Honeyed Pasture but i've never loved one before

tag for reference. cyprin, i assumed that wintersbane either learned or suspected of umbra's clash with potential recruits behind the scenes figuring he'd smell them on the 'borders' — i left it vague — but if you'd like me to change that, i can easily and will happily remove that bit from this post. just let me know! <3

though the grasses bow beneath the weight of trampled foot and dusted snow; brittle in their state of dying and broken as he brushes past them; bits of brown grasses clinging to the wispier tendrils of his pelage, wintersbane considers the pasture as potential hunting grounds. the sentinels still appear to hold the herds’ presence he previously noted there, but there is definitely the scent of more herds of varying sizes all thru-out the pasture. he can even hear them in the distance even if the taller and dying grasses work to camouflage them. the scent of coyotes is also heavy upon the crisp winter air as chin rises to draw in the scents. though he knows the wily beasts ( of which he forgets he is some percentage of ) are not a threat to be taken lightly he does not particularly concern himself with them.

should they get in the way of he and his and a hunt then they would easily become the quarry. as far as food went, wintersbane had no qualms eating them should they meddle where they were not wanted.

his purpose, however, is dual this morn as he explores. @Umbra, it seems, is not very good at recruiting and though stormbound doesn’t feel like it’s his anymore, at least not on the aesthetic level …he also suspects if she was continued to be left in charge of swelling their numbers they would never gain the strength they needed and if she wished to meet her goal of forming before the first heavy snow wintersbane had a shortening timetable to work upon.

Unbound, the pale woman bypasses the mountains, avoiding the marked spot in the ground where her husband lay, knowing the scar on her heart would only tear open at the sight of it. Reasons unknown to her, Ketzia always finds herself nearing the shores time and again—perhaps simply for the differing aesthetic of the churning sea compared to the mountains and forests she usually kept to.

The salt air was sharp in the winter chill, and vaguely the she-wolf wondered if the shores were even habitable for the natives this time of year—for the ungulates of the season surely did not stray this way.

The consideration of the question was unimportant—what mattered was that she had left her children in a place of contentment, and for now, she had at least located an old friend, reassuring of his safety.

What was also important was the scent that drifted toward her on the cold wind—the promise of herds… and… wolf.

She does not see him at first—the casual flick of her tail and the quiver of her muzzle indicating she had become wary of his presence, and the exotic woman pauses, scouring the pastures set just before her until jade eyes set upon the dark stranger. She remains silent, contemplative--uncertain if she is truly interested in conversation when the quiet seems so perfect.

already, wintersbane knows that he must once more take up the mantle of 'recruiter' if they hope to have standing and stability before the breeding season — already ticking closer like the hand of a clock wound too fast. try as he might not to think of it, the need for settling down and sowing the seeds of family beyond the bastards he's sired roots deep within him; hooks and barbs. while wintersbane isn't sure he can love another woman as he loved relmyna, as he loved andraste ...he can be a good husband and father, given the chance. the tattered and broken heart beating beneath stalwart sinew is a sorrowful sight and not worth offering anymore.

maybe being a good husband and father might be enough ...or if nothing else, then to be a father and be present. his desires are not so complicated; or so he thinks, at any rate.

there is a lingering serenity in the quietude that settles over the pasture, the crisp scent of decaying grasses and the musk of deer and elk a pleasant aroma. though the tundrian isn't particularly fond of the lack of camouflage for himself — for he stands out like a omen of death, surely; dark and tall and scarred — he does enjoy the peace he feels here, in this moment. the first time he's been at peace with himself for some time.

even the movement of a light pelaged wolf, does not break the spell the pasture has weaved 'round him. glacial gaze turns to her, however; studying but not probing; a low chuff of greeting offered, an unspoken invitation extended towards the stunning starlet in the distance but one she was welcome to discard should she decide to keep moving.

She tried to withhold and yet she sighed. The wistful breath like smoke in the air as she studied him as intently as he her. His chuff was met with the idle flick of her tail—careful consideration before the woman traipsed forward at a leisurely pace, the gentle sway of her figure moving much like the silence of a cat on the prowl.

Whether it was an action meant to be intimidating or mysterious, it would have been a lie to say the dark pelt of the man and the icy stare he rest upon her didn’t stir a certain intrigue in her breast—a foolish heart indeed… and one that had simply become addicted to satiating the heartache of lost love through measles acts. “From here?” To the point—a purring voice, she canted her muzzle, waiting for his response.

the soft sway of her hips reminds him of andraste and it is all wintersbane can do to not turn his head away from her; to not close his eyes. it is time to move on; yes. and he has, for the most part. but his heart cannot pretend to not be fissured by first relmyna's death and then andraste's. a widow, twice ...even if relmyna and him had never been anything truly official. there was only so much love lost wintersbane could give and each of the two women he loved had left their own marks upon him.

one, physically too. the skin beneath 'x' of his wedmarks twitch as if in unneeded reminder.

yes, wintersbane rasps. nearby, he corrects with a soft smile that does not touch the glacier pools of his eyes. i'm from the bay. he gestures towards it with a small movement of his muzzle.

“Another of the sea,” she murmurs then, the first wolf she had encountered in the valley hailing from such a place—the sharp scent of salt holding a certain allure to the ivory female. That encounter remained nothing but a ghost of a memory now—when the lands had held promise for a fresh start and before her heart had been shattered with loss.

He fell to silence, as did she for a moment. It could have been easier to simply nod, continuing on her way. She held no real intent to stay here—not when unfinished business remained on the other side of the looming mountains… Like a magnet, she constantly found herself in the presence of the mountain’s shadow.

But first she was curious: “What is it about the ocean that appeals to you?”

the pale woman calls him 'another of the sea' and wintersbane almost corrects her; but doesn't for its true enough. the fact of the matter was he couldn't stand sand and the seawater left a sticky, gritty residue over his pelage that made his skin crawl. he, personally, was not a seafarer by any means ...but nevertheless he'd chosen the sea to live by. when he joined and then usurped rusalka, when he'd decided to lay claim to stavanger bay for ironclan.

and then she poses the hardest question yet.

at it, wintersbane lets out a small laugh. nothing about it, in truth, he responds, realizing how utterly contradicting it sounds. it's merely ...where i ended up and for the moment where my path determines i stay.