Lost Creek Hollow burning away at the heartwood

He settled comfortably, though unease seemed to tear away at him at the worst times. It struck like lightning ahead of a storm—fast, bright, sharp, and loud—and left him briefly dazed. Only instead of a rush of adrenaline that may have followed for every other reasonable soul on the face of the earth, he only felt drained. A mental, emotional drain, far from physical though unbearably obvious in his gait on that day.

His paws were muddied, the length of his pointed, long muzzle gaping and holding a series of stones he had been swift to go prying from the cold waters of the creek before the morning fog burnt away. Not unlike a magpie, he had been doing this for the last two days in snippets, hoarding and burying when watching eyes were unlikely to pay much mind. It helped that he was small, for he had been whip-quick to abandon and hide when he felt he was about to be happened upon. Amazing where he could fritter himself away to when he felt the necessity, but that was distinctly the coyote way ingrained him in and done without thought. But the wolf in him, well that fought the instinct.

With no real way of how to gauge his new... kin... pack... however or whatever it was that they preferred to be referenced, he found an utmost reason to hide his little habits. They were too painful to break from or stop completely, not with the unease that tugged at him in the air like some great stone was about to be heaved atop of him, or some other violent end to come crashing in. In short, he feared being seen, feared what would be made of him when so little had been forced out of him at their gates.

It pays you be to wary, always, he heard, but did not see from where.

Swift little feet came halting over a patch of ground he toiled over with a coal-black nose; his ears turned this way and that to ensure he had a moment to himself. When that requirement was fulfilled, he spat the stones from his mouth, only gagging roughly when one decided not to cooperate with his tongue and instead fought to the back of his throat. They were plain but smooth; he thought it hardly meant what they were than the intent he had for them.

Scoring the earth with those little feet, he soundlessly counted off to himself how many times he raked the same place, and rolled a stone in to cover it just as quick. It was a fluid action, a short work and a practice he had done many times with worse and better stones. In this little grove he had found for himself he sought to sanctify it crudely, a temporary respite from whatever assault either real or imaginary he sensed. A simple circle of stones would suffice.

And he finished, finally, panting, and set to settling the earth discreetly.

word count: 502

open for anyone — absolutely no need to match length, i'm figuring tarot out more via rp than having planned ahead. :X

she was beginning to settle.
mona patrolled; she hunted. the caches were well-stocked, and therefore her kills were placed in a newer place. some small distance from where indra made her den did the recruit hunt for her own shelter, and by way of it, her own caching spot. it was a short search and the locale required some small amount of excavation, but when the mayfair had finished, she stepped back with mud-caked ankles to regard the low, snug shelter that would be hers for as long as she was in the hollow.
bearclaw was missed, but not as much as the little scout had come to pine for stigmata's imposing presence. he had been angered, and she annoyed by him; mona had somehow still been dismayed to see that he would leave them. but he had been wrong! had he not?
perturbed, the girl moved through the wood, aimless for once. mona would have moved beyond the grove, had not the gentle sound of paw upon earth sounded. it was enough to rouse her curiosity; she wended her way between the trees until a small clearing revealed the presence of another. for an irrational moment she had believed it was tadec, but it was not. still, the coywolf build was something with which mona was familiar, having come to love merrick a great deal.
"hello," the cardinal murmured softly, opting not to stare at what the other was doing. it would have been rude of her, and she was not about to leave that impression with a new packmate.

He had no more set the final touches to his work before realizing that someone had drawn close. Wherever the focus from his surroundings had disappeared was truly beyond him, and it took a great deal of control not to startle from a gentle greeting. She was a quaint thing, certainly a wolf from stem to stern, and every bit as green-eyed as his greeter had been. Respectful, if he had to wager, but he was far from a betting soul in the way his body language conducted itself and deferred to her.

”Hello,” he returned to her in a breath, slow to compose himself and mask that he had ever been doing anything at all. She had come to him and he wondered if perhaps she wanted something of him. It wouldn't have been surprising even if untrue; he knew he was a fresh face and an unusual sight and held himself as such. It would have been a real shame if she had seen him all along he thought, and would soon set to uncovering the work he had so painstakingly tried to do in solitude.

But it would have been par for course in the downturn of events that had become his life.

You thought she seemed respectful, came another voice, one almost more familiar than the circle of others that came and went. Something shifted off in his vision, but true to his usual response (or really, lack thereof), he didn't try to track it. No point and especially no point in drawing any more unnecessary attention to himself, that was for certain.

he returned her greeting, and mona swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. should she introduce herself? offer to help him with whatever he was doing? the fineboned man seemed hesitant; mona attributed it to her newness within the hollow, and folded her ears along her skull, perturbed by his show of submission.
after all, hadn't he been here first? he wasn't from bearclaw, which meant she truly was the newcomer; drat, oh drat, mona's mind churned, for she was getting ahead of herself and allowing the silence to become nigh unbearable in its length.
"i'm one of the new joiners, formerly from bearclaw valley. my name is mona." let me help you! her mind blabbed insipidly, but the girl had learned to hold her tongue. she was silent then, for fear she had said too much; the man's response would give her more information, she hoped, and reveal whether or not he was open to her company or wished to be left alone.

Did he intimidate her? The uncertainty that came crawling across her wolfish features baffled him for a moment, though it seemed more affirmed by the way she sputtered a response to him. He found this unusual, but everything about everything new so far had been unusual, to say the least. Still, it was this genuine show that made him rescind the concept of being wary if only a minute amount; clearly she took was growing used to wearing another coat, so to speak.

”I am new also,” he offered, as though his words could some how soothe her. ”You may call me Tarot.” He knew only bits and pieces of how this pack had come to be and most of those he had gleaned from Terance. And he had thought his arrival to come at a keen time as well, that it would make his own integration swift, but that had been wishful thinking indeed. Here he was, out in the wilds of his own home, trying to perform some discreet ritual without prying eyes.

It had failed, more than likely.

”Are you settling well, then?” He plucked small questions from the ether, a final tap to the earth following as he opted to venture away from what he quartered off as his own to better examine her. Perhaps it would keep her talking and he could sequester her further away, sweep the whole matter underneath some rug. His conversational skills were far from up to snuff; the practice would perhaps do him some good.

tarot. the name fit the stranger, who seemed even more to resemble tadec. not for the colour of his coat, nor the hue of his eyes; it was the sense of magick clinging to tarot that attuned mona's senses, and suddenly her tongue blossomed with all manner of questions. they were couched in wistfulness, of course; she missed the little coywolf very much, and hoped that he would return to his family. perhaps a sprite had led him off, perhaps a homba.
he approached, and as the distance between them narrowed, mona was quite flustered, forgetting completely the nature of whatever it was he had been doing. "i am," she murmured, tones demure. "you said you were new also ...?"
a leading question, one tarot could sidestep if he so wished. she would not press him for tales of his past, but neither would she turn them down. as was her habit, mona began to worry her bottom lip briefly, stopping when she realized what it was she had started to do.