Phoenix Maplewood She cut too deep and she left me scarred

She'd disappeared once more, leaving him in emotional torment and broken. He had stayed at the coast for far too long waiting to see if she came back to him but she never did, so once more he set off. This time though there was something different. He walked slower, his tail drooped and his eyes held a dim look in them. He was tired. At middle age he was exhausted both mentally and physically. He decided to head toward the mountains, maybe find Teaghlaigh's old grounds and stay there himself for a while.

foolishly, mahler headed east from the wetlands, into the taiga that lay beyond. there was no searching within him now; he had found the symphony of the new territories and passed through them with grim determination behind his long strides. it was soon revealed he was not to be alone; a battle-scarred warrior, muzzle sprinkled with silver that did not detract from the imposing build, caught the musiker's gaze.
mahler had grown accustomed to the silence in which he traveled; he did not seek to draw the other's attention, merely continued at his placid clip, turning once his lilac stare upon the man as he went on.

It was in a moment of pausing to take in where he was that he noticed the other man, with eyes unlike anything he had seen before. He studied the other for a moment in silence before speaking up. "do you happen to know the best way into the mountains?" his voice was hoarse from lack of use and the fact he hadn't taken a drink in quite a few days.

mahler paused at the low rasp of the other's voice, noting that his own too cracked with disuse: "no." the musiker glanced at the jagged stone mouths, then returned his gaze to the sable man. with a low grunt of affability, mahler approached with a cool and wary gait, seeking to take the warrior's scent if it was allowed.

He had winced at His own voice but the similar sound of the other's brought him some comfort. At least he wasn't the only one who was having it rough. He watched the male approach with wary eyes but held still as he began to sniff, doing the same to take in his scent. "I'm Dakarai." he introduced. He looked around and took in the scents surrounding them, catching wind of something he hadn't smelled before around here but knew the name of: sheep. "Odd question, but would you be into teaming up for a hunt with an old man?" he asked trying not to seem too hopeful.

with only kierkegaard for estimation, mahler often forgot he himself bore the littering of scars as testament to his willpower. but he thought nothing of this; he leant back, satisfied to have taken the measure of the man and received a name. "mahler," the dappled musician returned, sloe-pitched ears sweeping to cup the grizzled fighter's suggestion.
quietly, the newly made loner stepped to dakarai's side, glancing toward his companion — mahler would follow where he was led, and the hum of eagerness in the man's voice did not go unnoticed.