Firefly Ravine borðaðu rassinn minn

Stjornuati had mentioned her only briefly when Valmúa had caught the scent hanging around he and Solpallur. It wasn't something that surprised her at all. Young, dumb women had always been attracted to the brothers. Even from her perspective, it made sense. They were young, strong, confident, and did whatever they wanted to do. Women liked men that they could not control.
Well, most women.
The fire woman hunted the scent of @Meadow. It wavered about alongside the smells of her brothers where the earth dipped. On the western side, Val moved swiftly to see if she could find and catch the one that followed so easily though there was no relation to the two stoic northerners.
Val wanted to know: was she worthy of their Watch?

The watchful brothers had added more to their small group—the expansion indicating to the she-wolf that whether they intended to or not, a pack would be formed from it. It was what she had wanted—a home. Hearth and family. Yet, the ugly white noise of her unworthiness clouded her mind from time to time, and so the silver arrow made herself scarcer from the group itself, pushing herself to scour the lands for potential herbs and plants—a garden to grow once the snow had come and gone from them.

She might not have been much use with physical brutality—not that she was unwilling to learn—but Meadow knew the very rudimentary art of healing and was eager to expand this knowledge—particularly with the assumption that the stoical wolves of the Keep would be taking mates and reproducing this year.

A delicate paw lifted, shifting the dying weight of rotting ferns, inspecting closer to the dirt beneath. There was potential here—but she had much to learn. And even much more to grow into.

The young healer was looking at dirt. How terribly quaint. Quickly and easily, Valmúa invaded her space, pushing in beside her without actually touching the lítið rauður dádýr, as @Solpallur had so tenderly called her.
Valmúa was not easily impressed by women. She looked at Meadow, who looked rather basic and small; she seemed not to have the body of a warrior, which hardly surprised the fire woman. She was a twig. A lovely little flower her brothers had picked and replanted to grow in their odd little garden of ravens.
What are you doing? she asked, her Icelandic accent drenching every word. She didn't care that the other might not know her, but assumed that at some point one of her brothers had mentioned that she had appeared to them from thin air from their northern homeland.

Like a flickering flame, Valmua was drawn to the silver arrow, pressing closer than necessary and brashly demanding an answer. Irritation flashed only momentarily in the little deer's eyes--burning amber that was strikingly complimentary to the crimson before her. 

She swallowed the instant biting response that pressed to her lips--the Northern wolves she remained with were a brash crowd--a far cry from the gentle upbringing of Morningside and the valley wolves.

Looking for medicinal plants, she returned, her small muzzle swinging down to continue her inspection. Only a moment passed when she determined the ferns hoarded nothing useful and a dainty paw was pulled to allow the weeds to fall back together, her kissing body moving past it and away from the flame. And you?

Plants? Stjornuati also likes plants, said the red sister plainly. She had accompanied her pallid brother on many occasions to hunt for herbs. Valmúa had no interest in such things. There were certain things that grew that she found intriguing, but none were of the medicinal purposes that Meadow searched for.
As the woman moved away, she followed in step, appearing an expert at minor annoyance for all of the wolves of the Watch. If there was one skill she could call herself a master in, it was indeed the art of getting beneath one's skin. I come to see you of course, she said, words slipping from her tongue like venom. I have heard only good things, lítið dádýr. You are a healer? She was actually curious, despite her prickly exterior.

Her perception of the other quickly grew calculating—the fiery woman crept close to her, invasive, and yet not entirely unfriendly. Meadow would not have deemed any of the Watch wolves as friendly in disposition, though Stjornuati was perhaps the closest.

The woman she had come to understand as blood relative to them—despite the vast difference among all their appearances—spoke in a succinct wisp, perhaps grasping the common tongue more easily than the others. “Yes,” she agreed, completely missing the hint of implication that having something in common could lead to other… events. The shenanigans of the Watch wolves had been lost on the silver arrow. “I can learn a lot from him.”

Before she could continue—it was the dripping poison of the flame’s words that drew her eyes to narrow again, though it was a flash of confusion on her features when the casual words did not quite meet the tone used.

Her trust was plummeting.

“I am learning, yes,” she continued, pausing then, as if waiting for the other ball to drop.

Valmúa did not catch the narrowing of the young healer's pleasant eyes, trailing just beside and in back of her and thus unable to watch her expressions. Instead, she was thinking about whether or not Meadow might be konuefni for Stjornuati. Perhaps their shared knowledge and interest in botany might prove enough to light the spark that the eldsystir was hunting for. What luck would it be to find a woman to steal Stjornuati's heart already living among them. Kigipigak's mission could even prove pointless outside of scouting the surrounding territories and packs — her Kigibonbon would be thrilled at such an advent when he returned.
Yet Valmúa knew that matters of the heart were strange, fickle, and required time and care. She would make no such gains should she push Meadow in a direction that did not suit her, especially after only just meeting her properly.
And so, she merely planted a seed, hoping that with mild care it might grow to be a sapling. My brother is always willing to teach, she said, her voice drained of any remaining malice. She loved her brother, and it was quite true that he had always held an interest in things that grew. The sister recalled when they were young, he would often try to show her the ones that interested him most. She, for her part, had mostly ignored these bids at knowledge sharing. She made an assumption that he was willing to teach, but figured a pretty young thing asking him would be an easy sell.
I do not care about these things, much, so he do not talk to me about, she explained, a small smirk on her copper-toned face. It was true. She assisted, but their ventures for herb gathering were almost always silent apart from her attempts at distracting him.

The faintest blush crept to the young doe-like girls cheeks at the mention of the rather handsome and boisterous male and his willingness to teach. Perhaps it was the oncoming season, or her youthful naivety truly shining through, but she couldn't help her mind wandering to all the potential aspects of what he could teach. Thankfully, she was not privy to the flame's true intentions, even if the words for the moment were not linked. 

Her eyes drifted downward, hoping the sleek woman would not see the shift of her demeanour--the quickening of her pulse. As they gently traversed, Meadow sensed an adjustment in the woman's tone, and she eased herself lightly, a flick of her tail given in an attempt to relax more. What is it that interests you?

Valmúa took no notice of the girl's change beyond the mild relaxation of her posture. I enjoy a good fight like the rest of my kin, she answered, a small grin threatening at the corner of her lips. All who had been raised in Stormhaven knew the language of tooth and claw. From her youth, she had learned this violent dance. She knew the rhythm. She had the bruises and scars to prove it, though all were too small to see through her winter coat.
We are taught when we are small the dances of battle, the eldsystir explained, running up beside the young medic just to bump her hip with her shoulder, as though to demo her abilities. She grinned like a child, satisfied with knowing she could best the pretty little thing in such a dance.