Hushed Willows den som ler, varer.

@Stjornuati

the traveler's tale was not so extraordinary; nor was it noteworthy. tragic, mayhaps - or troubling in the least. 

extenuating circumstances had driven the dispersal, like so many before her, from the territory of her birth. by chance, she'd chosen to follow the coast south - venturing inland and back west again at whim. such was how the nord had travelled through these lands, pressing south along the shore. 

evening had crept over the horizon as the sun dipped beneath it in an eternal dance with its lunar counterpart. the gentle lap of the grey waters - a constant companion on her right - the only sound aside from the soft shush of damp sand crunching under her paws as the she-wolf skulked along. crimson had begun to trickle through the canopy of the dark forests appearing before her as it streaked the fading, golden sky. 

surrounded by the frost-ravaged branches of wilted willlows, some bedecked in fine diamond pendants of ice, the tundrian parted ways with the tides in favor of sheltering within the trees for the coming night. 

the twilight was thick and silent. a sense of white enveloped the clearing as gunhild pawed together a nest of flattened snow and leaves. the air was bitter with it, crackling. every minute sound that was caused by those creatures that did not hibernate bounced back hollowly to where she settled among the trunks. snow clung in patches and ice encased much of the foliage - the sunset sparkling through like droplets of ruby and citrine. even the air seemed tinted with a pallid gauze as the day died and the shadows lengthened, puffs marking her every breath like a blinking heartbeat of a beacon in the frozen haven. 

despite the scents that overlapped the land, the havbræmme thought herself to be alone for the time being. a clan clearly resided somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps claiming the willows amongst their hunting grounds. it would be safe for the night but it would be best not to linger into the morn. 

winding tighter around herself, the icebear tucked her plush tail over her snout. nearly dissappearing into the banks of snow, if not for the bright scar upon her ear. rather than dozing, however, her sapphire gaze flitted about the trees like the fluttering wings of a bluebird. 

it would be some time yet before she slept, especially considering the possible proximity of a foreign clan. for now, she rested and watched the grove darken with night and reanimate in luminescent silver as the moon rose higher.

some pp, lmk if its not okay @Stjornuati

The boy falls asleep early in the evening, and Antha knows that Belenos is near — so she takes the opportunity for a rare trip away from the Watch, to the neighboring territory they claim. Her intention is to mark the borders, perhaps hunt, and then return to her ward. Until she catches an unknown scent, and her path diverts before she even thinks about it. Her posture is neutral when she comes upon the woman, expression unreadable and studying. Hello, She offers with a hint of a smile, gauging the reaction for a half-beat before she continues. Passing through? Small talk irritates her, in truth, but her words are chosen carefully, intended to draw more information by playing friendly and dumb. Her tendency toward sharp suspicion often does nothing to help her gain the knowledge she seeks.

mayhaps she'd have jumped, if not for her having long grown accustomed to maj's antics. 

the owl materialized from overhead, swooping to land in a powerful crouch just before the northron's bemused features with her speckled wings spread. clutched in the bird's talons, the already cooling body of a winter-coated ermine. 

"ikke verst," the girl rasped softly as she straightened, offering a tip of her pale crown and a vague shrug of her shoulders in commendation of her companion's skills. "jeg får frokost, ja?" 

the spearwife knew well that the nightbird did not completely understand the tactfully woven, woolen strands of the native tongue she offered on occasion. but the filcher understood enough. 

with a wispy chirp of a hoot, the snowy owl prodded the ermine betwixt them and bent to shear at it with her sharp beak. gunhild joined her after a moment, taking her fair share of the steaming innards. 

licking her bloodstained chops clean, her head raised to level the dim forest around them with guarded sapphire  - certain she'd heard the crunch of at least one footstep. 

she watched on calmly as the autumn girl melted from the woodwork, cloaked in cinnamons and nutmegs. wrapped in earthen silks of loam and woodland with eyes like the chilled pools of meltwater found near the base of roskilde. 

there was no need for hostility - not on her end anyways. "hallo," gun rumbled in return, rising to her paws as maj took wing with a quick flap of her feathery appendages. the owl was not so keen on strangers, not unlike gun herself.

the skjoldpike felt better on her feet, facing the woman on equal standing. curious cerulean clashed against suspicious sky, the northron's head cocking slightly as she considered the southerner with a hint of fascination. 

"ja," she confirmed, ears pricking at the question. "we only stop for the night," she managed to iterate fairly well in her mother's second tongue. 

"this yours?" the nord asked lightly, only benign curiosity audible in her deep tones, as she gestured to the grove of willows with a small jerk of her muzzle. "is very nice."

translations:
"not bad."
"i will catch breakfast, yes?"
"hello."