Dragoncrest Cliffs last night i dreamed i was shot

his departure from the peak is rather swift; eager to put as much distance as possible between the scorched northern corner of land and his own scorched body. he pauses in the shade of the woodlands of the cliffs when he is clear and begins to methodically tug out the spiky bits of the thorny bushes with his teeth that tangled in his fur from his unceremonious stomping thru the tangle. grumbles of annoyance rumbling in his chest like the roil of thunder of a coming storm, partially because he has to tend to himself lest they get too tangled and pierce his flesh, partially at himself for the flashbacks that ravaged him in his waking hours as he stared at desolate and partially because he is forced to stare at the ugly, raised red flesh where the flames of hellfire laid their claim.

when his fur is clear of thorns he draws his tongue over the bone-ivory tendrils, soothing them back down so they are not so terribly mussed; turns a blind eye to the ugly scars of his left front leg currently in his view and keeps moving. geist pauses in his steps only when he reaches a fresh water source cutting through the small woodland, the gentle roar of the ocean in the distance causing his ears to twitch atop his skull as he takes a deep, long drink of the cool water, only slightly stagnant.

Yeeting Memory at you! 

It was late in the nesting season, fat seabird chicks sitting unattended in nests, waiting to finish fledging. 
To say the pickings were the best he had in a while was an understatement. He currently had a seagull in his jaws, feathers stuck throughout his pelt. He looked ridiculous, but the rich, oily birds were worth it. He padded his way across the top of the cliff, surprised to see another wolf at his water source.
pure white, and horribly scarred....like him. 
"You're a new face." he greeted casually. For once he didn't try to hide his own scarred features, instead stepping into view. 
"Hungry?" he asked, nudging the dead gull to the other wolf.

thank you for joining! <3

the sound of approaching footfalls draws geist's attention, haunting mismatched gaze lifting from the stillwaters he laps at — slower now — to follow the approach of the stranger. male. small, lithe. brown and cream. covered in disfigurations and scars. it is a war between the empty eye socket and permanent scowl that which he finds more repulsive. he speaks in common, which, for the most part registers in geist's brain as gibberish. he blinks slowly, comprehending barely what is being communicated to him as the bird corpse is offered to him. despite the uncertainty of what the stranger says, his tone appears casual. still, geist is mistrustful of all that are not his dearest rabe.

he hesitates; still unsure he's understood before protesting, ❝ich will es nicht —❞ he is scorched not lame; and the offer is perceived as a charity and thus the sour taste of insult lingers metallic-like upon his tongue instead of an extended olive branch of, at the very least, civility. the perceived insult is not unlike the taste of smoke and ash. geist, still a bit too fresh from his recent flashback, is eager to rid himself of the haunting; lifts mismatched gaze from the bird to the marred stranger.

once more, he falls to silence trapping the sultry, soft whisper-like dulcet tones to their pandora's box; always feeling uncomfortable when speaking to any but rabe.

A torrent of odd, gutteral sounds fall from the stranger's lips and Memory frowns, confused. He had never heard anything like it before, having only spoken common his whole life. 
"Ich?" He echoed back, butchering the accent and cocking his head, confused. The other wolf looked at him like he had insulted him. 
Maybe he didn't eat birds? "Here. Like this. It's good." He tore open the bird, exposing the sweet, oily meat. 
"You must be new around here. I'm Memory." 

ich...?

the stranger displays visible confusion at geist's native tongue and with a soft furrow of frustration settling between his brows the bone-ivory creature prepares to return to the otherworldly mists that writhe 'round their paws, breaking around the fresh water source their paths cross at. he is stalled as the other male speaks more common gibberish to him and makes a demonstration of how to eat the bird. the implication that he does not know how to eat bird would be amusing if being around a stranger did not bring up deep seeded discomfort.

— rabe. wo bist du? wo bist du, schwester?

as if he the pleading questions could transcend his mind and breach into her own. despite that he was the more talkative of the pair ...prior to the hellfire, at least, he drew comfort from her presence that none other gives him.

the scent of meat wafts towards geist from the bird's open wound but his gaze does not leave the stranger who continues to try to bridge the language gap. that particular chasm yawns wide and deep. geist does not bother to speak again; settles for staring blankly at the stranger — memory — not that the name draws with it any sort of language recognition. simply; geist assumes it is his name because of the implication of importance placed upon it in the tones the stranger uses.

He's growing increasingly frustrated with the language barrier. He feels like an idiot, and is sure the other is equally feeling belittled. 
The phantom turns to leave, then seems to reconsider, and asks him a fervent question, obviously fearful. 
It's then, Memory realizes why the ghost in front of him looks so familiar. He's nearly identical to the ghostly shewolf he encountered on the plains, and had taught about Wolfbane. He wonders, briefly, if this wolf is related, and looking for her....if only he had gotten her name! Perhaps her name was Rabe? If "wobbishtu" sounded a bit like "where are you" with a mouth full of rocks....hoping he was right, he points towards the mounds, the last place he saw her. 
"You're looking for someone, right? Shewolf, grey, kinda looks like you, and kinda looks like an actual fucking ghost? Doesn't talk much?" He waits for a response, anything, Really, and kinda takes pride on what he hopes is a...mostly...correct translation.

has he spoken aloud?

for a moment geist lingers in the fade with the companion of uncertainty; not recalling giving voice to the plea for his sister but having not truly been paying attention either. his voice is as a stranger to him many and most days. regardless, the man launches into a flurry of common words that mostly bounce off of him as bullets against a bunker wall. occasionally, few lodge in and stick; ghost at it's helm. ghost; because it is the common translation of his name — thinking the male knows his name, bone ivory hackles bristle with further mistrust.

how does this stranger know his name?

it does not occur to geist that he is giving a physical description of another, too many words adrift in the translation, swallowed by the dark abyss of not knowing. there'd been no need to bother to learn common and thus geist had approached the feeble attempt at lessons lazily.

their conversation, as it started, remains nothing but a tangled and complicated web of inability to communicate. ❝woher weißt du meinen namen?❞ a smoky demand, that tastes like ash in his mouth as he spits the question out; a flurry of confusion and uncertainty that borderlines hostility pinpricking his words and further bristling the hair along his nape.

The stranger's hackles bristle and Memory begins to think, perhaps he made a mistake? 
Maybe they didn't get along? 
And then a confused, angry demand. 
Most of the words are foreign to him but they sound Enough like words he understands to piece together the meaning- how do you know my name? 
He frowns, now thoroughly confused. He didn't know it? The weird wolf had never told him it! 
Perhaps he had said something that sounds a bit like a name? He tries to think of what words he might have said and the only thing that would make sense is "Ghost". 
So the stranger's name was Ghost? 
Well he supposed it made sense. 
"No...I...there's a girl I met...who looks like...." he growls in frustration. 
"JUST GO THAT WAY. " 

predictably, geist's understanding and poor grasp on common makes this whole encounter utterly cringeworthy; and his own inability to understand the words being snarled at him in response to his smoky soaked demand in his native tongue leaves geist to continue down the path of assumption that this exchange is turning more hostile by the second. seconds which ticked by with a rapidness of a clock who's hands were set to spin too fast. he doesn't understand the stranger's frustrated attempt to explain — if geist did, he might've been utterly surprised at how well the stranger adapted to gleaning understanding of what he was saying — and feels his hackles prickling higher and higher. a snap of teeth given as the stranger full out shouts at him.

bone-ivory ears taper back and he snaps his teeth again, expecting an attack. heart beat flutters furiously, like the thrum of a hummingbird's wings, within it's prison of marred flesh and bone. i was here first, geist's stance communicates. you leave. under the poorly translated guise that the stranger was attempting to intimidate him into leaving.

many and more encounters like this were bound to happen if geist did not find rabe soon.

Nope. 
He's not about to get in another fight because of some spooky guy who can't understand Common. 
Slowly, he steps over, grabbing his bird, and turns to take his leave. 
He did, however, file the name away in the back of his head in case he encounters the pretty phantom again. 
He picks his way through the loose stones, shaking his head.

satisfaction swells within geist's chest as he watches the loud stranger approach his prey slowly. geist is weary, upper lip curled with a silent vibration of a growl as he watches the stranger snatch his kill and turn and take off. for a long stretch of moments geist is still, watching the space where the stranger took off before, assuring that the man wasn't going to re-appear, he keeps moving.