Barrow Fields if you see me floatin' too many times

@Caiaphas hope this is ok! <3 forward-dated to tomorrow, other tag for reference

His illness lingers, persistent yet tame for the time being. He's not so much concerned for himself as those around him; so he slips away when he gets the chance, knowing @Midar will be furious with him. He leaves the valley behind with his head still reeling from recent events, following the hints of seasalt he catches in the north wind. He excuses his trip to himself with the thought that some fresh coastal air might do him some good, knowing well that it's only wishful thinking. Sick on the coast is the same as sick in the valley — but at least he won't be spreading his illness.
The snow-blanketed field he finds himself in is vast, dotted with curious white mounds. He avoids them as he walks, wary of what they might house. He's in no mood for any unpleasant surprises, sick and feverish as he feels. His attention is taken instead by the myriad of wolfscent lacing the land, marking the presence of a nearby pack. He huffs softly and launches into a small coughing fit, changing direction; he has as much desire to infect a strange pack as he does his own. He'll wander further down the coast, then, and perhaps by the time he returns he'll be well again. It's easier to lie to himself that way, at least.

alarian was not the only creature to be afflicted -- although the sickness that descended feverishly upon caiaphas was non-communicable and in direct result of the grievous wounds that rent her neck. in her exhausted state, visiting the barrows was laborious -- but the lichen here was much needed by rusalkan wolves to stave further growth of proudflesh on their angry wounds.

she looked up as the hoarse fit of coughing alerted her to another's presence -- a waif of a man, transient as any ghost and wandering with a sickly, thousand yard stare. his features were so heavily scarred it took caiaphas a moment to place him -- but when she did, she cleared her throat and made towards him, though her distance was kept given her own compromised state.

The sound startles him slightly in the wake of his own outburst. He turns, wary gaze landing on the source a moment later. His expression changes the moment he registers her features, written now with surprise and faint recognition. He takes a few steps in her direction as she approaches, searching her face for some kind of clue; he's certain he knows her from somewhere, but he can't quite remember. Have we met before? He asks without any prelude, gaze tracing over the wounds marring her neck sympathetically; he can recall, vaguely, being in a similar state many times, and he certainly would not recommend it to anyone.

caiaphas' gait slowed as the slender male took note of her; as neutral as the sylph's posture was, her present condition was far from disarming -- and it seemed that alarian too was taken by a strange semblance of deja vu.

the sylph afforded the barest of smiles, studying the marred ribbon of flesh that wound around his face, corrupting his features. a startling contrast from the unblemished, rangy male she had met nearly a near before. "yes. you were on my beach once. with many less scars." her tone was playful, yet somehow edged with a quiet sense of humored bitterness.

He half-expects her to call him crazy and leave, so he's surprised to hear her confirm his suspicion in a few short words. In the breath between her words and his next, a million things flash through his mind. He wants to ask about their meeting, about her beach, anything to gain some sort of clue about his apparently chaotic past. He doesn't ask any of these things; the encounter sounds brief from her description, and inherent wariness makes him reluctant to reveal his amnesia without reason.
Well, don't tell anyone I wasn't always this pretty, He says instead, returning her hint of a smile. The expression fades as his attention returns to her wounds; if his subject-changing lacks stealth, he doesn't much care. Who did that to you? Or what, maybe, he thinks, resisting the urge to shudder. The wounds seem, at a glance, to be healing at least — but they speak of a vicious fight.

her expression changed to mock-dubiousness as alarian mentioned he was pretty -- really, you? her eyes seemed to convey, as they roved over the heavily marked disruption of flesh that pocked his muzzle. "hmm."  a vague, barely visible smirk seemed to play at the corner of her lips -- but it was the humorous flash of her eyes that betrayed her doubtfulness was counterfeit.

not that she found him pretty -- she was not a wolf of sentimental affection, and did not spare much thoughts to the aesthetics the world possessed. to her the world was simply cruel, or not -- and there was no pretty in between.

her features darkened as the male called to attention the wounds that snared her fur and exposed tissue on her neck. "the wolves on the cliff." she answered simply, gaze flitting from alarian to the tall reach of stone above them. for a moment it seemed she was lost in thought, but then she parroted back: "who did that to you?"

One ear flicks at the hooded wolf's words, and his eyes follow hers to the cliff she speaks of, lingering there a few beats. He glances back to her only a breath before she speaks again, lips curving a little sardonically at the returned question. A dead man, He says, mostly because he has no other answer for her; he possesses only flashes of memory of the incident, key points creating a vague image to draw from. Maybe he wouldn't tell her even if he knew. His gaze returns to the cliffs briefly, then back to her, and belatedly he realizes that her scent is mixed with those of the pack he'd hoped to avoid. So you're at war?

a dead man. caiaphas wished she could say the same; her gaze traced the ugly lacing of scars once more, almost hungrily. they were such an impressive imprint -- perhaps the last living reminder of whatever dead soul exacted them.

the male's question caused her to lift her gaze back to his eyes -- or eye, really -- briefly; were they at war?

her expression sharpened and for a moment seemed almost pained, for she thought of the glacier wars, and how poorly it had turned out for her. "no." she answered, for a raid into a territory to retrieve a stolen packmate hardly seemed a war. "a war requires an army. we are just a bunch of pups, squabbling over a favored piece of meat. but we are certainly enemies -- and i would certainly kill them, given the chance."

she didn't leave alarian with much to respond with; all the same, she searched him expectantly for some answer.