Dawnlark Plains daybreak

this post is complete fluff & filler. i got carried away; oops. :0

He had left the borders of the Keep earlier in the morning, before the sun had risen, his purpose to track some herds. The Dawnlark Plains did not touch the borders of Marauder's Keep but it was close enough to lead a small hunting party to, at the very least. The assassin had cut through the Willows and side stepped Felltree Marsh, not particularly welcoming of the mud that mostly dominated that particular territory. Buchanan had considered letting Banner know he was stepping out of the territory for a few hours, maybe half the day but then decided against it. He trusted that she (and by extension Stark) knew he would return: after all, he did not intend to make his trip more than half a day. Buchanan was not a fickle creature by any means of the word; The Officer had made sure of that.

As he followed the herd's scent trail his mind began to wonder from the aroma of the deer herd, from the give and take of his muscles as he moved at a even pace. As he followed the scent with partial absent mindedness — rare for the assassin who could focus upon missions (if one could even consider something self deduced a mission) with singularity fairly easily — he struggled with it this morning and did not try to compartmentalize or fight it. He let his thoughts wander in a reflective manner, allowed himself the time to process it all.

Gamma. They — Stark and by extension, Banner — had promoted him to Gamma. Buchanan was familiar enough with the hierarchy of a pack to understand that it was not only a high rank, it was the highest rank of the subordinate tiers. Him. A Gamma. He hadn't given his ranks in the pack since Stark welcomed him in all that much consideration. He'd been busy focusing his time and attentions upon his skills, Banner and being an asset to the pack. Climbing the hierarchy ladder had not been a priority, neither had it been an ambition. While he was far from a lazy beast, the dark wraith was not ambitious. He did not strive for the top as he knew some wolves did. It had never mattered in his personal interests. It mattered in that they were the wolves that issued and enforced the rules and missions. They were the most important, even. Yet, he associated their roles to that of The Officer's. Buchanan had always been an Omega. He was subservient, as he'd been for years. And he was so good at being just another peon. Years of being The Officer's weapon and punching bag had crushed any boyhood dreams and aspirations until nothing existed beyond the next mission and pleasing his “Alpha”. That was easy. That was what he knew. It was comfortable for him.

Hell, he had been uncomfortable when Silas had given him a posture lower than neutral. A boy! Had made him uncomfortable with acknowledging what Buchanan hadn't really paid much mind to: that the dark wraith was of a higher rank than him. Looking back upon it: his promotions had not been subtle but rather taken in giant leaps and bounds. He had climbed the ladder fast. No doubt, there were logical reasons behind his quick climb to Gamma. Perhaps he had even earned it, he considered. He took a deep breath and turned his thoughts from the topic. Ranks fluctuated all the time; and for the sake of not wanting to come across as ungrateful he shrugged it off.

A light dusting of snow crunched under his paws as he navigated through the barren plains, causing him to look around him with perplexity. Mercurial gaze swept over the territory as far as his eyes could see, as it dawned on him that he'd lost the scent trail, wrapped up in his thoughts as he'd been and suddenly found himself in winter in the middle of summer. It made sense, of course, that the northern territories were cold and harsh but he was surprised to find it started so close to his home. Nevertheless, he trudged on, keeping a keen eye open for tracks and ears attentive for sounds not wanting to return to the Keep without something.

Hope it's ok I swoop in

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She had been running, not literally but metaphorically. She was walking away from her family and her former pack hoping to escape from the memories that were still there. She felt cold even before entering the plains which were covered in a layer of snow. Internally she was broken and didn't care what happened to her in these moments. Anything that would distract her from recent evens, she was willing to welcome. The snow that mayched the color of her fur crunched under her paws. The scenery seemed to match her present mood.

She was new to these parts and as she flead her former pack she knew that she would have to find a new one rather quickly. She had been in a pack all her life and had been the right hand man, or woman, to her former alpha and sister. A new setting would give her new meaining, purpose, and drive. She had not yet found herself either. She had been a follower her whole life although always high on the totum pole of pack life. She seemed neither good or bad but in her current state she was nothing. A lump of clay waiting for something to happen to it and create its form. 

So she drifted through the plain, not nessasarily waiting for something to happen but subcontiously hoping something would tohelp her ignore her pain.

thanks for joining and sorry again for the wait!

The assassin moved slower now, his coat not yet thickened for the winter months though he knew that soon, with autumn upon them, he would began shedding his winter coat and the heavier, coarser winter coat would grow in. He was unaccustomed to this level of chill and considering it had been humid and warm when he'd left Marauder's Keep the climate change of the Dawnlark Plains to be startling. His eyes scanned the snow that stretched out before him, though immediately could not pick out any tracks though they had to have gone this way. Even in the absent way he'd been tracking them — rather uncommon for the dark wraith — he could not have gotten so far off course that he wasn't even near the herd. His breath left his parted lips in a white furl of steam where it met the cool air, his ears slicking back before they perked again.

He thought, in the far off distance, he heard the distinct click of their joints as they walked, or no grazed. It wasn't a continuous noise, a click here and there as their weight shifted. It was as Buchanan altered his course and began to make his way in the idle herd's direction that he heard the footfalls of another approaching him. Heavy footfalls, but as to what it belonged to he did not immediate know as she was down wind of him. His hackles bristled as he slipped easily into his role as the hyper-vigilant assassin (not that he ever stopped being hyper-vigilant, mind). As the female came into view, almost camouflaged by the snow blanketed around them, his eyes followed her, moving. He was not a social beast by any stretch of the imagination. He had made a very clear effort to be sociable towards the wolves of the Keep though it did not come as easily to him as socializing with Banner, admittedly, but strangers were still strangers. And as she was not of the Keep he felt no obligation to socialize lest she initiated it.

The Officer's teachings would never go away, and he could try to fool himself into thinking that he could be “cured” but how quickly he went from making efforts to socialize with his pack mates to being the hostile, prickly, and unsociable assassin towards strangers proved a very strong point. Maybe, the truth was, he didn't want to completely change. He hadn't killed since The Officer and he thoroughly enjoyed being able to use his very sharp and specific skills towards philanthropist work but wolves outside of the Keep didn't mean anything to him and he saw no reason to let them behind his barbed wire, electric, cement wall.

Though Buchanan made no effort to announce himself to her, he figured it was only a matter of time until she noticed him. He stood out like a sore thumb in this monochrome landscape.

At first there seemed to be nothing in the snowy waste land but then a faint scent of another wolf went past her snout. She lifted her head that had been hung in sarrow and decided to get a better wif. It was a male she throught and his scent was directly in her course. She waited a moment think if she should keep going to meet this wolf that she hadn't yet seen or known. Or if she should chang her course and continue to greave.

She decided it wouldn't hurt to continue on and thought it might be best to see what kind of wolves resided in these parts. As she continued on the wind blew sending tiny flakes of snow from the ground onto her fur. With the flakes settleing on her fur it almost looked as if her silver grey hairs which scattered her pelt sparkled. She could now begin to see the form of a wolf. He was dark making him easy to distinguish from his surroundings. As she walked a bit closer now able to see him better. 

She stood about 10 yards away from the male warry of what kind of wolves lived in these parts. He didn't seem to adress her, she thought he might now be able to distinguish her with her coat mattching her surroundings so well. He voice was nuetral "Hello" she didn't say it as a greeting or as a question or as "I see you"

Buchanan's mercurial silver gaze analyzed her approach. Her silhouette was visible to him, easier to spot her when she moved as opposed to when she stood still. There was a good bit of personal space between them, which the dark wraith appreciated, though there was tension in his shoulders that did not dissipate. Her “hello” was not a greeting. In fact, it really wasn't anything. It sounded disinterested to the Marauder, as if she did not care either way whether he answered or not. So why speak to him at all then? As he was not the most sociable of creatures he did not spend too much time puzzling this out. The assassin let out a soft huff, turning to face her on full, keeping her in his sharp and intense gaze, his muzzle lifting into the air slightly. “chto ty khochesh” The assassin asked her simply in his native tongue, not knowing if she spoke Russian or not. “What do you want?” He repeated in the common tongue, in case she was not fluent in Russian. Admittedly, Buchanan had yet to meet a wolf that was but he kept trying, just in case. He did not turn a deaf ear to the herd's grazing somewhere nearby, instead kept an ear flickering in their direction. When he was done here he intended to watch them for a while because information of their herding pattern was at least better than nothing.

The males the responce to Freyas "greeting" wasn't then nicest, but what could she expect its not like hers was any more cheery. At first he said something in a foreign language which Frey didn't unstand. Most likely because he was used to it, he repeated him self but this time in english, which Freya did understand. He asked he what she wanted. 

She had no real intended purpose and so she said "I'm just wondering. You?" this time he responce was calm. Not that it was nicer then her last gesture but at least this time it wasn't blank. She was still warry of this wolf. This is the first wolf she had seen in the wilds and he would become her first impression of all the wolves to come in the wilds, at least for now.

She had not yet decided what to do in these lands or who she really was anymore to try and figure out what to do. She was soft snow, able to be molded into anything he surroundings encouraged her to do.

The pallid female, like him, was not very sociable and though this did not bother the assassin by any stretch of the imagination this did not aid in putting him at ease. Of course, even if she would have been talkative he still would have been little more than prickly. Because that's what he was. Hyper-vigilant, standoffish. He was better among the wolves of the Keep but they were pack mates and that was different. Very, very different. She showed no comprehension of Russian and so he dropped it after he had repeated his question in the common tongue. There was no sense in continuing to speak it if she could not understand him, after all. Buchanan's docked tail gave a slight twitch, though most of the gesture's effect was lost. There was little doubt she'd even seen it, despite that it hadn't really been intended for her, either way. It hadn't been a joyful twitch. It had been contemplative, cautious.

She was wondering. Or wandering? Both, perhaps? It wasn't any of his business so he did not inquire further, letting her vague answer suffice. “I was tracking a herd.” for my pack, though he left that bit off. Not his pack specifically, mind. He wasn't a leader although (his future significant other) Banner was and out of any of he Keep's wolves it was she that he was the closest to. Buchanan's ears swiveled then, splaying out to the sides to ensure that the herd had not begun moving again. The sounds of their idle grazing could still be heard a few miles off.

Sorry for the late reply school ha had me preoccupied. All good now!

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It seemed that at the moment both of the two wolves were rather un talkative. He said he was tracking a herd, hunting as it seemed. She hadn't noticed their pressence as she wasn't looking to track any of them down. She watched as his ears swiveled trying to hear them in the distance. 

She realized that this wolf could be busy and have little time to talk or whatever it was they were doing. Her attitude changes, maybe slightly, maybe not. From nothing to something it could be taken either way. She became more attentive and direct in her speech seeing as how if neither of them too a stand they would both be speaking in fragment forever. "Do you think your tracking would be hindered by me asking you a few questions?" she said rather direct. She wanted to ask alittle but about the wilds and the packs that may reside in it as she was very new to the area.