Cricket Creek Bog If you could fly then you’d feel south

@Wren

He’s on his way back from the forest directly west of this beautiful type of wetlands. The water is shallow and just about as crystal clear as one could ask for in a bog. The ground that is moderately dry and sits above water level is soft to the touch of his canyon roughened paws. The moss is a pleasant feeling on his sore feet from his intense run he took only a few a hours ago. Yet, it’s still a swamp for lack of a better term and no matter how tasty the water is the mud he steps in occasionally grinds his gears. Especially when he feels his toes wiggle horribly into the wet, gooey substance. 

All he does is give a sneer and carry on, moving over the rest of the mud and onto a dryer bank of mossy ground. The Grandmaster swipes his meaty paws through the water to cleanse himself then rubs them on the soft carpet like substance below him. 

This is a nice spot to take a rest. He thinks absentmindedly and he’s drops his body into a lion-like position. He truly looks like great maned lion lounging in the sun on a nice hot day.

It seems it wouldn't be the last time she ran into a Saint. But instead of the woman who had given her advice about their territory and helped hunt down a boar, she was unknowingly faced with their leader. If she was to settle in Kingslend, she'd have to get used to this. A new scent hit her nose but instead of avoiding it, she found she didn't give a shit to change her course.

She'd just walk by, uninterested in talking at the moment unless addressed. But she still preferred not to talk. Side-glancing at the man laying down she took a few steps past him. A distance was still far between them, but he could easily see her if he turned his head. A curt nod was given, recognition if he looked. It'd be rude to just flat out ignore him... well, she wanted to anyway.

Hopefully he stopped at a simple nod.

Kyn lies there living his best life, not a care in the world at the moment as his purple-black tongue flops from his maw. Those deadly, pearly white teeth on display as well — oh how much blood they’ve spilled! Yet his surprise visitor doesn’t know this, though if she’s smart enough she could probably guess from his appearance alone. He’s littered with scars that reveal black skin beneath. He looks like a wild animal, a beast. 

He’s distracted until he’s not and his eyes are caught on the movement int he corner of his eye. Shooting his gaze towards it he finds the most beautiful of she wolves. A tall, not quite dainty female of khaki and different shades of chocolate and coffee. He could see her stunning jewel like eyes from where he sits and he can’t help but stare. 

Then he’s realizing that she’s acknowledging him with a curt nod of hers. He smiles then and he’s sure she just wants to keep going but he truly cannot help himself. An opportunity to speak with such a beautiful shewolf would be wasted if he just let her off the hook all willy nilly.

Just as her eyes leave him he raises himself into a seated position as to not startle her by standing. He faces her, his boxy snout and barrel chest turned in her direction. 

“I haven’t seen you around here yet. Who might you be, dear?” He asks smoothly. Politely enough not to be considered rude with his charming smile.

Great. He wanted to talk.

Wren bit back an annoyed sigh, forcing pleasantness upon her face. The other Saints wolf had let her go for her accidental trespass so it was only polite to return the favor and speak to one of them with courtesy. "You wouldn't" the brunette says now as he faces her. She remarks he looks a bit different than a regular wolf. She's never encountered a wolfdog before. The realm she had been in before seemed to be void of dog ancestory.

But she really gives zero shits what another person looks like. To each their own. "I'm new here" Wren goes on in her explanation, twitching her right ear slightly at the word 'dear'. She chooses to let this go. "I'm Wren. Who are you?" This was what conversations started as. A dance around, getting to know each other and ultimately exchange names. So she went right to the point, refusing to be caught in a tango. If anything from this conversation was to be had, it was that she met another of the Saints.

I’m new here. She says and he’s cocking his massive head to her. “Me as well. Though only to these parts.” He hums back easily. 

So as she introduces herself he smiles then, a gleam of nice, white teeth that sparkle. Does she know how much blood he’s spilt with them? No, she doesn’t. I wonders if she’d be afraid of him if she did. 

Yet he decides to introduce himself then. “Kynareth Deagon of the Abbey, alpha of the Saints.” Then he shifts his weight absentmindedly. “What’re you doing near here? Looking for someone? Wandering? Searching?” He asks casually — conversationally. Uncaring if she finds it too prodding.

"So you're an alpha" she repeats somewhat "that settled in an unknown region, huh?" Maybe there was a reason for it, but unlike the man she wasn't prodding him. "I met one of your Saints already" Wren admitted easily enough, lifting a brow "I helped take down a boar with her. Didn't catch her name. But she told me where not to step, if you're concerned I'll be trespassing on your land."

He didn't seem to be, but she kept her polite mask anyway. Her lithe shoulders roll at his questions. "I'm sticking close to Kingslend for now" Name dropping the pack was harmless. The Saints had to be aware of them close by. "maybe I'll find myself hunting with your people again." she added loftily, a gentle snort coming from her liver coated nose. She didn't have to worry about them starving during winter, that's for sure.

"What about you?" Wren directed at him "taking a break from leaderly duties?"

He hums indifferently to her first response. “Not unknown any longer. We’ve been here for a minute.” Yet when she mentions having met a Saints his handsome face lights up in innocent interest. “Oh? What did they look like? Where they good company at least?” He laughs shamelessly, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. 

He continues on though, a mock pout lightly taking over his face. “Too bad.” He says referencing her statement to hang near Kingslend. “I’m sure you’d have just as much fun with us.” He can’t help the toothy smirk that follows the statement. Only if she knew. He thinks momentarily. “We know if Kingslend. Spoken to them. They seem...” he pauses searching for the right words. “...like fine neighbors.”  Is all he says genuinely. He doesn’t have any issue with Kingslend yet, so they’re good in his book.

At her almost playful mention of him taking a break from ‘leaderly duties’ he huffs out a breath through his nose. One that could be considered a laugh. “Working out — training, dear.” He hums easily. So he can stay in tip top shape and able to kill at any time of course. “What about you? What practice do you find yourself taking up?”

"She didn't talk much" Wren replies, recalling the woman "but she was dark, smokey gray. Silver eyes." Apart from a curt exchange that wasn't very hostile, she considered the matter closed. If she was going to hang around Kingslend, she had to put up with the Saints. As far as she was concerned, they hadn't done any harm to her or anyone she cared about. She therefore didn't give a shit what they did.

He mentioned fun, though. She could only imagine what he meant. "I'm sure I would" she zips back, huffing "but have you seen Kingslend wolves? All business. Kinda stuffy. It seems unfair to deny them my brand of fun" Of course, Wren was just kidding. It was a lighthearted exchange, with no threat to any pack or wolf in particular. "but if I get bored with them, I'll seek you out." She knew nothing about the Saints though. If she did, she knew she'd be a terrible fit.

"Hunting" Wren replies. She doesn't doubt he has the skill to back up any sparring request, but she'd still tired from travel. And probably leagues below him in talent. The woman didn't want to be on the receiving end of fangs until she was properly rested. "not as fun as fighting, but someone has to do it. Might as well be me."

At her description of his Saint wolf he chuckles, knowing exactly who it is. He’d never forget the steely, yet affectionate gaze of Zsusza. Her tall form and her nimble, athletes body. He only nods to Wren when she mentions her and listens for her to continue.

Then at the mention of the Kinglend wolves being stuffy he barks out a fit of laughter, clearly entertained by her. “They are a bit stuffy, no?” He laughs. “Not horrible company though it seems so far.” He hums then, before cocking his head to her. “Oh, I’ll be looking forward to it.” He says confidently.

As for hunting, he too has a knack for it. Loves it truly — dies for it. Perhaps it’s just his insatiable bloodlust, or maybe he’s deranged. Both, yeah both sounds about right. “So you’re going to go show these Kingslend wolves who the boss is huh?” He teases. “Well, I look forward to it, darling.” 

He begins trotting off closer to his own territory. “I best be off now. Leaderly duties, you know.” He chuckles back to her before his voice becomes a bit lower, his eyes looks around as if someone could be watching them. “I’d be careful around these parts, legend has it theres murderers running amuck.” He says it as if he’s actually warning her. As if he’s not the very murderers he’s talking about. What can he say? He’s a sucker for scaring innocents. “Packs are safe, I’d run for Kinglend if I were you.” He says seriously before he smiles once more. “Ta ta, be careful out there, darling.” He sings as he turns around and begins to trot off like he’d never just told her there were murderers running around.

Wren already knew she wasn't going to seek out the Saints. Simply because she didn't like the way that Kynareth kept belittling her. 'Darling'. 'Dear'. He hadn't earned the right to call her that. No wolf had. He seemed to doubt she could thrive anywhere but his community too. She watched him leave, probably bored now that he wasn't getting anything from this conversation.

"See ya around" she says to him as the man walks away. Wren was not perturbed by the 'murderer' talk. Any wolf could claim they killed others. They typically did anyway, considering they hunted food. Those elk, deer or what have you didn't ask to be killed. Logic aside, she gave a nod to him and turned away. Waiting for his steps to fade, she began moving in the opposite direct.

Something about Kynareth rubbed her the wrong way.