Firefly Glen [BWH] chemically calm

Backdated to November 14th.

It seemed that most groups had returned from hunting as the sun began to set. Defne had been made to sit out, Kemal still paranoid about her mysterious condition. She had no issue complying, and he brought her a meal afterwards nonetheless.

Chewing on the bones of her dinner despite the remaining meat, Defne found that she was really quite disappointed. She hadn't met the new man of her dreams despite her hopes. Many of those here were young, married, or just not her type meaning she would need to look elsewhere.

She had thought to join the healing circle after being sent away from the hunts, yet wasn't quite sure she would fit there either. It had been months since she practiced. Instead she had spent the day on her own, sunbathing and napping. Yavru had been mostly absent since the beginning of the hunt; she had initially assumed that he was with Disa, but that didn't seem to be the case. Hopefully he would reappear soon.

In a few days they would return home, and she could return to her usual routine.

There was movement in the valley. Scores of men and women walked here, perhaps marched here, and Boreasz was thrilled by his own curiosity. He thought it could be an army passing through—and where there was an army, there were captains, and captains could always use more recruits. A little work would go a long way in keeping him sane after so much lonesome travel. There was always the chance of a meal or a fuck, too. He was hungry for both, should his luck hold out.

Having found a few of the carcasses crowded by crows and otherwise abandoned, he had done the suitable thing and rolled in some of the remains, collecting the scents so that he could blend in. From time to time on his own hunt Boreasz came across markings by these hunters, and he rolled in those too. By the time his path crossed through their many layered scents, he resembled one of them enough to be ignored—at least, scent-wise. It was a good trick for getting behind enemy lines.

He wasn't sure yet if these were friends or foes, and either way, Boreasz wanted to learn more. As his luck continued to hold true, he came stalking through the glen in time to see a dark, supine shape—a woman, he estimated. Boreasz did not immediately approached, keeping his body rigid and his eyes alert, as if he were only passing through on a patrol—nothing to see here.

A man crosses her path, and the sight of him alone causes Defne to immediately raise a brow. He looks to be her age, and smells of no pack in partciular. An invited loner, maybe? She doesn't recognise him.

Unable to discern an answer, she chooses (recklessly) to go looking for one. Are you returning from the hunts? She calls to him, come join me. You look lonely, tatlım. She's lonely, too.

She doesn't let her curiosity get the best of her too often these days, but is the hunt not a special occasion? Defne reasons that she deserves the excitement that only speaking to a stranger can bring.

Oh? Caught. He hadn't tried to hide himself, so that was of no consequence. The way she looked at him was inviting, and the way she spoke—empowered somehow—reminded him of his own mother, or another of the polis. Someone of good blood, he presumed.

He smirks, the corners of his lips curling. The scents he carries have done their job.

What is that? Tatlım. His common tongue was spiced like Macedon. He prowls closer, observing her—unafraid to meet her eye, given he was not some servant or underling to her, or anyone of this space. He settles nearby on his haunches, sitting straight-backed.

Defne meets his eye, watching him with the quiet curiosity of a woman trained for a life of comfort. Well you have not told me your name, so I gave you one. She smiles, abandoning her meal to cross her paws. You don't like my pet name?

Like it or not, in truth Defne rarely referred to anyone with anything but a pet name. It was her way of feigning innocence whilst keeping herself above them.

This one is handsome, she can admit that much. No sign of impurities, large and healthy enough, confident.

I am Boreasz— and here he comes clean, holding himself accountable before this lady who carries herself with tact, as a highborn might... I am a landless man, born far from this place.

He does choose to then bow his head. It is not the full supplication of a man to his queen, for she is not that; however it would be the equivalent of taking a knee and paying homage, all the same.

Forgive the intrusion. He relaxes, but does not leave. It is possible he has read her attitude wrong — she is composed, confident, and unafraid, but that might be an act.

Defne raises a brow. I invited you to join me, did I not? Why apologize?

All were invited to this hunt. You are late, not exempt. She doubted that the other wolves would turn him away, if they planned to then surely he would not have made it this far. Have you ate yet?

For only a moment, her eyes leave him to check their surroundings. Maybe he is not unwelcome, but it doesn't mean that Verapaz wolves will take well to a man mooching off of her.