Grouse Thicket if the wind does blow

settling against the lean flank of a stripped aspen, imrathil sighed and watched the last of the sun’s hellish glow sink beyond the horizon. cold collected overhead, pooling in densely roiling fog that moved across the landscape like lost dogs. 

his stomach blared. the grouses the thicket was named for had eluded him all day, and he found his energies were soon spent. better now to rest, and save what little he could for tomorrow. feeling a tiredness sink deep into him, imrathil dozed off — unaware of @Tulimaq nearby.

Whether his hunt was successful or not, he soon picked up on the sharply contrasting scent of wolf. This made him think of the plateau and its populace, but this scent was strong and its differences made the presence hard to ignore — so he sought it out instead, eager to satiate his curiosity (and needing to, if he was going to continue hunting with any focus). As the burly man stalked through the trees he almost missed the swarthy boy, and paused when the scent thinned — having overshot his path and wound up faced with the strong scent of holiday pine instead. As he back-tracked, the scent grew heavy again and this time Tulimaq would not lose it. His ears twitched when a strange sound gurgled up from the undergrowth and he peered in the general direction it originated, noticing in that moment a dark body bundled in the grass. He crept closer, much like a prowling lion.

by all accounts imrathil was not a light sleeper, and being exhausted as well as cold, he would have delved deep into slumber if the muttering discontent of his stomach had not awoken him. 

his eyes flew open, and he suddenly seemed face to face with a prowling leviathan. all he could see was the lambency of the wildling’s gaze; pressing his back against the coarse bark of the aspen, imrathil released a quiet inhale of unpleasant surprise.

When those bright eyes flew open, they shared a look of shock with one another - for Tulimaq it was hastily tempered, but not by remorse or any visible weakness. He drew back so that the stranger could have a little space, but that didn't mean much. He was intent on studying that new scent, the one carried on the stranger's coat, so he circled him like a hungry beast — sniffing the earth, and when given the opportunity, roughly probing at the boy with his snout, until he was satisfied.

There was another wolf-scent layered in to the boy's fur, perhaps a parent or a guardian, and Tulimaq withdrew so that he could survey the surrounding trees in case they were around - but didn't see anyone.

You are far from home, he comments — not that he knows for sure, but the boy looks lost and hungry.

imrathil’s heart had leapt to his throat when he first saw the menace before him- realizing it was simply a jolt of his sleepy mind, his blood settled and his breath gradually returned to a normal rhythm. 

the male began to scent around him; imrathil took the opportunity then to study the jagged rise of his tall shoulders, the quiet assurance in his eyes. the brute remarked that imrathil was far from home; as if stirred from a stupor imrathil’s expression grew confused. do you know me? he didn’t remember where home was — and a hopefulness brewed in his gaze.

What an odd thing for a boy to utter. Tulimaq was tempted by the chance to lie and make something up, create in this boy a follower and take him back to his mountain. He was a hungry creature and could use a hot meal, but beyond that he was a tall thing, lithe in all the right places, and might very well fill out when given the proper support. Tulimaq thought he could mold this boy in to another mountaineer — turn his body from scaffolding to something worthwhile, and add to his own strength in the process.

The concept flits through his mind hastily and he did consider it, but... Then he fixed his golden gaze upon the boy and said, No. You do not smell like the wetlands here, or my mountain. So you must not be from around here, but you also have no idea who you are, he thought afterwards. Are you alone? He worries. It is the middle of winter and the boy doesn't look so good; he thinks, maybe, he should play the hero instead of the villain and merely bring the boy to where he knows there is food and shelter.

hope was such a fleeting thing -- no sooner had it lit up imrathil's hollow gaze, it fled. what was left in its place was a tired, dogged kind of apathy - a resigned expression that showed well imrathil was suited to disappointment.

he eyed the swarthy male, a glimmer of something like respect in his features as tulimaq spoke. of particular note was the word he had chosen to use prior to saying mountain -- "'my mountain?'" imrathil's tone was curious, laced with subtle worry - had he been trespassing? "no, not alone -- my friend was traveling with me, but i have not seen him in a few days either. who are you?"

keeping friendly (as was inarguably in his nature) imrathil conversed with tulimaq a while longer before the two parted company, and imrathil headed uphill.