Hushed Willows double

Early evening, 22˚ Foggy, tags for ref & lemme know if anything needs changing

He didn't make it far from the coast before finding somewhere of interest. Something might have been here not long ago. Remnants of life were everywhere if he looked in the right places. Even if whatever had been here before had not survived something, this place seemed to welcome him. The rustling whispers of the tree branches with the faint smell of sea salt still in the air.

It seemed dreamy and he could not see why anyone would leave the place. Perhaps he could make a home here though. Although his mind drifts to @Thresher as he wonders what she might make of the place. Would she see the beauty and potential he saw? He ougt to find her to show her around. That was if she wasn't already nearby somewhere.

For now, he'd settle for scouting the place alone and making sure it truly was safe to inhabit.

I never did get to the other thread... so I wanted to call dibs!

The willows were barren—though the pale sylph would never have claimed they had been vibrant with life. Elysium had been a peaceful lot, and emerald eyes swept over what had once been their home, knowing now that it had been abandoned. Perhaps from the tragedy they had endured? Or the mountain itself had driven them as the tremors took hold, shifting rock and slate—encouraging mud and rifted trees.

Ketzia had watched the sky fall once and burn her home. Now, it was the ground that threatened to open a gaping mouth and swallow them whole.

The faintest rustle drew her ears to sweep back upon her skull, attuning herself that perhaps the land was not as abandoned as she had originally believed. A sway of her lean hips and the woman turned, eyes pinning to the stranger that roamed almost as if in a thrall.

Even with the peacekeepers of the willows absent, it seemed the land itself still placed serenity upon there shoulders of those who visited.

The problem with serenity was that it was usually overturned in the worst of ways—and so the Diaspora wolf remained silent as she watched the grey creature roam. For all she knew in this moment he was but a shadow of what had once been—a wraith that forever walked these hauntingly beautiful lands.

It took him too long to realize he was not alone as he picked through the area, searching for things that might help him. A home, abandoned meals, a face or two. It was in his roaming gaze for a face that he saw her. For a beat he wondered if that was Thresher but even in the fog this stranger was a golden beacon. Too bright to be his protector and not nearly feathery enough.

Still his tail offered a few slow sways, welcoming her silent presence. Hello. He called out softly despite the hoarseness of his voice. Do you — The male paused to correct himself. Did you live here? It seemed like better wording considering how vacant the willows had seemed. Was she what remained of whatever had driven away the former inhabitants?

The masked wolf becomes aware of her presence, and Ketzia stares at him with open scrutiny. Injuries adorn the leaner figure of the male—scratches mar his features and she too feels the burn of the scar at her hind from her own fall from the mountain.

His posture remains amicable, allowing the pale sylph to relax, her own tail offering a neutral sway through the air as she takes in the hoarse voice. A voice unused—a wolf not used to companionship.

“No,” she replies, her own smoky wisp of a voice almost an echo in what was now an empty home. Taking a tentative step toward him, the she-wolf’s nostrils flare as she attempts to place his scent, finding it wholly unfamiliar.

“My pack claims the lake not far from here,” she offers to him, her exotic muzzle swinging in the direction she had come. She gave no voice to Stigmata’s dream of claiming the entirety of the mountain—in time, they would see what would become of her fallen beloved’s legacy. “Where are you from?”

"No," And so he is left with the mystery of who did live here before he had stumbled upon the remains. Most things still fresh enough to make him know this is not some ancient civilization buried within ruins. The wounds of the land's abandonment are still new.

Then she mentioned something that ached his memory as it stretched to recall his first few days. The mountain lake, a pack, a man, dark dark dark. She was light. A gold beacon. He focused on that for now, finding it easier to linger in the present. He could not trust his own memories to even assure him that they were thinking of the same lake.

The coast. He looked over his shoulder as if he might see it looming behind them but walls and trees hid it from view. It's angry like the earth though. A frown cut into his features as his own announcement. How would it fair? What would be left in the wake of the ocean's damnation?

There was a disconnect from him—the way he studied her, the hesitation he seemed to offer. Her tail swung neutrally in the air, a cock of her exotic muzzle given as her jade eyes skimmed over him. The glance over his shoulder, the words chosen—the quaking of the earth was playing upon the unease of so many, though her concern rested with her children and Diaspora.

She blew out her breath softly, an ear flicking toward him as she remained rooted to the spot, pondering the enigma of the man before her. A broken angel, perhaps? “You worry for it,” she murmured, the smoke of her voice holding only the hint of a question to the statement she gave.