

As she spoke of Chaudry, his ears twitched, catching the irritation in her tone. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, sharp and knowing.

Sounds like he fancies you, Lorcan said plainly, his amber-green gaze flicking to her briefly. The sharp frown on her face only seemed to amuse him further. Smiling at you but not his mother? That says plenty.

He fell into step beside her, his posture easy and fluid as he added, You’ll have to let me know if he makes a move. Could be fun to watch him try. There was a teasing lilt to his words, but his grin was disarming, if not a little mischievous.

She grunted at his words. It didn't matter how Chaudry felt about her - she still thought he was strange. He is the size of the mountain itself, I am a pebble in comparison. She spoke, hoping the strange visual would help to make her point. Mountains and pebbles do not mix well. Not if she wanted to remain in one piece. Ouch.

Pala had an interest in romance, sure, who didn't? But not with Chaudry. He was not her taste, and she was quite sure that she was not his.

If Lorcan was right, the marred woman was sure that Chaudry would get over his little crush soon enough. The mountain man was an impressive warrior; someone would fall into his paws sooner or later with such a skillset and physique.

Lorcan listened. He always did. He was good like that— but it really came down to if the brooding man cared at all. He would bite for Pala's problems of a school girl for the moment. Surely.

He tilted his head, feigning deep thought. Well, lucky for you, pebbles are pretty good at rolling away when mountains get too close.

His tail swayed lazily behind him, clearly enjoying her frustration more than he probably should. But hey, if he doesn’t get over it, maybe you’ll end up the most famous pebble in the vale. He shrugged, his tone light and irreverent. Could be worse.

He glanced at her sidelong, his grin widening. So, tell me, what’s your type then, oh wise pebble? Surely not all mountains are off the table.