worlds apart

Like a ball of yarn, Neverwinter had unraveled. Now, nothing bound Tuwawi to Charkra's great forest. All responsibility was lifted when their numbers had dwindled to just a handful and their Alpha departed into the South. The past few months had shown some progress, the red ember had risen from Phi to Kappa in the ranks... but those titles were superficial. Only one thing mattered to Tuwawi - and it was far beyond her reach.

Since that enigmatic encounter had disturbed her on the ice of Greatwater Lake, Tuwawi had been stuck in rut of dismal and existential thoughts. Nothing cured her, and every day passed grayer than the next. The sadness was overwhelming, and depression clung like dew onto grass. She needed a catalyst... a jump start... anything to flush the mediocrity from her soul and let the fire blaze anew. The departure of Charka was just that - and the capricious wolf knew exactly where she would go next.

Tuwawi started at Greatwater, and followed trace amounts of tracks - moving mostly on a hunch. Like a brushfire, she covered vast distances each day as she headed Eastwards with unbridled determination. Ravenously, she ate up the ground, stopping only to drink, but was determined in her hunt. She grew lean, but felt reborn as her senses became heightened, her visage nothing short of a hungry predator.

It was habit that drove Njal towards the lake. His patrols around the claimed lands of the creek wolves had been lax, lazy, and he sought out the refreshment of another familiar vista. He was aware now that the lake was not part of Lethe's lands but he still felt controlling of it; eager for the pack to grow in strength so that perhaps they could conquer it. Njal was doing well within Swiftcurrent - he was powerful here. He was home. There was a new sense of pride instilled within the man as he prowled, drawing farther from the river, and closer to the still waters. There was no intention from Njal - he was simply wandering, although his desire to fall astray from his new pack had waned considerably.

His grizzled fur sported more silver now, leeched of color, especially pale with the collected snow he now ploughed through. The man's head was held high; arrogance maybe, as he was a Gamma, a respected individual and one of the breadwinners. He had worked hard, and he deserved this break --

Njal's thoughts cut off when he saw a flash of familiar color at the edge of the lake. Fox? He thought, with a soft rumble in his chest, ready to burst forth once he fully identified the individual - but no, they were taller. They were bigger. There was less red in their pelt, and more of a mixture - golds, some greys. The stranger moved with a predatory stride, lean and low. Njal's sound became silence, and with his attention caught, he pursued.

His heart felt heavy in his chest, but he couldn't identify why.

Tuwawi's movements were exact as she prowled parallel to the lake, her body aimed like a bullet en route to Swiftriver Current. She could interrogate some wolves there, and renew her search with more precision. Hopefully Newrinter's scent still clung to her pelt enough to feign political importance in order to gather intel. She would use it to her advantage, and depart again soon after.

Hunger dug into her sides - but it wasn't a craving for nourishment... no... it was an insatiable hunger for the silver man she saw on Greatwater. As the thought burned anew, the red woman broke into a run, dipping into the treeline as her course changed due North. No amount of snow or ice slowed her pace, the thrum of her paws on the frozen ground barely inhibited by the weather. She flew without resistance, eyes barely blinking as her jaw clenched tight. It was if she were about to pounce on prey, muscles coiling as she left the picturesque shore in her dust, unaware that there was a wolf downwind ready to intercept.

She paced along the edge of the lake and he, diligent and protective of his nearby home, followed along. The wind was aligned against her, and brought the scent of a forest to his attention; undertones of wolf lingered there as well, telling him it was a pack creature that now prowled close. Still, Njal was not prepared to identify the main scent: but when he did, his strides slackened and he stared at Proudheart's retreating figure. Her route was taking her along the lake but it diverged along one of the worn paths that the wolves of the creek often used. He wondered if she would pick up his own scent and follow it - or maybe she was simply wandering.

The fire flickered and he chased it. No longer would Njal sit back and watch her, afraid of any interaction. This is what he thought while his steps, quick and quiet, powered him closer to her. She was quick as well - quicker than himself - and her nimble body streaked through the snow. What are you doing here? He thought. You are in the Seahawk. But he knew that wasn't true. He knew, somehow, that the wolf he had witnessed was her. It was guilt that rose within his throat, rolling at the base of his tongue and spoiling the taste. Guilt, for leaving her there in the cold.

The moth continued to flit after the flame. He tracked her with the same predatory stride that she boasted, although the strength he had previously carried had begun to melt away. The pride within Njal's figure dripped with each step, leading to a lowered posture, a snaking and stout body. He did not wish to be found, not yet. At the same time, he kept an eye upon her.

She was so close -- but so oblivious; unaware that the one she sought was just a few leagues behind. It must have been some cruel trick invented by the Forest, who found it humorous to point the wind away and leave the red woman running circles in the dark. Fate was a tricky beast... in her short three years the Fauve had been dragged through a murky life. Kindred. Tartok. Neverwinter. And now, there was nothing. A new, bleak page had turned - but the phoenix was ready to gobble it up. Ready to burn the whole damned book, and invent her own beginning. The fire and ash reflected in her silver eyes as she ran, the wind searing the exposed tissue in her crooked scar -- a freight train ready to collide. There was no more sadness or misery; only desire.

Her uneven lips peeled back as she threw her head up to scent the air. Swiftriver was on the horizon, and soon she would be at the borders. Her body curled and uncurled in double suspension, lithe, yet cobby, body unchained by a free heart. She felt strong... her shoulders rolling as the tempo gained, her fiery crown raised to face whoever would receive her, a wild look upon her face.

But suddenly, Swiftriver's perfume became strong, and Tuwawi knew she had reached the borders. The breaks released, and she skidded to a halt as her back half whipped around. Hot air rushed from her nose, deep breathes expelling the poisoned air from her lungs and taking in the cool winter. Her expression calmed, and returned control to its driver, who took a moment to slow her pounding heart. For a bit, she traced the border, and trotted along its well worn path... Tuwawi was about to howl when a certain musk caused the hair to spike along the entirety of her back. Her ears swiveled as her narrow face turned in every direction; searching, looking for someone familiar.

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continued here.