Sleepy Fox Hollow mental cabaret

Located in the center of a sierra is a quiet, open meadow. The place appears quaint and peaceful, nestled safely and hidden from anything outside of the mountains. The Hollow is lovely in the Spring, Summer, and Fall, a variety of deciduous trees dotting the lands and bringing color and life to the place; but in the Winter, the Hollow is nothing but the naked bones of the trees here that the leaves left behind, scraping eerily against one another as though desperate for warmth. Per its name, the territory is home to a number of red foxes.

Cyclone continued to wander. It seemed like her entire life was wandering and exploring and searching. And maybe that was all right. Maybe this was what she needed before she put down some (however temporary) roots. Spring would be upon the wilds soon, and she was eager to put in some work before then so she could have what she wanted. In the meantime, she brainstormed catchy names she might call her (future) little band of wolves. Naming themselves after the territory seemed short-sighted, because what if they moved? Places became uninhabitable for a variety of reasons, and Cyclone didn't want to go through the process of remembering a new name if they moved.

Besides, who had decided on the names of things? Some omnipotent presence? Yeah, probably. And what did they know? They were just a bunch of nerds pretending to be wolves on the internet. Too meta for you? Too bad.

It seemed like all the best pack names were an adjective followed by a noun, so Cyclone tried to think of ones that might work well together and capture the pack's essence. Whatever that meant...

As she pondered names, she waltzed through the barren trees, knowing that this was likely only a product of winter. With the mountains surrounding the forest, it was probably quite cozy year-round. Probably lush with life during the warmer months.

It wasn't so cold here. The trees were a rudimentary wall to the wind, which, as any living creature might know, was quite biting in the winter. She brushed leisurely past a trunk, ruffling some snow that had caught in its nooks and crannies. This whole wandering lifestyle was getting old quick. She'd relished in the infinite expanse of possibilities in the warmer months, sure, but she learned the hard way that it wasn't such a good situation to be in, freezing your butt and toes off and stumbling drunkenly around in a hungry haze.
The trees rattled nearby; she shivered and chose not to dwell on if it was out of fear or the cold, or both. Maybe it was time to settle down. But of course, as soon as summer poked its head over the horizon again, she'd want to free herself of any shackles. It was quite the dilemma she had on her hands. She was about to persuade herself that just getting over it and bulling your way through the harsh frost was the best choice when she saw another woman. 
Like herself, she was hard to miss, a black figure in the mostly white backdrop. "Hey lady, d'you know any good places round here that won't freeze my ass off? Safety in numbers 'n all?" If the woman proved herself to be dangerous—well then, Harper would do what she always did in sticky situations. Turn tail and run. Right now, she was poised on the line of staying around and beating it.

tags for reference, also vague bc timelines don't exist ok

descending along a frozen stream-bed that took him down into the winter-wracked bowels of sleepy fox, stigmata prowled after the trail of an old set of deer tracks, hoping to locate the herd passing through. he had recently left @Mahler's company, though did not intend to do so for long, as weeks had gone by and he found himself less and less inclined to part from the pewter adonis each time.

he was reminded of why they needed to divide and disperse their efforts, however, when he spotted two wolves tentatively interacting along his path. redirecting himself into the breeze, the warhound lifted his nose so that he could discern the genders and general statuses of strangers ahead, and continued a slow, curious approach until he was near enough to catch their eyes. he stood back, observing the she-wolves with naked interest before attempting to decide whether or not it would be worth interacting with either of them at all.

Safety in numbers. That was what Cyclone was hoping to achieve, at some point, although getting there was going to be quite the process. And yet, she was a determined little fucker, so she fully intended to keep on keepin' on. The wolf who had asked the question was a pretty one. Red and yellow and brown and lithe. Cyclone opened her mouth to speak, but it seemed safety in numbers was more than just a question, because somebody else approached them.

Looks like you've found the numbers, she replied with a sideways glance to the wolf who had approached without saying anything. Safety, on the other hand... not so sure about that one. The latest wolf to arrive looked older, gruffer, and like he'd seen a few too many years. Then again, maybe it was just his lifestyle that had made him look so rough around the edges.

with the wind out of his favor, he was unable to tell the gender of the tawny beast before they abruptly departed. he hadn't come near enough to discern anything else about the pair of strangers besides their color, so he continued to keep his distance while maintaining the darker lupine figure in his sights. he expected the second wolf to retreat as well, but after they didn't immediately depart after their supposed companion, stigmata thought to try his luck.

slow, and as unassuming as the warhound could manage, he began his slithering approach once more.

Something spooked the other wolf, and before Cyclone had a chance to interject, the other left abruptly, leaving the Blackthorn in the dust. So much for a recruitment attempt on that one. The other wolf continued to approach somewhat standoffishly, and Cyclone shrugged her shoulders. Not sure what put a bug up her arse. Maybe it was the approach of this older dude. At least, Cyclone assumed he was older, based solely on his coat color.

Have you come to check out the goods? she asked, flashing him an impish grin. If he intended to keep a low profile, he'd come to the wrong wolf.

as the second, less flighty she-wolf returned her attention to the warhound, he found his cautious approach to be unfounded. this was not some bird who would flit away at the slightest disturbance. this was a queen, whose kingdom was inside her head first and everywhere else second. unsure yet if he could enjoy himself with such an audacious siren, stigmata came within a tail-length of her and extended his muzzle at a tactful angle should she prove more mouthy than verbose. it was a move to test his boundaries as much as it was to gauge her interest, as he was quite clearly interested in her.

"it would be a mistake for me not to," he replied, tail raising and wagging steadily.

He made no show to hide his interest, which delighted Cyclone. She had always enjoyed open-faced attention. Name's Cyclone, she said, waving her tail back and forth a few times. You?

"stigmata," he hummed, coming as close as she would allow, tail high and waving faster, always impressed when he met an undaunted female. it was rarer still to find one that wasn't defensive or carrying a battle-axe, so cyclone was a refreshing minx that he began to circle her with gravid interest; trying to get the first intimate whiff.

Stigmata, she repeated, trying to remember the meaning of the word. She confused it with "stigma" and assumed he had pissed somebody off at some point. If that was the case, he and Cyclone were two peas in a pod. She let her own fictional story of him build from there, and in her head he had been born a bastard and had a rough go it from his very first day on earth. Poor, poor Stigmata.

He went around sniffing at her, and Cyclone didn't make a move to get away. She had no reason to. Flirting with anybody who paid her any attention was kind of her thing, so she let him do as he wished.

she was a bold puzzle - lean and sturdy on oddly socked paws - one that appeared simple and inviting, but like looking at a chinese finger trap, he felt the need to be wary of her regardless. the wolf sniffed along her shoulder first, careful to give himself just enough room to evade a bite to the face should she turn wicked; then he trailed his long muzzle along her sleek, panther-black spine until he came to the base of her tail to give her an investigative sniff.

quite a healthy bitch, he thought, and with a stunning temperament. "my lady cyclone," the warwolf addressed her, standing back and presenting himself in a stag's pose to allow her the same examinations of him. "i would have you join me in the mountains," he announced without reserve.

She allowed him to investigate as much as he wished, and when he was done, Cyclone returned the gesture. He seemed well put together, there was no doubt about that.

Well, well, well. Somebody was trying to recruit her for once. Cyclone smiled ear-to-ear at that, but she knew that wasn't what she wanted to do. She had other plans. Would you now? she said, playing with him for just a bit longer. What if I would have you join me instead? Something told her Stigmata wouldn't go for such an arrangement, but she had to ask.

stigmata, who was typically drawn to performing in a more melancholic facade, found himself smirking in cyclone's presence; amusement tickling him at her words. "then i fear we might be at an impasse," he hummed, stepping away a few lengths and wagging his tail to see if this magnetizing moment held.

As she suspected, he wasn't into the idea of joining her. I think we can agree on that, she said with a smirk. But hey, there's more to life than gathering recruits, wouldn't you say? Cyclone, for one, had always been willing to entangle herself with those not of her pack, even if the pack came first. Especially if they were dark, mysterious, and moody like Stigmata.

"indeed there is," the hellhound agreed, his tail picking up an unrestrained wag at the implication of her words. he wished in that moment that he were a more casual wolf - capable of becoming ensnared, however briefly, by a stranger. he wished he wanted the same things she did, in the same manner, but without the scent of heat to drive him, stigmata could find no passion with a complete stranger. "though my definition of more may be slightly more prudish than yours..."

an understanding was met, perhaps with disappointment, but it caused them to part without further incident.