Bramblepoint a bruise is a lesson... and each lesson makes us better

With the drop in temperature, the dappled fighter had grown far more tired than she had felt before. She had climbed high along the slopes of the range until she had reached snow. There, she had made a temporary place to stay for a few nights. She had watched the stars come out each evening and dapple the sky in glimmering silver. When the winds howled through the cave she had turned into a den, she tucked herself into its furthest reaches to wait for morning.
 
Now that she had ventured down and into the woodland terrain, she felt far more at ease. Jupiter was not keen on giving up; she knew that the mountains would make her stronger in time, but she didn’t believe it was wise to scale them when she did not have a home to return to. If things were to turn sour, she did not want to risk her own wellbeing in order to grow in strength.
 
Passing through a sharp patch of brambles, Jupiter breathed out a sigh and lowered her head toward the earth to sniff for signs of smaller prey.

Of everywhere he could've gone, why had he come back here? Nothing good ever came from the Teekon Wilds, but then, nothing good had ever come out of anywhere else, either.

Not for him, at least.

Maybe he thought he could find a place here, somewhere to finally settle down and name his own. More likely he would find some heaven-forsaken land he'd die on, probably sooner than later, given his luck more than the turn of the season. He had lived through enough winters already, and so many alone. He knew the worst the cold could do, and like hell, if he was afraid.

His ears turned at the sound of another's presence, and he found her in short time: a woman, stooped over, in that same tracking posture he'd seen, and had taken, countless times himself.

"Hey," he said, brazen in his approach, but in tone, lackadaisical. He recalled his hunt with that water-wolf, Ying, and how he'd enjoyed the game they'd played when he'd found her in similar pursuit... how many winters ago? And how many days, since he'd eaten anything substantial? "Anything good around here?" he asked, and without missing a beat, "I'll help if you in whatever if we can split the spoils."

From the wood came a voice. The dappled she-wolf turned to settle her gaze on a handsome figure in the brush. His coat was unlike any she had ever seen before, and for a moment she felt rather shocked by his presence. Some had spoken of ancient spirits that dwelled in the world's oldest reaches. One traveler she had met had claimed he could see beasts beneath the ocean's surface. When she had embarked the day after, her head had been filled with images of sea creatures of wildly varying size and fright. 

How could I pass up on an opportunity like that?

The smile that struck her features was quick, warm. She flagged her tail softly behind her, hoping to show that she was nothing to be cautious of, not unless he was looking for a rumble. It had been several days since she had last stopped to hunt. It was likely that the only thing that would be rumbling would be the depths of her empty gut. 

The brambles are a bit thick but there was a clearing not too far that way, she gestured with a motion of her muzzle. When Jupiter grinned again, her expression stretched and her eyes shone brightly on him.

He met her with a tired and half-assed smile, because he didn't really have much genuine happiness to chuck at anything these days, even a pretty girl. Tuathal was thankful she only wanted to throw her weight around in ways that would benefit them both, though, and this deserved at least some pleasant reaction from his face.

"Thanks for the tip," he said, but proceeded to carry his merry way forward into the patch of brambles she had just told him to avoid. They did look thick here but he couldn't be bothered to waste his time looking for the clearing somewhere down the forest, and anyway, he just didn't really care. Mix that with the stubbornness that ran in the family nearly as strong as both wanderlust and baby-making, and you got...

... a very knotted Blackthorn. The winter made the plants brittle, at least, and he snapped through the tangle with a couple of snags and tufts of dark fur left behind, an apathetic compilation of hushed and muttered curses, but no dignity lost, because he never really had any to keep. He broke through to the other side with a final snap and a hobbled trip forward.

Jupiter could not help but smile softly at the man as he strode confidently toward the brambles and pushed his way through them. She pretended that she didn’t hear the curses he’d muttered under his breath, or the tufts of his coat that were left floating loosely attached to the sharp points. When the peculiar fellow had found his way to the other side, Jupiter realized that she’d simply been staring at him and it probably wasn’t something he’d taken a liking to.
 
Picking up her pace, the fighter made her way around the thickest parts of the bramble bush and found herself near to where her hunting partner was. Jupiter couldn’t help but to look toward him, letting her gaze trace the markings of his coat and the coloration of it. She’d never seen anyone who looked quite like him before and she believed she found him a little scruffy but still rather handsome.
 
“Do you live around here?” Jupiter whispered much too loud toward Tuathal.

He felt her eyes on him, and in another life, he might've been keen to latch onto her apparent admiration, perhaps tease a dance or dinner out of her. But the year had left him tired, and ill-tempered towards the games men and women often played. Their dinner would be void of candlelight and jazz; they'd run through the drive-through, and dine-and-dash, before twilight broke to night.

Tuathal fell in step with her.

"Here?" he repeated, surprise evident in the sharp lift of his brow. "Hell no. You'd gotta be a loon to settle anywhere in these Wilds." He paused. "Shit - do you?"

Until this point, Tuathal had only taken her as a fellow passer through. She seemed too normal to be anything else -- taking the long way around rather than breaking through the thickets, politely accepting the proposition of a stranger -- though maybe he'd been too quick to judge.