Redsand Canyon oeuf.

The canyon's red dirt stood out from afar, luring her closer with each passing hour. She did not dare to cross the hollow place; but she would probe along the stacks of limestone, slipping through the shadows where they slanting in opposition. Curiosity had brought her this far. Stryx would be turning tail soon enough and heading back to the valley, then on to Sagtannet to reunite with her charge - the youngster Conquest.

The most glaring thing to Stryx wasn't the absence of useful flora (she expected as much, as there was only limited chaparral on the more exposed reaches of the canyon, and only dirt elsewhere) — it was the presence of the twinning scents she'd found in the bleeding forest. What was the stranger's name again...? Ah, @Donovan Azura, if she recalled correctly.

Peculiar that she would find his scent here of all places; he had seemed pleased with his forest.

He’s been exploring his canyon well enough, yet there’s still so much to see. He wonders when he’ll get to the point where he can recognize every nook and cranny. Who knows when that’ll be. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Today is one of those days where he wanders aimlessly. Deathly trying to imprint everything into his mind, so remember where certain landforms are and the such. Instead of some grand location, he finds another wolf though. One of ash, an shout pattern seemingly wiped of color and only left shades in its wake. He recognizes her, though from a fair distance of good 30 meters he can’t be quite sure.

So he urges himself into a trot, eyes never leaving the potential stranger he gets closer and closer. Surely they see him coming, for the ground around them is mostly flat. He’s confident in his strides and dares this person to challenge him to a fight in his territory. Though he believes it won’t be necessary. For once he’s close enough he’s able to confirm his suspicions. Stryx — the medic he met at Ravensblood. An interesting woman who seems very uninterested in him. Yet she took his offer at the time. It was the smartest decision after all.

As he closes in at around ten feet he stops and jerks his chin up to her in greetings. “What brings you here, Stryx?” He asks casually, even though his stance is confident as usual.

Speak of the devil. He looked more at-home in the woods, especially so due to the layers of shadow, but now that she looked upon him in the midday light with red dust surrounding him he looked... Average. She could make out more of the details to his coat. The strange patterning, the heft of his shoulders, the curl of his raised tail. Stryx was given a second chance to size him up, and was just as cautious as before.

He swaggered closer and when he finally stopped, he called to her. She rolls her shoulders in a shrug. Could say the same for you. Given that your companion nearly decapitated my patient in defence of that forest, I wonder what could drive you from it. But it didn't take a genius to estimate the fallout of such behaviour. Someone hadn't taken kindly to it. Perhaps Praimfaya had gone back with reinforcements and retaliated.

Fools - the lot of them. As soon as they were patched up, they'd go at it again. Waste of her efforts, really, but she had her vows.

I'm doing what I always do. Roam, survive, tend to the wounded. Did you leave any behind, I wonder...? Her brow raises. There is a subtle mirth to her tone but she isn't in a laughing mood; the images of a bloody Praimfaya rise up in her memory, and whatever curiosity she held upon finding this empty place evaporates.

He knows she’s just as weary of him as she was the first time they met. This time though she seems less uptight about it. Even decides to say something about the silver pelted warrior Nemisis cut into. The fact that she’s curious as to why they left the forest in the first place is obvious too. So he waves her off with a thick, dusty paw and a rumbling laugh. “Neighbors didn’t like us. Difference in view it seems. Too close minded to even fathom the idea of a different type of pack in the neighborhood.” 

He chuckles, wondering why she deems it necessary to roam so much. Why not just stay in one place? Perhaps it’s due to a freedom complex the she-wolf has. Or her insufferable oath to help those who’ve been hurt. He gives her kudos, he doesn’t like anyone enough to do that.

Then he shakes his head to her. “I wouldn’t leave any of my pack behind.” He says faux hurt evident in his voice. “I don’t give a fuck about other wolves, my pack is different though.” Then he tilts his head coming onto a bit closer and smirks like he’s trying to make a deal. “So why roam, Stryx? Why not just settle down, hm? Could use another medic in our pack.” He hums suggestively, even though he’s positive she’ll deny him. It doesn’t stop him from having fun.

Her suspicions are correct about the man and his people. The way he speaks of it, it is merely a difference in lifestyle - sort of like arguing against wearing a mask during a pandemic. He's all about freedom and doesn't care who he hurts along the way. A selfish creature. He sounds more like a warmonger than a true leader, arrogant to the extreme and lacking mercy. She should be more careful. This is the kind of person the crones warned her about in her lessons; the kind that take what they want - and should they want blood, it is best to stay out of their way.

The shift of the man's voice in to the realm of insincereity is somewhat grating to her ears, and utterly unneccessary, as Stryx has already made up her mind about him. She did so when they'd first met, while she had been busy washing the blood of one of his victim's out of her coat. He may not have been the beast that maimed Praimfaya but he was open to that violence and facilitated a space where it was welcome. He was just as much at fault as the perpetrator. But again, Stryx knew she was no warrior herself, nor any form of guardian. Her role was to mend, and she knew to keep her opinions to herself.

So why roam, Stryx? He questions of her, going on to try and pitch her the idea of staying in a desolate place such as this, with these beasts he calls his people.

It takes effort not to scowl. Her usually stoic expression darkens slightly, offended by the suggestion, but remains level-headed.

I doubt you will find anyone capable of filling herbal caches here. It is too dry, especially now in the warmer season. They would have to range far to obtain anything of use to you. But then again, that did appeal to her current lifestyle; hearing herself, she was surprised that she was even vaguely entertaining the concept. My oaths prevent me from alliegance. I cannot dwell in a single place and still persist with tradition.

Stryx doubted this made sense to him; he did not appear to be invested in any sort of traditional values. Perhaps instead, you and your people should try not getting yourselves bloodied in the first place. But she huffs softly at this, presuming it is futile to suggest they show more mercy and restraint going forward.

His face becomes bland and he eyes her as she speaks. Finally cracking a smile when she admits that her past prevents her from becoming loyal to a single pack.

He laughs shamelessly, positively aware that he could be annoying her with his playful antics. “Darling, if you didn’t want to join me I could’ve done just as well as with a no.” Then he comes even closer, smiling to her. “I’m going to have to deny that second request for you. My patience has run dry and I have no more room for mercy. I’ve tried diplomacy and it seems futile. The next step is death.” He ends the sentence casually. 

Then a thoughtful pause forms. “You though. I can make an exception for you. As long as you are willing to heal us when you find yourself around, we will still welcome you with open arms.” Then he shrugs. “Maybe you could even come over for dinner sometime.” He flirts.

He's snappy with his response, playing at humour, but she doesn't find much of what he says to be amusing. She's mindful of the distance between them and doesn't like when he gets closer but she won't let herself tense, merely keeps her eye on him, and slants her ears back at the term of endearment as it passes his lips. Darling. Does it make him feel powerful to be dismissive? Not worth asking aloud.

Stryx does not want to be affiliated with someone that has such a low regard for life, especially because of her training and the whole, do no harm part of all that. It isn't the same for him. Whatever trauma he was forced to endure does not excuse his present behaviour (if there even was any; that brings up more esoteric questions of nature versus nurture, and she knows she's starting to go down the rabbit hole of her own thoughts at this point).

It is good to know she is still welcome, but there is nothing of great value within this dry, desolate place. Maybe you could even come over for dinner sometime. He remarks, and she is not sure if that is an invitation or a threat - but really what is the difference? Perhaps these wolves had darker proclivities than even she could imagine.

I don't eat where I work, Stryx comments. But if you need a physician I can be summoned. I appreciate that our deal holds true. Although it is frustrating to hear that all of her work will be for nothing, considering how eager he is to shed blood by his own admission. She cannot refuse him the help even if she wants to - those damnable vows were tricky business.

Alas, she has no reason to probe the territory further, and does not feel inclined to test his patience, nor endure his candour. Likewise Stryx is a little bit nervous to turn her back on him; they might have an accord presently but what is to stop him from lashing out on a whim? She withdraws with a small nod of her head, and as she turns away to make a show of her prowling for herbs she says, If you need me, I will be nearby.

At her first reply the corners of Donovan’s mouth tilt downward ever so slightly. The frown is only slight, but still unmistakable. Though, truly the frown is fake and plays into another one of his horrible jests. “That’s disappointing.” He comments. “Is it something I said?” The words are spoken with a smile beginning to show. He knows exactly why she isn’t interested in even being in his presence for more than a few minutes. He’s a brute, monster, savage, demon, and whatever other name he’s been called recently. They don’t bother him, words are so trivial these days apparently.

Eventually he nods and allows his usual predatory smirk to show itself. “Then our deal is finalized once more. I hope to see you around, dear. Don’t be afraid to stop by.” He hums, allowing the wolf to inch away from him without a fuss.

He had given her some things to think about; but she was glad to be given a chance to leave, and did so promptly. It was nerve-wracking to finally turn from his gaze and she felt as if it followed her, burning down her spine, while her ears were turned to listen for any movement from him. Stryx did not trust the general population despite her willingness to support those in need; oddly, one might suspect she trusted the Saints less and less with each visit, but this was not the case. The man had shown her little reason to change her opinion and so her wariness remained high. She would return to her hiking, her wandering — and consider what sorts of benefit a life stuck in one space might provide for her, vows or no vows. Perhaps she would return this way again.