Emberflame Ridge i might fade like a sigh if I stay.

---

the two-faced male had scaled the lower ranges, and with each change of scenery he knows in his shaken heart that he will not leave the mountains anytime soon. in spite of the clouded night sky he has managed to discover a place unlike he has ever seen, a forested plateau of sorts, a wood in which the air seems alight with the force if electricity. the very atmosphere is enough to put him on edge and yet he inches closer, deeper into the voltage of the strange forest. Many of the trees here are nothing out of the ordinary - but some are exceedingly abnornal, barren and burnt like the effects of a long past wildfire.

Yet if fire had been the cause of the strange trees, would not the rest of the forest look much the same? instead, these tortured trees are sporadic,nestled in amongst the healthy ones. having only seen lightning from a distance, jigsaw has no inkling that the devastating strikes of lightning are the cause of these abnormalities.

Narrow head lowers as he pads quietly through the wood, his mind spinning simultaneously in confusion and fascination. after perhaps an hour of spectated wandering, the loner captures the scent of a small animal in his nostrils; a possum, no doubt. and though he remains baffled by the state of the forest in which he finds himself, he attempts to shift his focus on the trail of his prey, stalking forward with his nose skimming the snowy ground.

She'd been instructed to go on a long patrol, and she did indeed make it looong. It would take at least two, probably three days to scout the entirety of the mountain range, but she needed an excuse to get away from the tension she felt at home and this was as good as any. It felt nice to stretch her legs in a long-ranging trot, and all the while she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of her wandering daughter.

She assumed that the scent markers she found further in the mountains belonged to the pack Mahler had spoken of and gave them a wide berth. Had she been on her own she might've been tempted to cause trouble for them, but as bad as Wylla was for him, she didn't want to sully Mahler's good name to his allies. She climbed higher into the mountains and kept well away from the valley. She thought bitterly that it would've been an easier trek to go straight through, but alas.

Her nose picked up no signs of other wolves on the far side of the range, so she dipped further down toward the tundra and found herself among aspens made barren by the winter. She too noticed that some of the trees were stranger than others, but didn't dwell much on why that might be. She was more interested in a fresh scent trail that wound through the woods, which she quickly seized upon and followed at a rapid clip. It was fortunate that Jigsaw was hunting so she could easily catch up; she found the backside of the white wolf soon enough and unabashedly called out, hey! You forming a pack here?

His weird black spots went unnoticed for now, lucky for him.

Such was jigsaw focssed on snuffling in the snow that he did not notice the sound or scent of the female trailing behind him like a wisp of smoke caught in the figid breeze. Only when she called to him did he turn around, abruptly too, his body stiffening and his hackles lifting with a startled jolt. The tension in his stance waned as he turned to face her, a rather pretty monochromatic gray female. His expression softened.

 yet her question still seemed odd to him. Are you forming a pack?his brow crinkled somewhat. He did not even know how to form a pack; leadership was and never would be on his radar. N...No?  He answered, confusion clear in his tone of voice. what made you think that, miss? I was just hunting. I don't even belong to a pack.  Yet, he mentally added. That was unnecessary disclosure for her, at this point anyway.

I'm Jigsaw.

Jigsaw's movements were jumpy and Wylla responded in kind, lifting her hackles and readying herself in case he saw fit to react aggressively. But as was often the case, it was only the result of surprise. Jigsaw softened but Wylla remained on the defensive; it was her natural state of being even with a pack at her back.

He answered in the negative, but she was too focused on what she hadn't noticed before: dark spots and a swath of black consuming half his face. The rest of him was pure white; these stood out in stark relief against his pale fur. His question was easy to answer but she held off in favour of her characteristic brand of sass: do you have a disease or something?

It wasn't so different from the coywolf sea witch of Ankyra Sound, now that she thought about it ... which did nothing to refute her question. She was convinced Caiaphas was diseased as well, if not physically then mentally, so any similarity made her uneasy, and she kept her distance as a result. I'm scouting for forming packs in the mountains, she explained, you're the first wolf I've seen. Can never be too careful.

though his fear induced aggression waned quickly, the nameless woman's remained and he reminded himself to keep his guard up inwardly. sadly it was not in the canid nature to trust quickly; this took time, more in some individuals than in others. And she, he reminded himself, had little to no reason to trust him, either. Many wolves of the darkest orientation put on a facade of kindness before unveiling a violent and self indulged nature. Neither one of them yet had sustained enough time and trust to make a schooled determination of one another.

The womans next comment, while not something he had never heard before, came as a surprise. It was obviously a joke, one that put a slightly more at ease smile upon his dual colored face. The color of ones coat obviously could not determine illness, it was scent and behavior that decided this. He gave a brief chuff of laughter. no, Im not sick. I'm just... Weird looking. He fell silent but continued to smile at her. 

Only then did she explain her purpose here, her reason for inquiring whether he was forming a pack. Her words solidified that she indeed was a pack wolf, merely performing her responsibility to such a pack. There were many scents of similar nature which Jigsaw could just faintly make out upon her coat. He gave a sway of his tail. you really can't be too careful. Especially not with the famine.  He said, his tone taking on a more serious note. Can I ask the name of the pack you hail from? And... Can I ask your name?

Just weird looking, then. Wylla, too, was a little bit weird looking, although in a more natural sense. She didn't know much about dog hybrids and concluded in ignorance that Jigsaw was probably lying; something weird must've happened to him to develop such stark markings. Wasn't any of her concern as long as he didn't pass on whatever freak illness he had to her.

Oh, she said, glancing around. Right. Famine. Wasn't any famine where I came from, so I keep forgetting that's a thing. Something about the Teekons just attracted trouble, and thus far she hadn't grown hungry enough to really notice it. Only a matter of time before she started dropping weight and whining, though.

The pack's called Diaspora. I think. They control the mountain range or something like that. Pretty new myself, she added, a kind of hand wave for why she wasn't totally positive that was the pack's name. She seemed to remember Mahler calling it that ... and then quickly shoved him from her mind. Name's Wylla. What'd you say yours was? Jigg's Dinner?

If he wasn't forming a pack then maybe he was interested in joining one, although she didn't relish the thought of him bringing his Spotty Disorder with him. She liked her coat sans spots, thank you very much!

Omg wylla is the best XD

---

Although Jigsaw had never seen a wolf with such coloration, he found her markings to be just beautiful (although this was not something the quiet man could yet voice aloud). He had no way of knowing, other than her comment about "disease," that she disliked his speckles and his half masked face, a statement he still deemed a joke.

Apoearances aside, his pale eyes widened when she expressed incredulousness regarding the famine. Being a seasoned nomad and hunter, it was diffuclt to see on the wolfdog that he knew such a thing to be true, but it was a fact solidified by his encounter with the loner redshank, and by the emaciated prey animals Jig used to sate his hunger. there's... There's a famine. I'm sure it's more difficult to notice as a pack wolf, though. he said, trying to validate her uncertainty for her.

Diaspora... he repeated with a nod. An idea had come to mind, the beginnings of one anyway. If this lovely woman was not hungry, then had her pack protected her from starvation? Might he find a home there? It seemed like a long shot, a difficult undertaking, to try his hand at joining a pack after being a loner for so long. But the largest question in his mind - could he survive this hungry winter on his own,no matter how "good" his lone wolf prowess may be?

Wylla. That's... That's pretty, he said with a soft smile, and soft eyes. no, uh, Jigsaw. My name is Jigsaw. he corrected, though he expected fully that she was messing with him again.

Probably gracelessly, Jig circled back to the pack issue. hey, is your pack accepting new members? he attempted to make his voice sound casual, most likely failing.

Jigsaw misunderstood her, but Wylla made no effort to correct him. The famine would have a greater effect on her soon enough, and pack wolves and lone wolves alike were already feeling the stress of a winter without adequate food stores. Hunting would be more important than ever soon, and the more able bodies there were to do it, the better. Her hunt for her daughter might need to be put on hold until times were more prosperous ...

Perish the thought, she fervently swore.

Is it, isn't it? she responded, smirking. The name Wylla was undeniably so, even if the woman was not. Oh, her wild, rough beauty might be appealing to some men, but once they knew the firecracker she was on the inside, they rarely stuck around. Yours ... isn't, but it sounds badass? She might not know what a jigsaw was, but it made her think of sawtooth mountains, which made her think of sharks for some reason. Jigsaw the Shark. Maybe it wasn't all that fitting for a polite man like him, but it sounded badass enough.

Can't say if we're accepting new members, but probably? If you're useful enough. She would not allow herself to think for a moment that Mahler was biased in accepting her to his ranks. It made his feelings too real, and her harsh criticism of him too cruel, and she wasn't keen to unpack either of those things right now. Surely Diaspora needed numbers. They didn't smell all that large. If you go over the mountain here and follow the higher ridges to a small valley, you'll find them. Ask after the leader, Mahler. Avoid the larger valley, there's a different pack living there. She turned and jabbed her snout roughly in the direction of home.

I'm on a patrol of the mountains, so I should probably get going soon, she said next, leaving it open-ended in case he had more to ask.

a lopsided grin forms at her agreement with the beauty of her name; unbeknownst to her, jigsaw finds the woman just as lovely as her name, if not more so. but he is not exactly the flirtatious type and therefore keeps this sentiment to himself.

next wylla makes a sort of backhanded compliment, less backhanded however than not. jigsaw has always been fond of the name his mother gave him, not knowing pricelessly where it came from but himself considering it pretty badass as well. uh, thanks,  he answers with a happy wag of his alabaster plume. he shares her tbought of "jigsaw" being reminiscent of a mountain range, one, in fact, not unlike the sunspire.

Her information about diaspora leaves him not only with at least a little bit of hope, but also with a sense of purpose. ah ok. Thank you miss.  he responds, his voice devoid of any inflection. Unbeknownst to the smokey fae, he will follow her instructions to the T, avoiding the valley she has mentioned.

And with that it seems their meeting has for now come to an end. yea, don't wana keep you from your duties.  he says apologetically. it was nice meeting you. Perhaps I will see you around, Wylla. 

And with that, the pair part ways.

I'm no miss, she countered, huffing a little at how weirdly old the title made her feel. Wylla wasn't even three years old yet but being called miss made her feel like some kind of elderly ninny, and she didn't like that one bit. Jigsaw was just being polite, but such formal titles were lost on her. She preferred to be called just Wylla.

Which he did, in the end. She extended a tight-lipped smile and said, sure, see you around, before leaving Mr. Spotty Disease and heading back up into the mountains to continue her search. If he made it to Diaspora and was brought into their fold then she most certainly would run into him again ... preferably when things were weighing less heavily on her.