Swiftcurrent Creek Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.

He remembered the creek. It was a memory from long ago, hazy and almost dreamlike in its vague recollection. His mother, brother, and northbound trip into the wilds and the unknown. A winding creek and a cold place up north. There was a strangeness to these memories, something untouched and innocent, and Whip could only wonder if he felt this way because he looked back to that moment with fondness -- something he rarely did. Something he rarely could do.

It was by accident that Whip found this place again. He ran. Ran like he always did. Away from Bhediyon, from Tytonidae, and any other positive force in his life. He ran because he was scared, like a petulent child refusing to grow up from the selfish boy he had always been. It was now that Whip realized he needed the guidance of his parents now more than ever, but they both were destined to rot in a shallow grave somewhere in the Caldera. Gone forever.

Whip was alone. Weighed down by the ghosts who haunted his restless nights.

He remembered the clearing his mother had brought he and his brother to and how the creek cut through. The snow rode up Whip's ankles as he walked. It hadn't changed -- save for the season. The trees were dead and dormant, and the landscape was a bleak and lifeless white. Thin sheets of ice reflected the midday sun and floated in the current of the creek like tiny glaciers. Standing on the bank, Whip watched as they marched along to warmer waters toward their ultimate demise.

The landscape was beautiful around here. Almost made Laurel consider staying around here, maybe with this Xan fellow. She wondered what Indra thought about settling down. They could always give it a try. Would be smart to find someplace for winter; hopefully this Xan guy had others to back up his plans for this pack he was forming. Laurel didn't much feel like another scrappy winter like the last, when she'd left home halfway through it. Still had been better at the time, but wasn't anywhere near good.

Ears perked up as she heard the rustle of another and noted someone staring at the water not far from her. Fur looked a bit like hers. She couldn't decipher much from his scent. Laurel approached with neutral body without saying any words, though the crunching of snow betrayed her presence as she neared.

Yesssssssssssssssssss

He could smell another clearly; his senses keen in the cold winter air -- sharpened by the chill. His tuned his ears back and listened intently for footfalls. The Nereides he hid from were still an active worry in the back of Whip's mind, though, he found it unlikely that they would find him here. They most likely assumed him dead, killed off by the winter or starvation, or a combination of those two. He was hungry and the winter was hard, but he lived. Whip thought himself to be a machine fueled only by spite and anger. He would not give them, or anyone, the satisfaction of being right.

At the sound of footsteps, Whip bristled defensively. The hair on his back instinctivly stood on end. A warning growl passed his lips, not of anger but of caution. If a stranger was going to approach Whip, he wanted it to be on his own terms. He stepped forward, letting his defences fall just enough to try smelling the ruff of the stranger's neck for any sign of the sea.

The stranger was instantly defensive, though it didn't faze Laurel much. She'd seen the whole spectrum of wolves alive in the last year. He looked younger than she had expected when he turned around and she saw his face, but at the same time he looked weary. Didn't surprise her much to see the conflict though; world had probably been rough on him. That was why he was so defensive, too, no doubt.

"Oh, relax," she said with a sweet, innocent smile on her face. "Do I really look like I'm about to rip your throat out?" She stopped not far from him as he reached out to pick up her scent. There weren't signs of the sea apparent there. "You looking for someone?" she asked with a tilt of her head; not that she was really interested, but in her experience others were nicer when you showed interest in them. She then tacked on, with a charming smirk on her face: "Or just eager to get to know me?"

He smelled no salt or any other trace that would give him reason to worry. She was just some stranger. He was nothing to her and she was nothing to him. Truth be told, there was some comfort in that; in being a nobody. Whip pulled away, the caution painted across his faced remained unchanged as he took two steps back. He relaxed. Or rather, he tried to, but there was a certain stiffness to him that would not easily abate.

He shook his head for no. Whip wasn't looking for anyone or anything -- he was running as far away as he could, to some vaguely familiar place that he could hardly remember. "No," he told her. There was no explanation to be offered and his reasons were his own. He then sighed and said, "I don't know." She seemed friendly and genuinly interested, but he'd run from her too soon enough.

"Give me a reason to," he said coyly

Only after he had smelled he accepted that she wasn't here to murder him or anything of the sort. He took a few steps backwards and she could tell this was going to be a challenge. Reminded her a little bit of a guy named Jack who had been running from something or other. Took her dear time to wind him around her paw but when she did it was all the more satisfactory to break his heart.

But quicker than Jack had, this guy gave her at least something to work with. She smiled slyly when he tempted her. "Eager, are we?" A bit too eager, perhaps. Anyway, she kept up the act just to see where things'd go on this one. Looking at his silver eyes that reflected a certain sadness that was all too familiar Laurel said, "Wow, your eyes — I've never seen anyone with silver eyes. They're really beautiful! Or handsome, if you please, if being called 'beautiful' would impact your masculinity in any way." She grinned, none of the sadness in her heart reflected in her own bubbly, excited-to-meet-ya eyes. Time had taught her to shove it under the rug well — just as time had taught her that wolves liked compliments on unique details about them, whether they were genuinely well-meant or not.

Whip: What is flirt?

Whip couldn't remember the last time he had been given a compliment -- or if he had ever been given  in the first place. It tooh him by complete suprise and his face contorted into this scrunched mess caught somewhere inbetween an incredulous sneer and an awkward grimace. All he could think was, where the hell did that come from? She was a stranger. Whip didn't just traipse up to strangers and tell them they have pretty eyes. That's how you get disemboweled by some twitchy fucker named Sketchy Steve or something. Fuck that.

But it was bold -- and Whip kinda liked it.

That being said, he really didn't know what to say back. He was silent for a moment, a few moments, before saying in a completely monotone and deadpan voice that, "You have good facial structure." Yeah. Compliments. Whip could play that game too.

'you have good facial structure'. LMAO, i love. <3

It was pretty obvious this guy didn't know how to deal with compliments. He looked completely taken aback, and Laurel almost burst into laughter at the sight. She managed to hold herself back though and watched as he tried to process what she had just said. Laurel didn't really expect anything other than a demure 'thank you' or perhaps continuing on with the conversation or.. well, anything really. She certainly hadn't expected to get a compliment back, but when he finally spoke she realised why he had been silent for so long; trying to come up with something.

Laurel was half mad that he couldn't come up with anything better to say -- just 'you're pretty' would've been much better -- but a compliment was a compliment and at least he tried. This guy mostly looked dumb, not genuinely thinking she didn't have many pretty things about her. Yet Laurel couldn't help but burst into laughter at the 'compliment'. "Really, that's the best you can come up with? You must do real well with the ladies, got girlfriends all round the wilds," she laughed, though not unkindly.

Was she -- Was she actually laughing at him? Whip's ears fell flat against his head and he stepped back. In that moment, he felt incredibly aware of his own embarrassment. It was to an extent that surpassed any experience in recent memory. It was absolute mortification. He'd learned nothing from the nereides when it came to charm. He was a commodity to be used and nothing more. It stunted him in such a way that Whip didn't quite know how to even begin to talk to the opposite sex.

"Should I have said something else?" he asked. Perhaps it was best to cut his losses and turn away. But, surprisingly she hadn't turned mean like many of the sirens. Sure, she laughed at him, but there was still kindness and mirth in her voice, so he stayed.

Perhaps had she led another life Laurel might've felt sorry for the boy, but the way she had become she didn't care; enjoyed it, even, for when another was suffering embarrassment it meant that she was not. He looked absolutely mortified and Laurel was enjoying every moment of it. She grinned when he asked if he should've said something else. What an oaf.

"Well, yeah, if you wanted to make an impression on a pretty girl," said Laurel and she quirked an eyebrow, still grinning. Yeah, she was laughing in his face and thought him to be quite silly, but the game wasn't quite over yet. "But maybe you did not..." She looked sad suddenly, as though she was genuinely sad that at the thought he might not have wanted to. She turned away then, glancing back one time and waiting for the inevitable 'wait' or some form of it.