Wapun Meadow water become wine

for @Kacia

the meadow is bright emerald and blanketed by the vibrant multi-colored petals of the wildflowers that have begun to bloom with the season of bearing upon them. wintersbane doesn't stray awful far from the sawtooth; keeping a keen eye upon its towering spire but confident that wylla and mahler will keep an eye on astraeus for him while he surveys the land below. in truth, sawtooth is self-sustaining which is good for the hardy wolves that call it home but the stretch of his legs upon flatland ( unburdened by the intoxicating perfume of women in their season twice with which he gotten drunk off ) is a nice break. to the distant is a small herd of pronghorns grazing blissful and ignorant but wintersbane turns blind glacial eye to them. he is not hungry, though he mentally marks their strong presence in this place all the same. the sunlight is warm and relentless upon his back and on an impulse, seeks shelter from it in the shade of the black cottonwoods.

her movements were slow and rhythmic as she progressed across the budding fields of wildflowers, their colors a refreshing sight from the wintry landscape she was so accustomed to. with the season's change came a discovery, one she would have preferred to remain without given it's unpleasant nature. a sneeze gave away the mystery, though it was her reddened eyes that secured the truth. it seems she is blessed with the unfortunate fate of seasonal allergies - an irritating realization if there ever was one.

seeking to find relief away from the pollen that so ruthlessly attacked her, the willowy yearling immediately made way for the comfort of woodland and shade. another discover was made here in the fact that she was not alone. any hope of slipping past unnoticed was thrown out the window with yet another sneeze, and so after recovering, she simply stood there and stared, baby blues bright against the irritated red.

a noise — though initially not close enough to be entirely discernible — draws a small percentage of the soturi's attention and is just as quickly whisked away by the self-made assumption that it was one of the pronghorns. it is arrogance, no stranger to wintersbane, that allows him the second assumption that he is alone in this meadow; that he is the only one seeking refuge among the trees. he is a creature born of pride and arrogance and it chides him now at the sound of nearing footfalls, chastising him at the sound of a sneeze.

she is nearer than he first thought now; and he peers around, glacial eyes scanning the immediate landscape to fall upon her. the slyph stands in stark contrast to the dark hues of the shaded forest world around them; cotton and cream and fawn. pretty, he thinks and is immediately reminded of one of the women he spent a very brief but blissful time with. her pale blue eyes rimmed with red. wintersbane, no medic, knows nothing to alleviate her suffering and so offers her a sort of sheepish look and a soft chuff of greeting.