Northstar Vale set your soul at ease

In the clear zone.

She left the Creek feeling like she had let something go, but inexplicably like nothing significant had changed, either. Was this how epiphanies were supposed to feel? Perhaps grief had left her numb and her mind blank— she did not think of her lost litter, nor her brief (and passionate) reunion with Summer and how that had swiftly been shorn away, too. Those memories didn't serve her. They would only drag her back down to the depths she had so desperately and determinedly crawled out of.

Magpie was still thin and worse for wear; the scent of a pack both repelled and intrigued her. While it was true that wolves were often better off in terms of eating come winter, it was only so if they had the strength of pack. Large prey often became stuck in snowbanks, easy kills for the agile teeth of many wolves— but smaller prey, like rabbits, had the benefit of agility on lone wolves. It was she that would become stuck in too thickly laid snow.

She moved cautiously, keeping a healthy distance between herself and the thicker scent of wolves, as she continued northwards toward the coast.

Pipit descended into the valley in awe, as she was with most things. Winter wonderlands were not new to her, but a bowl in the mountains was not something she had observed before, and she dipped into it eagerly. It was unfortunate that she was met by the scent of a pack, threatening to send her skittering back into the cliffs, but the scent was paling, thinned gingerly by time and cold winds. This bit— the vanishing pack border— intrigued her deeply, driving her further into the vale rather than from it, feeling eager to discover the mystery behind the ghost wolves of the snow bowl.

A figure, mostly black and quite visible against the blanched background commandeered the fawn bird's mis-matched gaze. She picked up a cautiously quick trot through the drifts to meet the wolf, who became a she once her scent finally touched her over the stabbing, bitter air. She wagged her tail when she was within twenty yards of the wildling, gauging how approachable the dark fae was.

She lowered herself into a non-threatening position as soon as she was aware of another's presence and slowed to a stop. The wind was not in her favor, and though she knew it had been risky to tread here, Magpie had no desire to find her death within the vale. In her youth she had been bolder and more prideful, but she had finally learned that there was a time and place for that— and even wolves you trusted would turn on you, take everything from you. It was only when she noticed that the other wagged their tail that Magpie allowed herself to relax slightly, chartreuse gaze lifting to gather what information she could until the wind changed.

"Hello," she offered tentatively but amicably. "My name's Magpie."

"Magpie," Pipit breathed, the word curling around her muzzle in a plume of warm smoke. She trotted closer, a smile creasing her lovely face as she fell transfixed into eyes a sharper shade of green than she ever remembered seeing. "Like the bird!" the rosy wolf giggled, gaze dancing over the parched woman as she seemed to recognize the clear resemblance to her namesake. "I'm a bird too— a pipit!" she continued to chime as she came even closer, her body language submissive and excited, and most obviously  not the typical behavior of a territorial pack wolf. "I mean, silly me, my name's Pipit," the cheery bird paused finally, allowing Magpie the choice to close or lengthen the remaining distance between them.

Potential drop-in / cameo! Feel free to notice him, he isn't being stealthy.

Tryphon came upon the two strangers as he was returning from his brief trip away from the vale; he carried a fat old beaver husk with him, something of a momento. Most of the meat had been stripped from its body. He kept the head though, hoping to let it dessicate through the winter (provided he could find somewhere dry and dark to store it) so that he could give the cleaned beaver skull to Saena.

As he was hastening along, he thought he could hear voices. The sound of speech drifted to his ears; they pricked and rotated, trying to find the source, and then he decided to drop the carcass and take a few tentative whiffs of the air. The scent of the dead beaver had sort-of overwhelmed his nose — but after some exploration he smelled the two strangers. The fur on Tryphon's back rose up in time for the wind to shift and push against his back, giving him a porcupine-esque silhouette for a split second. Signs of the Dusk wolves had moved on during the day of his absence, so it looked as if these were a pair of lone wolves passing through.

He licked his lips and went back to grab the beaver remains, and continued to saunter along.

She lifted a foreleg as if to stop back when the stranger began to exude what Magpie thought was something like admiration, but she swiftly dismissed that assumption as arrogant and likely false. Still, it offered the black-and-white woman permission to look— no pack wolf would address her so casually, and indeed, the other was not behaving as she ought if this truly were her home. The Corvidae allowed herself to relax, though her posture remained appropriately neutral-to-submissive if any pack wolf were to show up, and even offered Pipit a weak smile. "It's nice to meet you, Pipit," she greeted, appreciative of the friendliness. It was the nicest anyone had been to her in a long time— it was a relief to be a stranger. Magpie didn't think much of the fact that she had met another wolf that shared some other animal's name, for in her world that seemed to mostly be the way things were.

As she moved towards the other, all petite and tawny with mismatched eyes of moonlight and sunrise, Magpie thought she heard something— and as the wind changed, she smelled him. He might've matched the landscape had they been deeper in the territory, but the thick scent of his pack mirrored and overpowered the remnant scents they had left her. She rotated herself, backing away in a way that would allow her to keep eyes on him while simultaneously moving closer to Pipit.

Pipit could hardly contain her anxiously social whine as Magpie drew nearer. All she could see was lovely black fur kissed tenderly by swathes of a natural white not gathered by the snow. And her eyes— those beautiful, awful, heartbreaking eyes!— were brighter than any shade of new grass she had ever seen. Her heart swelled at the given sentiment, quite ready to return it, but in that moment the wind shifted and simultaneous to her company, her head snapped in the direction of wolf-scent that reached them.

It was a pack wolf, quite distant and rather disinterested by the sway of him. He seemed to move on without a second glance at them, and Pipit admired his confidence. It wasn't an unwillingness to accost them, for there was not a dredge of fear or anxiety in the way he trotted smoothly away; it was the walk of a wolf that knew he could destroy them both, but chose not to. She wondered in silence how powerful his pack was, though didn't feel like that was something hard to guess.

Magpie had edged closer, much more wary of the male than she was. The tawny bird pranced forward a little, hoping to be allowed at the woman's side, hoping further to place an encouraging brush of her muzzle against her freckled, downy shoulder. This close, she could scent miles and miles upon Magpie that she could never hope to see herself. She wanted to know every story she had, every path she had ever traveled, and every wolf she had ever met. Pipit sighed softly. "I don't think he minds us," came her feathery murmur. "Should we call out to him?"

She wasn't embarrassed by her cautious reaction to the male's presence, and for a moment even thought that Pipit's relaxed nature was irresponsible and naive. Magpie indeed was maturing in the face of the obstacles her life had thrown so far, or perhaps she was highly aware that she was unlikely to win if an altercation broke out on claimed land. She had escaped death several times in her life, but the most recent experience had left her uneasy and haunted by nightmares that she refused to acknowledge. He was taunting them by lingering so close, his presence a silent threat. Try anything, and I will call my pack down upon you. You will not live to see morning. Magpie remained still, even as the little bird danced closer to her side, her green eyes locked upon the male and the remains hanging from his jaw.

Her attention to him was broken as Pipit nosed her shoulder, and the Corvidae turned her head to look at the other— she offered no retaliation for the touch and merely blinked. A desire to join a pack had drawn the black-and-white female to this place, so against her screaming instincts, the woman shrugged. "If you'd like."

Short! oops.

When neither stranger could make up their mind, Tryphon quickly lost interest. He kept an ear out for indication towards anything suspect, but with the meat hanging from his jaws (and getting ripe by the minute) he did not want to linger long. The boy gave them one more curious look - a tiny glance over the shoulder - but he was gone in the next instant.

My last post because I'm wrapping her up. <3

She shrugged at the male's disappearance, for he had gone almost before the words had fallen from her mouth. Evidently, two females were not interesting enough for him or any of his other pack mates, and so the Corvidae would search elsewhere to bed down for the winter. "C'mon," she told her impromptu companion, "Let's get out of here." Her nerves were not entirely calm, so Magpie was not the best conversationalist, but she did her best to humor the others' questions as they made their exit from the territory. And although the black-and-white she-wolf certainly didn't mind the companionship of Pipit, it seemed they were destined for different things— for after a time, perhaps after sharing a meal, the two females went their separate ways.