Grouse Thicket the foetus of a new day kicking

@Renoir <3 powerplay to get them moving.

he had suggested that the four of them split into two pairs and search for prey, agreeing to rejoin at a later time in the day -- tachyon and constantine took a neighboring path to his own, while he and renoir moved into the shadow of a thicket. at one time, the druid knew this place would be thick with small mammals and birds, but there was none to be found here.

nothingness had been their lot since departing donnelaith, and lasher was growing discouraged. he was silent as they moved, pausing from time to time to paw at the earth and scent for the tracks of even the smallest animal.

He was reluctant to separate from the others at first, but once the pair of them got moving things were simple enough. Renoir tagged behind the dark man silently as they made their way. The leader's attention seemed to be set on their surroundings (for which Renoir was grateful), although the golden boy's own eye did wander. He knew why they needed to make this search and travel so far afield, but was curious as to why he was brought along; Ren was no hunter, and assumed he was here only as a test of his abilities, which made him nervous. He was of course made more nervous by the sight of Lasher before him, who he watched with fleeting glances between his hunt for game.

As they entered a bare thicket Renoir wondered what beauty the place might have held were it not for the locusts, and in slinking to keep up with Lasher, he caught a paw upon something bulbous netted amongst some long-dead roots. Above him were barren fruit trees but he did not recognize them; below, with a cant to his muzzle, he inspected a sticky red sphere that looked to been chewed upon and then abandoned. The apple core smelled rank to his nose, so Renoir recoiled from it, and moved on in search of something greater.

he watched the graceful movements of the golden boy, though not so closely that renoir would feel his eyes so heavily. his attention was drawn aside by the decided lack of food, and his own growing discomfort in the strange lands, naked and bare as the teekon had been. he was angered that he had failed donnelaith, and his ire at himself grew, until he forced himself to bite back snapping words he meant not for renoir.

"thank you for coming," he murmured instead, knowing that there was unsurety between himself and the handsome young wolf, who had fled his side after taltos' more pointed attempts at seduction. a smile was given renoir, but he turned soon back to his task.

The smell carried with him as he moved, his nose wiggling and scrunching a little, as if that would help. When he heard Lasher's voice he paused all movement, stuttering a step, and cast him a fleeting glance. A small smile played across his face.

Of course, he responded pleasantly, if a bit quiet. I.. I do whateva you ask, ti kras lonbraj — realizing how odd that sounded, giving the leader a nickname as such, the boy's ears fanned to either side and he licked his lips, pressing on as if it wasn't the most awkward thing to ever happen to him.

lasher grinned in spite of himself, and at renoir's charming expression, suitably distracted from the grim and empty task of finding food for donnelaith's caches. on a whim he reached to the boy, and if allowed, he would press his muzzle against the aureate cheek. "pourquoi vous cachez-vous?"

he knew that renoir would take his meaning; the boy had avoided them since that day in donnelaith, where he ran from the weight of taltos' desire -- he would not press, of course, but curiosity blossomed in his eyes.

Hiding? Yes, he.. Supposed he had been hiding. There were many reasons, some which he felt unfit to speak aloud, and with renewed shyness he prepared a statement hastily within his mind. But before he could utter it, the dark man was pressing in to his cheek for one glorious, but swift, moment. Renoir was simultaneously comforted and... something else. He couldn't place how he felt, and ended up smirking uncontrollably, and looking at the ground as if embarrassed.

Kache? mwen.. mwen ta kwè, nan yon fason, li ta sanble tankou sa... He felt his cheeks flush, and shook his head lightly, until the tiny smile had fallen under his control again. Renoir took a few steps away from Lasher then, intent on continuing the search even if the fine man had other desires; perhaps this was why they had been paired off this way? Was he attempting some sort of trickery, to get to the root of things?

Renoir swallowed a small lump in his throat and continued to peruse the ground, but he did offer one tiny piece of information: Ou... fè m'nè yo. Mwen pa konn sèvi ak sa. At this he stopped his searching, finding that his attention refused to deviate from Lasher in any sense, and he raised his gaze to look upon him.

"à cause de mon caractère direct," lasher murmured, holding renoir's eyes. the golden man seemed aflutter with nerves, which worried the man rather than flattered him; there was want here, it seemed, but also a deep and abiding fear. of what? he wondered to himself -- did renoir not think himself capable of loving a man? did the very idea inspire both disgust and curiosity within himself? or was it merely lasher who caused the nerves to fray so, his nearness, his presence?

the last was laughable -- taltos knew he cut no such imposing figure, not as peregrine did, for example. but he was curious all the same as to the nature of renoir's confusion, and did not wish to sully the intention of his attention with fragrant words or flowered poetry. he must temper it with directness. 

"je ne voudrais pas vous forcer à me accepter," lasher murmured at length, turning his muzzle with a smile for his companion. the landscape went ignored for now.

Lasher's response prompted him to open his mouth, but it only hung there for a moment, as he was undecided with his own tongue. When the dark man made his final comment though, Renoir's head lifted and he shook it, stumbling over his words some more.

Pa gen okenn, pa gen okenn, oh pa panse ke. mwen aksepte ou, No, it was not a matter of accepting anyone or anything. Perhaps he was a bit sheltered himself, but the thought that this fine man had anything to apologize for, or anything like that, made Renoir instantly regret saying anything.

He stepped closer to Lasher then, being quite forward in his defense of his leader - his friend. Li se jis ... mwen pa t'konnen m'te yon ^inomabl. And how he so regretted those words! What if his friend took them the wrong way? But he did not know how else to explain. Renoir bowed his head pathetically, and hoped his next words (quiet as they sounded) would explain.

Mwen gen yon frè ak sè , yon moun ki mwen menm entèdi yo pale sou sa. Sisley, the name caught in his teeth, and he looked forlorn upon the earth, but continued, his ears flattening and his demeanor becoming like a deflated balloon after a party. Yo te kenbe... Ak yon lòt. Epi yo te depòte . Evidently, some form of deviation was common to his bloodline; it was admitting it in himself which would be so difficult. He lifted his eyes to watched Lasher for a reaction, and added with his sparingly coarse english, The otha, who was with 'dem -- 'dey are gone. Permanently. 

Even though he was so far from home now, Renoir had been raised one way. He must be careful, he must deny it all.

lasher listened, the exotic rhythm of renoir's voice describing a tale that was at once both foreign and familiar. his own interludes had once been secret, but not with the threat of death as the golden man put forth, which sent his heart into spiraling pain. "quelle horreur," he murmured silently, pausing the movement of his paws to search for renoir's gaze.

"vous n'êtes pas une telle chose," the druid went on with a gentle firmness to his tones. "unmentionable. there is no shame in it." his gaze softened. "parler de sisley. it is all right."

such a multi-faceted gem this man was! lasher found himself intrigued on much more than the carnal level, for beneath the cadence of the pidgin there was a deep pain and longing that the druid wished to explore, wished to heal.

Speak of them? But he could not. It was as ingrained within him as his proper posture, his ettiquette! He could not speak of someone that had been excommunicated from the family. The pain that Lasher saw was likely a mixture; a sadness for his lost family member, the worry for himself, the struggle of the conversation as a whole. And now he felt the need to end it, at least to redirect Lasher to some other topic.

He shook his head when given the chance to speak of Sisley, as it was not his place. He may have been removed from the pack himself, an unmentionable in a different context (one he truly dared not bring before this man); but he would not break the rule which had been taught to him from childhood. He had pushed the boundary of this too far already, and was shutting down.

non, Renoir all but whispered, refusing with a shake of his head. Li se tan lontan an. Mwen pa kapab... Mwen pa pral.

He thought of his family. Of the many he knew, the many he did not; the stories passed around when he was a small child which had fostered his dedication to his father. He thought of Monet and felt his heart grow heavy again, and Renoir fell in to a state of quiet contemplation, unable to rouse even the smallest bit of conversation from himself. He had a new family and they needed him - Lasher, his pack, his children, Deirdre, - and so he returned to his search.

renoir shook his head, and lasher would not press a second time, for when one laid out clearly delineated boundaries, the druid was too respectful to overstep such. and so he too turned his attentions to their earlier task, and began to set about for the scent of prey, though he quite despaired of finding any. 

the mystery surrounding renoir had grown, and the spirit was dreadfully curious, but it was obviously a subject that caused the gilded boy such pain, and so lasher did not wish to bring this unto renoir again. let the talk of it die, be put aside -- it did not mean so much to the druid if it tortured the younger man so.