Moonstone Quarry the sky's falling baby

@Olive ! <3

He'd departed the plateau and the dark-furred woman more unsure than before. Perhaps he was being foolish. The beast's contentment to float through life untethered was getting him nowhere fast. Twice now he had been offered .. a home, a position within a group. And he knew of others, the Caldera that Towhee had mentioned. Others he could smell but had not sought. The simplest truth was this: Étoille could not handle options. He should have stayed with that strange dark family in the forest. Though he could not picture himself (clinging, maybe, to the image of 'nobility' that Liana had instilled in him) in that setting. He could have followed Towhee to the Caldera. He could have taken Ty's offer. He could have done any number of things.

Étoille did not want to dwell. There would be something. Someone. His patience and ease had yet to fail him. And summer was plentiful; he did not need to rush.

The man finally took stock of his surroundings. The woods he'd disappeared in to from the plateau had given way to the quarry. He stood at its steep edge and peered down. The variation in these lands was remarkable, if he were the sort to remark. But he wasn't. Still. The soft glint of the water below was appealing, somehow. Carefully he carried himself down, large form moving cautiously but without the beauty of natural grace. Maybe his next step would be hidden in the deep pools of the quarry.

 
Like all things in Olive’s life, her sadness waxed and her sadness waned. What was once felt so strongly now only passed all a dull throbbing of her heart in the middle of the night; the only remnant of the heartbreak she had suffer all those months ago — or was it weeks? Time had always been fickle, but recently it had been exceedingly so. At this point, the fae just didn’t know. There was so little that Olive was certain of anymore. 

and for a while, that scared her. 

but through dedicated piety and prayer did her melancholy subside; so it was an act that the shrouded druid committed herself to many, many times a day. Little was required for the woman to feel to call of prayer and. She tried to share such an experience with her daughter, but the young girl was flighty and not wont to partake in such rigid activities. The seclusion, the druid was reminded, was divine. So many things were clear once more; the words of the gods rushed in to fill her and once she was filled with such divine inspiration that she had rushed to her garden — only to find it desiccated and thoroughly overtaken by weeds, of course. It was not matter; with a burst of energy, she quickly set to work uprooting the extraneous fellows and irrigating the entire area, laying the foundation for a successful new crop. Perhaps she could have a new reaping ready come the autumn harvest — it would be here before anyone could bat an eyelash, after all.

Perhaps she and the wolves of Moonspear would never be as thick as thieves — and maybe that was even okay. Olive had seen firsthand the true value of packhood relationships and did not find any of them to be… as genuine as she had hoped. Though she loved Amekaze and Charon for the favor of taking on the burden of her family’s hardships, more and more of the woman’s time was spent away from Moonspear. Cassiopeia was not a baby and Olive could now afford to see after other pursuits. So the misted woman indulged her wanderlust once more — but she never traveled too far.

In fact, the quarry was about as far as she had made it recently.  In a past life, she and Palisander were going to visit this place and unearth many gems to bring back to Ceannasach — but that time had passed and now it all seemed so silly. She stilled coveted the beautiful stones, of course, but wanted them for no one other than herself. Now, Olive traversed the rocky landscape for the simple pleasure of it. Her pleasure.

Only, this time, she saw a man.

The fae chuffed to capture his attention and, let by a curious nose, pushed forward a few paces. Who was he?

It took him a bit to notice her. His attention was drawn elsewhere, though not to the world around him. Something internal, a puzzle he was missing pieces for. The gentle chuff caught his ear as he reached the floor of the quarry. Dark eyes swept up, catching olive for a moment. She was small and white and vaguely reminded him of 'Liana - but her lines were too delicate, too finely crafted. That was alright. Étoille wasn't in the business of comparative studies, regardless of coincidentally shared traits.

He returned her chuff with one of his own, deeper and rumbled. She smelled of an unfamiliar pack.. there seemed to be many around here. For a moment he wondered if he was intruding on her, and it occured to him that he did not often come upon others so much as have them come upon him. The shift in dynamic did not bother him. After all, she could choose to ignore him if she pleased. Though her approach signalled differently. "Bonjour," he murmured, eyes shifting to the water. There was something glinting there. "I apologise for intruding." Étoille wasn't sorry at all. But it seemed like the proper follow through. One never knew.

She was not noticed at first, but when she was the man returned her chuff with one of his own. There was still some distance between them and Olive saw no reason for it, for the man [of a shade so similar to hers, save for the amber-stained mask that hugged his broad features] seemed friendly and convivial, so several dancing steps closer were taken by the fae’s featherlight feet.

“Intruding? No,” she responded sweetly, unable to discern the language he greeted her in. Olive had never the mind for linguistics — her preferred method of communication was largely nonverbal, for the most part. It was how to gods spoke, with divinations and energies; thoughts and intentions. Olive could never do as the mummer queen did and slip in and out of a foreign tongue as easily as she could breathe or sing. So, Olive was pleased that the man slipped into the common tongue so easily.  With a simpering smirk, the fae pulled forward. 

“Quite contrary.”

The woman was, for lack of better words, hungry for someone to talk to. The wolves of Moonspear’s priorities and passions were different from her own. Tryphon… he was forever aloof — and without Dakarai, or the company of her two sons, the woman found herself to be lonely. It was a strange and foreign feeling, and she did not wish to entertain it much longer.

The woman drew closer to him. Her movements were like a dance. Contrasted against him, he was even more oaken than usual: a large structure planted on the earth. Étoille watched her curiously. The man did not have much experience with femininity. Not that he'd never known women, but he'd never truly pursued a courtship, nor had a way of really recognizing flirtation for what it was. He also could not read that she was lonely, not that he would have known what to do with that if he could.

But he was lonely, too, even if he could not name it that way. He dipped his head slightly, not quite smiling, but expression relaxed. "Are you from around," he asked, low voice intruiged. His earlier thoughts were completely exorcized from his large, beautiful head. She was exactly what he needed: a distraction. And a lovely one at that, if he was completely honest.