Hoshor Plains blood will spill into the gutters and it will stain the morning sun

Hoping to be recruited by someone from Blacktail Deer Plateau.
@Liri

Although the sun had long broken over the horizon, Hoshor Plains remained in solemn shadow.  At fault were the towering peaks to the north-east and a rolling grey thundercloud which loomed in the distance, its presence like a familiar acquaintence who you just knew were about to overstay their welcome.

The ironclad spectre nestled within a rustling carpet of sagebrush and beargrass, his dark eye turned upon the bison.  It was a maternal herd — entirely female — and from the state of the grasses and the size of their wallow he could estimate that there had been a time in which the herd's size had been almost too immense to fathom.

The fires had cut them down to fifty head.  Yet the rut had ended only two months ago and some of the sow were beginning to show; only time would tell if the herd could reach its former glory, but promise had not been lost entirely.

In the late afternoon quiet the sows continued to graze, accompanied only by the stirring of the grasses and the wolf hidden there within.

The morning found her restless when she woke, slipping from her husband's side silently, for she'd been meaning to travel south in search of prey. The pack had been working diligently since arriving in late summer to assure the caches were stuffed to burst; they would not be starving through the winter. Still, the leader thought it wise to keep an eye on the herds. If an opportunity presented itself they would hunt.

The sun peaked over the mountains at her back as she descended to the steppes, the soft lavender of dawn marred by the gentle gold light at the western edge of the horizon. 

A chilly breeze whipped her coat, which had grown in thickly in response to the changing seasons, and dew soaked her paws as she traversed the waving golden grasses - the land familiar to her at this point. 

The plains had been the home of a great horde of bison - or so the rumors said - more than a thousand head. The number itself was unimaginable to Liri, she could not picture such a mass of brown shaggy coats and small black horns. She imagined the noise alone was reminiscent of a beehive or flock of seabirds along the Coast - an uproarious gathering that could be heard from afar. 

The buffalo had dwindled to only about fifty head, a herd mostly consistent of mothers and their nearly matured young from the season before. Some were pregnant again, their bellies swollen as they grazed with yearling calves at their side. A few young bachelors clung to its edges, shunned by the females. They'd likely been weaned recently and were of an age where they were expected to find a herd of their own - a herd of males - but they were young and likely afraid to leave home just yet.

Liri stalked slowly through the grass, the healing gouges along her back tugging painfully as she moved. They were nearly healed yet they still pained the sylph on occasion. 

She settled comfortably atop a knoll, chocolate eyes watching the group from afar. 

From his vantage point he could see her unhurried approach, a ghostly spectre beneath the frosty grey dome.  The bison paid no mind to wolves this late in the year — the season to hunt these ungulates had long passed and would not return until the calving season in the spring — but the Roman bachelor was not a bison, and his attention remained upon her three-step gait.

If it had not been for the abnormality in her stride and the scars upon her ragdoll frame, he could've pictured her his sweet Delphine.  He kept his bloodied stare upon her until she had settled almost just beside him, and as she parted the grass to recline, a rumble delivered from his chest was expelled to alert her of his (now very close) presence.

Overhead the thundercloud rolled, casting shadow upon them, and the wind continued to stir the grasses as a light snow began to fall.

The northron has never been a tall woman. The screen of grass and the direction of the wind had obscured him from her yet a low rumble causes her ears to swivel alertly. The fae chuffs softly, just loud enough for the hidden one to hear. 

It's not often she comes across strangers near her home but she's not particularly concerned about the male's presence yet. Her family is still close enough to hear a cry for help and there's nothing about the growl that indicated aggression. 

The leader remains in her chosen spot, uncertain if the growl was a call for conversation. If he so desired her company, Liri supposed he would approach and seek it. 

His rumble draws a soft reply from the woman's lips, though despite their proximity she chooses to leave him otherwise unacknowledged.   In that moment she no longer reminded him of his dear sister (though his stoic demeanor would betray neither his sentimentality or the loss of it) and his intrigue in the pale woman waned. He blinks once and then his dark eye flickers back to the sow.

Still, There is a storm upon the horizon.  Soon, it would not be wise for a wolf alone to be out in the open, even shielded beneath the grasses.

His words led her to believe that it was indeed a conversation he sought. Liri padded unevenly to him, grasses parting around her small form to allow her admission. He is a man of titan proportions as her dark gaze finds when it lifts to him, much like her mate. Yet, that is where his similarity to Kavik ends. He is pale, much like the fae, though unmarried by the same horror or peppered stripe. His blood red optics are closed off, somewhere between cold and analytical. 

She glances to the sky, oak gaze lingering on the brewing storm. "So it is. It's the season for it," she remarks in passing for the autumns are particularly wet in the Flatlands. 

"My home is near here. Where will you go for shelter?" Liri asks curiously. He smells of wild things, the life of solitude. Liri would recognise it. 

Perhaps he has no interest in a pack, it would not be the first occasion where the sylph had met a rogue who preferred to be alone. Yet, if his answer revealed he had nowhere to turn to, perhaps he would be interested in joining their ranks. 

The closer she comes, the more she reveals of herself.  Her leg, which he had assumed was strained or perhaps broken was shriveled and had atrophied beyond repair.  Her eyes were a kind oak instead of the brilliant, knowing sapphire of Delphine's knowing gaze.  The notches of her spine were peppered with warm grey hues, and the scars upon her frame were many.

Thrall, is the first title that comes to mind rather than leader , and though he is not foolish enough to underestimate her he begins to dissect the meaning of her words in his mind.  Did she mean "my pack" as in "my pack," or rather "the pack in which I am a part of"?  His face remains flat, though betrayed in his darkened glance is a hint of shining intelligence that many would not assume such a brute to have at first glance.

Perhaps there, at the foot of the mountain, he rumbles as his nose inclines scarcely to point at his shelter, though his words are open-ended as if to say, unless you have a better offer. He stretches his colossal legs, moving from his sphynx-like position in the grass to shake his pelt free of the dew and snow that collected upon his marble sculpted frame.

His face hides his thoughts though Liri wonders silently at what lies at the male's core. His calculating gaze is one she knows well, she's seen it on many faces, yet she turns away first. Her eyes roam over the bison idly, lost in thought, determining that he would make a good recruit for their pack. 

Her head swivels back to him as he speaks again, ears perking with interest at the tone of his voice. "That plateau," she gestured to the distant dark splotch, "is my home. You're welcome to join our pack there if you so wish," Liri offered, rising to her paws resolutely. She offered her home to him freely, he was not the first she had simply invited back to the outcrop. He was large, strong. He would be a benefit to the group if he joined though she would have no qualms against him if he didn't. 

The heavens opened then, the first few drops falling lightly as if the skies had been listening in on their conversation. The wind stirred uneasily, tangling grass and fur alike. The hollow echo of it dancing through the trees called - the ancients telling her it was time to return to her forest. 

"I am Liri Tonrar," she murmured, her head turning over her shoulder as she began to pad towards Blacktail Deer Plateau. "My mate, Kavik, and I are the Alphas there." 

An ear flicked and swiveled in her direction as she addressed him again, while overhead the thunderhead which had loomed over the wide berth of the mountain range rolled and bellowed like an angry beast.  The grey sky cracked and darkened, parted like a curtain to spill frigid rain onto the pale duo.  At his breast the bison remained unperturbed by the shift in weather, and the colossal titan was much the same.

His eye found the pale silhouette of her plateau, and as she spoke again he released a white breath into the air that plumed outwards and dissipated.  And what if I am not a good fit for you?  Or your pack for me?  A single brow raised a fraction of an inch as he began a languid steady lope behind the alphess, massive shoulders rolling as the fur upon his back became flattened by the frozen rain.  

Would it be tenable to instead offer you thirty days in which I work for you as I would work for anyone else, and if at the end of my tenure either party decides that your pack is not suitable for me, I would depart?  He would not wish to be hunted down if he left, nor considered a traitor or a leech.

A pale ear tipped back, listening to his questions. That was always a concern, that the wolves she invited home would find life unsatisfactory on the plateau. 

The rain fell in earnest, its icy deluge soaking her snowy coat. "Then of course you would be free to leave," the fae assured, glancing back to him as her breath swirled outwards in a pale cloud. 

"That sounds fine to me. In a moon's turn, if it seems like the plateau is not for you then we will discuss it," the sylph's head dipped subconsciously, her paws growing numb with cold as she led the way home through the snow.