Arrow Lake not because you can

paging @Elfie! hopefully arrow lake's alright. ♥

a small measure of guilt nags and festers like an untended wound within the curve of newt's chest, threatening to creep up his throat with each step he takes further away from stone circle. guilt because he promised his mother he wouldn't venture further than the neighboring territories. he cannot help but think this is what his promises are worth; broken. his and his siblings' nine month mark had came and it has passed; the ascension into adult ranks to take place soon — perhaps even in his absence. during the past weeks the bison returned, his father banished one of their own when easthollow was supposed to represent family and clay was still missing.

it builds and it builds and it builds until there is nothing but undiluted restlessness seething beneath his skin.

helplessness.

he heads towards the sunspire; a direction chosen at random, letting out a soft sigh of relief when the heavy snows taper off to moderate snow. without the risk of a whiteout he trudges forward into arrow lake, the sound of water tumbling freely down rocky decline as he picks his way to where the actual lake resides. beneath the thin layer of ice accumulated upon the loamy sand banks he can see where the lake deepens the dark shape of fish swimming. it's here he decides to take his rest, stepping experimentally upon the thin ice which cracks and splinters under his weight to lap at the cold water that rushes up thru the cracks he's created.

Elfie's dreams rarely had any logical structure or direction, they were myriads of colourful images and flashes of light, sometimes he could discern a form, recognize a shape and a face, but he was unable to keep it in focus for long. So after a while he had stopped trying to control and make sense, but observed the kaledoscope of colours before his eyes, until he woke up.

This day had been different, because his last dream had had not only images, but smell and sense of reality. It had been a beautiful summer night and he had been going somewhere with an invisible person right besides him. He did not see the face, because it was dark, but the sense of oneness was so strong that long after he woke, he fought desperately to keep that feeling there. 

Eventually he got up and in his search for Maegi he got lost and found himself by the lake. Parts of it were frozen solid, but here and there sun had melted open pools of water. At one such he stopped and peered at the distorted reflection of his. To be honest, even a handsome man would have found the image trying, but Elfie saw his awful self in all the details and sighed.

But further somber musings about his sickly physionomy were left for later, when he heard an odd whining sound coming from the ice. Curiously he tilted his head to the side, listened and looked up. There was a tall boy around his age standing on ice and drinking water. Elfie deliberated a little, whether he should approach or not, but decided for the former. Without his caretaker present, he yearned for a bit of a company. "Hey!" he greeted the other youth and approached him gingerly.

hey!

a voice calls out causing his ears cup forth; alert. a brief lift of hackles is given as the sound of softened footfalls draw ever nearer as his head rises and the cold water dribbles down his chin. imperial gaze seeks the other boy — around his own age — finding him easily amidst the greys, whites and glacial blues of the world around them. the other is draped in an eye-catching pelage — though dull — of cinnamon red-brown with white cheeks, legs and undercarriage. for a moment newt considers being as anti-social as he feels most days; muscle in jaw tightening as he inches ever closer to ignoring the other boy.

...but he's already looked at him and there was no way to make ignoring him discreet now.

hey. newt returns the greeting after a moment, backing off the ice and onto the banks of the lake.

Up on close the stranger seemed more intimidating than from afar, Elfie crouched, tucked his tail against his belly and looked away politely. He took few steps backwards, then turned so to be able to look at the other's profile, without meeting his eyes. The boy was painfully aware of, how weak, small and scrawny he looked like before this tall fellow, and if the things began to go South for whatever reason, he wished to have enough head-start to run away. 

"My name's Elfie, who are you?" he asked, stealing a glance at the other boy's face and then focusing at some point on the side of the other's face.

up close newt realizes how small the other boy is — given the fact that size-wise newt takes primarily after greyback this comes as no actual surprise to him. rather, it's the tail tuck and aversion of eyes that draws his brows up in surprise. imperial emerald green gaze studies the other — who introduces himself as elfie — wholly unsure what to make out of the ...submission. even if it wasn't really meant as such it is how newt interprets it all the same. no one ever submits to him.

something uncomfortable settles in his stomach; something cold like the weight of a chunk of ice.

newt. and then figuring his one word answers aren't likely to get elfie to stop doing that newt lets out a soft awkward sigh and adds, i'm from easthollow. though what that meant these days newt couldn't say — they were touted as being a tight-knit family blood or not but he isn't so sure that's true anymore.

Easthollow rang a bell. Two weeks ago Elfie had met with Arlette, who also lived in the same pack. This coincidence, made him give a quick, but a more thorough look at Newt, wondering, what his relation to the pretty girl was. And though he could not tell it from the looks, he knew instantly that, what he saw, he could not compete with. This tall, muscular and healthy guy to the scrawny discoloured toerag he was.

"I live in Diaspora," he said, accepting the fact that some people in this world were luckier than he was. "Ain't you far from home?" he asked, because he had got an impression that Newt's pack was somewhere far away and this lake area and mountains techincally belonged to Mahler.