Morningside Cuesta I Know Him

@Alastor * wiggles eyebrows *

He was not happy to have returned here, but it was the only place he knew where Dotharan would not go. The khalas that ventured here had long since dispersed, the expedition a disaster as the Golden Rhoa had wanted. Zoratto had not looked back, not after seeing HIS body burnt to a crisp in the charred grass. He couldn't.

He was far from where they had set up, but the scent in the air was the same. It was Rhaesh Thaan. Green Land. And autumn was coming. Winter was coming. He needed to find one of these...packs...before he was caught in the cold months, alone, starving.

He pushed further into the Rhaesh Thaan, his mind wandering back to those he had met here. They were defensive, strong, and sorcerers...he had to be wary.

The reunion with an old friend had not gone terribly, but he'd not been able to follow the other, despite how badly he had wanted to. Alastor had business to attend to, and a pack that he needed to extend his apologies towards. He knew not yet of Silvertip's former leaders' passings and, at this rate, it seemed doubtful that he might ever. For though he'd intended to travel from Aesop and to the mountain, he'd detoured, having lost his nerve at the last second. He wasn't ready, not yet, and so he'd ventured farther towards the northeast. So much of the land was familiar to him, reminding him that he needed to right any wrongs he'd done, but he'd been unable to turn around just yet.

Alastor found himself within a field after a great deal of movement, and through it he had wandered, keeping away from the rocky terrain. It was during that time that he'd spotted the silhouette of a wolf a distance off, still, and a slow approach was made. In times of trouble, he tended to seek out others, yet he moved with a slow gait. Just as he'd done within the Bypass, the foreigner had stopped several meters off from the other, though quickly has he found a feeling of familiarity within the mask the other had been born with. Through his mind he'd searched, and then rewarded had he been with the other's name. "Zoratto?" he'd questioned, for there was a bit of uncertainty within the back of his mind. If not the boy he'd met so long ago, then surely it was his twin.

He trotted slowly towards the heart of the Wilds, unsure if he wanted to leave the familiar comfort of the plains and head into the mountains. He had no idea what packs lay in the Wilds now; they had obviously changed since he had last been here.

The Dotharan paused at the call of a half-familiar name. He turned, glaring in the direction of the voice accusingly, his eyes squinting at the gray and blue-eyed sight. Si jinthil wux. I remember you, maegi. His voice was still deep and heavily accented, this land's tongue unpracticed for nearly a year.

The other had remembered him, thereby confirming that it was the stranger he'd met quite some time ago. It was a new experience, though, for the boy had spoken the common tongue. However thick his accent was, it was still understandable, and so he was certain that their meeting this time around would go far better than their first. "We can have an actual conversation now," he'd noted. Something about that made him glad, for he remembered feeling confused all throughout their previous exchange. Hopefully, that would not be the case this time around.

"What does maegi mean?" asked the Greek, having never been able to figure it out. He'd stumbled over the word, his pronunciation clearly flawed, for his tongue was only used to the language of his birth place and the common one.

Hm, Was all Zoratto said, for he was still lacking when it came to the common tongue. He had improved after he left Teekon Wilds, but it was still heavy on his tongue. He stared at the wolf, familiarizing himself with his face. He remembered this wolf; he was one of the first he had met in the Wilds. He racked his brain for the wolf's name. Alastor? Something like that.

Witch. He replied, monosyllably.

What to expect, he knew not, but the meaning offered certainly wasn't it. Ears fell back slightly and brows furrowed, confusion overtaking his features. "I'm not a witch," he'd responded with. "Why do you think that I am?" No matter how many times he searched through his memory, he could find no reason for why he might have been deemed as one. It was most unusual to him, but surely there was a reason for the other having believed him to be a creature of magic.

"I promise that I am not a witch," he'd said again, feeling the need to make himself clear. To be labeled as a witch wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but for Alastor, it just didn't fit.

100th post!

Alastor's perplexed expression took Zoratto aback. He had met maegi before — some nice but secretly malicious, some evil and insane, some tamed by a khal yet cruel — but never had they denied their own existence. Unless they were slaves, taken far from the land. But once they learned the language, they understood and resigned themselves to their fate, labeled as a witch. He shook his head apologetically.

When si - I -  met you, you spoke strange words. Maegi speak strange words. He knew that wolves all over spoke different languages, but it was the foreignness of Alastor's tongue that frightened him. Not to mention how frightened and alone he had felt at the moment; no wonder he was scared of Alastor. Blue eyes too. Dotharan don't have blue eyes. No slave did. I was yalli then. Child. Didn't know others did.

lmao I forgot to point out that you got my 200th

An explanation for his belief was offered, and Alastor fell silent in favour of listening. He had not suspected that his speaking of another language might have been to blame, for the boy's language had been just as foreign to the Greek as the Greek's had apparently been to him. It was due, in part, to his eyes as well, it seemed. Within his family, the colour was not an uncommon feat. He was made to remind himself that every culture was different, and that any sorts of thoughts could transpire should one not be accustomed to viewing a specific appearance or hearing a certain language. "Oh," he'd murmured, the confusion having slowly begun to slip away from his features. He understood now, to a certain extent.

"The language I spoke is the tongue of my family, my home," began the elder. "Ελληνικά. It is Greek." The language was spoken with far more ease than English was, for there was familiarity within it. Though he'd been taught the common tongue growing up, it had never been anything more to him than a necessary way of getting his meaning across. "Do you still think that I'm a witch?" Each side had explained themselves, and so, of course, he was curious.

The language was given a name. Zoratto repeated it gruffly underneath his breath — the second word, not the first. What Alastor said, that his family spoke the words in his home, told him something else; not everyone here was of this land. There were probably more migrants like himself and Alastor here than he suspected. That didn't make them anymore dangerous.

He looked firmly in Alastor's eyes, his strange blue eyes, and shook his head. No. He had no reason to think so. He had seen real magic, real curses. Alastor had nothing of that about him; no strange smells or markings, no strange, rhythmic chants, no evil eyes. He was a normal wolf, despite his foreign tongue, name, and look.

Their gazes connected, and the answer he'd desired had been given. No. He was not a witch, and the only one that had ever believed him to be one—to his knowledge, that is—had come to realize the truth. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, glad that his image would be muddled no longer by the notion that he was, by some twist of fate, a caster of spells and hexes. He believed that some with magical properties running through their veins could be good, but the stories he'd heard in his travels had always written them out to be vile, malicious creatures. They were told to be the opposite of how he knew himself to be, and so it was a relief to know that he'd be viewed as one no longer.

"That's good," he'd eventually said, holding their eye contact for a moment longer. When he'd finally broken it, it was so that he could look around them, knowing that staring was an impolite gesture. "Are you passing through this land, or are you here to stay?" After their initial meeting, the two had parted and had never seen one another again. Alastor had assumed that he'd gone off to a land beyond Teekon, having never crossed paths with his band of wanderers prior to their departure.

Their conversation turned away from Alastor's status as a maegi to more practical things. He was relieved at first, knowing that the mistakes of his youth would be forgiven. This one at least.

But he quickly frowned at Alastor's questioning. It was warranted, after all, but the topic was still painful for Zoratto. The thought of being exiled...that was a harsh fate for him. After all of his striving to regain power in his own right he was cast out for the most trival of things. Who he liked to mate with had no affect on his fighting skills, nor his strength. And yet the Dosh Khaleen placed their mark on him and here he was, an outcast Dotharan. Stay. No where else to go. He remarked solemnly.

When the other had frowned, he'd assumed that he may have overstepped some unforeseeable boundary. No further questioning would go into it, and he'd been ready to dismiss that which had already left his mouth when the other had replied. He would be staying, for he'd nowhere else to go. That in itself had been curious, the wording seeming as if he was being forced to remain there, but Alastor did not question him. It was not his place to dig into a past that had no connections to his own, and so he'd dropped the subject with a final, "Hm." Luckily for him, he'd been able to transition into a slightly different topic.

"Do you not have anyone here that might house you?" asked the male. If he truly had nowhere to go and knew of no one that might take him in, then perhaps he'd be able to help. At least then his second avoidance of Silvertip would offer yet another positive moment; he'd be able to help someone out, which, to him, was a wonderful thing to do.

He had wondered, many a time, if any wolves had remained in Teekon Wilds after the fire. Some of those who had joined Rakharo's khalas were outsiders themselves; Rakharo was one too. It would make sense that, unlike him, they would remain here. They had no where else to go.

He shook his head once more. No one, He grumbled. Do you? He returned back, wondering if Alastor was offering him a place to stay.

No place for the male to go, and no known associates that might be able to take him in. It seemed like he was in a troubling situation, and it was one that Alastor could not offer an entirely ideal solution for. He, too, gave a shake of his head. "I don't have a home here—not anymore, anyways," replied the foreigner. From his end, there was silence, thoughts wandering through his mind. It was true that he no longer had a home there, and was in no position to offer a place within any pack for the younger male, but he could at least try to find him a place.

"Actually," he began. "There is a pack on a mountain a fair distance away from here. I have to travel there for personal reasons, but you're welcome to come along. I'm sure that they would be pleased to take you in." Alastor, however, would not be staying there. His previous time spent within the pack hadn't gone well, and though that was primarily due to outside influences, he couldn't go back. To disappoint them again was something that he wasn't prepared to do, and so he'd not request a place there again so as to avoid that possibility altogether.

Mountain? He grumbled at the thought. Mountains were high, rugged. They were to be backdrops against blowing fields and meadows, not places to climb up and live on. Not only that, they were where the dead lived. He shook his head, his lip curling in disgust. I don't like. Mountain bad luck for Dotharan.

The notion of living on a mountain, whilst fine for the Greek, seemed unpleasant for the other. They were bad luck, according to him, which Alastor found to be unusual. What made them unlucky, and did it apply to all mountains? Perhaps he might ask another time, but for the moment, his focus was on finding a place for Zoratto to stay at. The only packs he seemed to know about, however, dwelt on mountains. "I only know of mountainous packs," he'd admitted aloud, frowning at his own lack of insight. At one point, he'd wished to be a Scout, yet he hardly knew of any of the packs. It was borderline shameful.

"What type of terrain isn't unlucky?" he'd asked. "After visiting the mountain, I could help find a place for you." When Alastor had arrived within the Wilds, he'd been lucky, for his mother had taught him the common tongue at a very early age. He'd grown up speaking it, but the same could not be said for the other male. To leave him alone to wander seemed awful for that reason alone.

Zoratto scoffed. If he was forced to stay on a mountain, he would only stay on the lower regions, and that was final. He didn't feel like disrupted the spirits of long dead wolves time and time again. He already had a rough time so far.

He was about to say that flat land wasn't unlucky, only to remember how quickly the fire had spread in Hoshor Plains. Alastor was right in a way. But although he was an outcast, he had not abandoned Dotharan culture. He was skeptical. Ok,

A scoff, followed by silence. Alastor's brows pinched together, only to smooth back out no more than a second later. "We'll just have to see what packs we come across," he'd decided. There was quite some distance between where they currently were and Silvertip, so there were plenty of opportunities for them to locate other packs. Any of which, he believed, could be suitable for the younger male. If none worked for him, however, there was always Plan B.

"If we don't find you a place to go, you can come with me," offered the argent boy. "It might be to another mountain, but I'll keep the bad luck away." If he thought back far enough, perhaps he'd be able to drag up knowledge on assumed charms of good luck. There was no guarantee that he could, of course, but he'd be willing to try.

We will see. He huffed. Alastor wouldn't understand why he despised mountains; he was not Dotharan. He would never truly know. If they did find another place, he would rather it be a valley instead. Perhaps they could compromise when the time came.

Then you will be maegi. Zoratto smiled this time, his tone was light and jovial. Alastor knew little of his culture, just as he knew little of Alastor's. He would not understand the cultural history behind the joke, but Zoratto did, and first time in a while, Zoratto smiled truly with a gutteral laugh in his throat.

Alastor was willing to travel for as long as necessary if it meant helping the other out, already knowing that he'd be unable to just leave him somewhere in the night. It was true that he'd never understand why living on a mountain would not work for the other, even if it were to be thoroughly explained to him; they were of different cultures, and had been raised believing different things. While compromises could always be found, it was unlikely that they'd ever truly understand one another, which didn't bother the Greek quite as much as he'd expected it to.

The younger lightened up after that, having even gone so far as to laugh; Alastor had never heard him do so before, their first encounter having been just as serious as their current was previously. "I guess I would be," he'd responded, his expression having slowly morphed into a smile. Though he didn't laugh, he was at least glad to hear Zoratto doing so.

He laughed only briefly, his chuckles dying away but the smile remaining. He was glad to have found a familiar face, after weeks of lonliness, isolation and sneering, angry faces. Where they would go, Zoratto didn't know. He honestly hoped that mountains would be avoided, but in this land of swelling hills that climbed and clawed at the sky, he doubted he would find a place untouched by the spirits. Perhaps it was for the best. Where go now? He asked. Alastor knew this land better than he, most likely. He would let him lead.

Last post from me~

Though the sound had died away, a smile remained as a reminder of the amusement. Alastor didn't yet know what to make of the individual, having little information on him, but he was still interested in assisting him; he believed, too, that the boy was harmless. The male would assist him in finding a home, and perhaps learn more about him during their travels. In the meantime, he had a path to plot out, and so he'd started walking after having motioned for Zoratto to follow. "We'll head north around the bypass," he'd voiced. "After we're passed it, we can travel around any mountains that we come across." He still didn't know what made the mountains unlucky, but he wouldn't force the younger wolf to travel across a terrain that he didn't trust.

Alastor would lead the way from there, keeping his pace even so as not to carry himself far ahead of his companion. It'd be some time until they reached Silvertip, but the Greek looked forward to the journey.

He was still uncomfortable with the thought of climbing up mountains, but it was his only option. At least they would skirt around such pinnacles instead of climbing over them. He huffed, nodding in confirmation. Alastor was his only — could he call him friend? — ally here. Zoratto followed the Greek, his long legs closing the distance between them as they headed off into, for the Dotharan, unfamiliar territory.