Emberwood of mice

@Peregrine

The foliage of the trees shone nearly as brightly as Kierkegaard’s steady gaze. Already, they were showing signs of shedding their autumn leaves to make room for bare branches that would creak in the winter with heavy sighs or gusts of wind. The ashen male found himself plodding through a thin layer of bright orange and faded yellow. He was not the type to pay any mind to the changing of the leaves, or even the transitioning of seasons. Kierkegaard had kept to himself as well as he could. It was impossible to avoid coming across another wolf. The stench of pack territory seemed to surround him no matter where his strides took him. If it wasn’t a pack canine, it was another loner… seeking food or closure. He cared very little what their intentions were; his time with them had been short, concise. There was a disturbing lack of life in the fiery woodland stretch. The further that Kierkegaard seemed to travel, the less he could sense in his surroundings. No large prey animals, no larger predators, and the smaller creatures seemed to dwindle. Solitude was always preferred over the company of others, but the eerie silence seemed to weigh heavy on the ashen male. It made him wary. Pausing in his trek, Kierkegaard’s vibrant gaze fell on the rustling of brush ahead of him, and he breathed sharply inwards in hopes of capturing a scent. A heavy frown fell across his features as he found himself unable to decipher any sort of telling sign that there was a living creature roaming the wild wood alongside him. Thinking to himself that there was a small possibility the being from the underbrush could have been his sister, the ashen male found himself growing more impatient. She was not that foolish, nor was she that childish. A heavy snort was the only sign of his resignation. Pressing forward, his lengthy strides continued to carry him through the brightly lit woods. Every so often, he would cast an eye over his rolling shoulder to watch for followers.

They spent the night near Emberwood, though Peregrine did not sleep much in this strange place, even with both his lovers by his side. He eventually gave up and restlessly roamed the strange woodland, searching for prey. He hoped to deliver breakfast in bed to his sleepy companions. Dawn was already here, so he figured he had perhaps an hour to hunt before they woke for the day.

Instead, he crossed paths with a pale stranger. They were coming right at one another along a worn deer trail. Peregrine paused and regarded the other wolf, his stance stiff but neutral. If not for the fact that they were on a collision course, he might have moved past and went on his way. Peregrine wasn't much for mingling with strangers.

He found himself saying a gruff, "Morning." He was about add a query about the area, wondering if perhaps this male knew more about it. Then he remembered that they were leaving as soon as Fox and Lasher woke, so why even bother? So he said nothing else, letting his gravelly greeting hang on the air.

It was only a matter of time. The deer trail that Kierkegaard had followed deep into the woods seemed like it was a well-cut path. He could not have assumed that he would make it through its entirety without coming across another. Cutting his gaze upwards, the ashen male noted the dark figure of another male headed in the opposite direction. His steady gait was cut to a stop, and he lifted his head upwards, regarding the stranger with a composed expression. Already, Kierkegaard could scent the heavy lingering aroma of a pack on this wolf, but he noted that it was not a pack that existed in the surrounding territories. A frown creased his dark lips, and his ears erected at the sound of the male speaking. “Morning.” That it was. Though, the ashen wolf assumed that this dark stranger had issued it as a greeting. Kierke lifted his head upwards just slightly higher than it had sat a moment before, and squinted at the swarthy wolf. He was not a socialite, and so after a moment of observation, Kierkegaard simply nodded his head once to the newcomer and then moved to continue along his way.

This may be destined to be the shortest thread ever, rofl... unless... ~plot twist~!.

The other wolf didn't reply verbally, though at least he acknowledged Peregrine's greeting with a nod before continuing on his way. A black ear splayed sideways and the swarthy male's eyes followed the pallid stranger as he continued through the blood red forest. Seeing no reason to pursue him, Peregrine faced forward, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips and nose as he continued his own solitary exploration.

He hadn't gone more than three feet when a rustle in the brush made him freeze. A raccoon, perhaps spooked by not one but two wolves crisscrossing the forest, darted across the path and shot in the direction of the paler wolf. Peregrine swiveled and began to chase it it, though he braked to an awkward, uncertain halt when the raccoon skittered directly toward the taciturn stranger, perhaps intending to weave through his legs.

Nah, we got this!

It was very rare that Kierkegaard could happen across another wolf and not be forced to listen to incessant drabble. This dark stranger was a breath of fresh air. With nothing more than his simple greeting, both wolves seemed to continue on their designated paths. The red forest seemed to fade into silence, if only for a heartbeat. As Kierkegaard prowled forward, keeping his nose to the earth, there was a startling noise from behind him. Whirling his head around, his hackles began to rise and he bared his fangs in defense at the sight of the dark stranger racing in his direction. The swarthy male seemed to stop somewhat awkwardly in his tracks, though. This was when Kierke noted the large animal that was scurrying away in hopes of escape. Dropping his lips back over his fangs, the ashen male watched the raccoon with a moment of curiosity as it darted around him, before he glanced back towards the green-eyed male behind him. With a short toss of his head, the ashen loner kicked off and took flight after the retreating coon. His gesture was an offer to hunt, and whether the swarthy male would accept it was of no concern to Kierkegaard.

Peregrine loped after the ashen stranger. He hardly interacted with outsiders, much less hunted with them, though he didn't consider this a hunt. Raccoons were not prey. Yes, he would gladly chase and kill one — for sport. Like bear meat, the flesh of other carnivores did not sit well in the male's stomach. When he killed such animals, he typically left the carrion to even smaller meat eaters.

Presently, he didn't even attempt to participate actively in the pursuit. Rather, he dogged the other wolf's steps, happy to merely observe. He only caught glimpses of the coon scrambling ahead, yet he found the creature's squat gait rather amusing and his face eventually broke into a wolfish grin as he trotted along.

Raccoons did not appear to scurry so much as they waddled. Their disproportionate size made them appear quite strange; wide rear ends with narrow, almost rodent-like faces and fingers. Kierkegaard had never prized their existence. They were a trouble-making breed, and were more of a nuisance than anything else. The ashen brute was not prone to kill simply for the sake of killing, but he enjoyed the thrill of a hunt despite the size of his prey. Kierkegaard also was not opposed to eating the ring-tailed creatures. At any rate, his chase was cut short as the coon took to scurrying into the tops of a tree. Kierkegaard drew himself to a halt at the base of the conifer tree and tossed his head up to watch the foul rodent disappear with a cacophony of anxious cries. Turning his vibrant gaze back towards the shadowy male, the coal-coated brute dropped his head slightly and huffed a heavy sigh through his nostrils. “Your meal seems to have taken to the trees,” he remarked in a rumbling voice, his heated gaze darting back to where the animal had disappeared. Of course, Kierkegaard did not know that the creature was not intended for food to the dark stranger… he only knew that neither of the wolves would be catching it.

Peregrine fell back, not wanting to crowd the other wolf lest it end in dispute. He actually lost sight of him and the quarry, though he never lost their trail, nor did they move out of earshot. When he came around a bend in the path and saw the white stranger parked at the foot of a tree, his eyes immediately danced upward. He slowed, then stopped, watching as the raccoon squashed itself into the crook between the trunk and a sturdy limb. From there, it shrieked its indignation at the mismatched pair of wolves.

His eyes dropped when, finally, the other male spoke. "I wasn't going to eat him anyway. The only thing I'd use him for is a fur cap, maybe. I'm Peregrine, by the way," he introduced, speaking slightly louder than normal to be heard over the bandit's screeches.

The inky stranger seemed to close the distance between them in a few strides. The ring-tailed creature was still bellowing in protest from its perch in the tree. Kierkegaard had already grown tired of the incessant noise. Flattening his lengthy ears atop his skull, he flicked his gaze towards the other wolf. It turned out that the shadowy male had not intended to use the raccoon as food. With a frown, Kierke glanced up once more towards the small bandit before taking several long steps away from the base of the tree. His only hope in doing this would be so that the small creature would cease the perpetual crying. Looking to Peregrine, Kierkegaard bobbed his head in response to what the sooty wolf had said. Had he possessed a stronger sense of humor, he would have caught on to the joke that had only managed to fly over his head. Instead, he focused on the introduction that had been presented to him. “I am Kierkegaard,” he returned slowly, ears twitching atop his head. There was a long pause before he opened his mouth once more. “You belong to a pack.” It was more of an observation that could have gone unspoken. However, the ashen loner was difficult when it came to forming basic sentences that would be deemed appropriate. “Is it located near here?”

Moving away from the tree would either coax the raccoon into silence or put them further away from its irritating cries, either of which was incentive enough for Peregrine to follow the stranger as he took several steps away. He briefly wondered if Fox and Lasher were awake yet. So much for breakfast in bed.

"I do. I'm the Alpha of Blacktail Deer Plateau, though my companions and I are actually scouting for a possible new territory," he revealed, deciding there was no harm in sharing this information. He did not specify the circumstances beyond that, however. "The plateau is almost directly south of here. It's on the other side of the mountains. Do you live around here as well?"

The plateau seemed to spark a memory in the ashen brute’s mind, and his ears immediately flicked forward at the mention of it. This was the alpha, then; Kierkegaard was pressed to recall his conversation with another dark-furred wolf about the pack. It was, after all, the only pack that had been given a name since Kierke had arrived in the Teekon area. The others had scents, but he did not know what they were called. More interested in the fact that this Peregrine was the leader of the soul pack that Kierkegaard had knowledge of, he canted his head to the side and narrowed his brows. “The Plateau… Blue Willow spoke of your pack,” he remarked quietly, assuming that the dark alpha would know of whom he was referring to. Pondering this occurrence to himself, the ashen Sairensu almost missed the question that had followed Peregrine’s remarks about his current pack and his search for new territory. “No. I live wherever I can,” he answered with a short shrug of his broad shoulders. “Today, I suppose you could call this my home.” It was a simple answer, though Kierkegaard did not give the question much thought. He had no real home to speak of.

Kierkegaard mentioned a familiarity with the plateau's name, à la Blue Willow. His friend's name caused an automatic reaction in Peregrine; his lips twitched into a smile. His dusky eyes looked a bit guilty, though. He had left her and Dante in charge back home with no real explanation as to why. It ate at him a little.

"Ah, well, does that mean I should make like a tree and leave?" Peregrine quipped dryly. "I actually should get going. I have two companions to feed before we resume our travels." He paused, regarding the ashy male. "If you ever decide to settle, you should consider the plateau." Peregrine's future there was a giant question mark but he could still try to send worthy wolves in that direction, right?

"Take care," were his parting words and he turned to go, trotting off toward the place where he'd left his lovers dozing. Maybe he would be able to rustle up some grub on the way back.

A strange reaction seemed to befall the male at the mention of Blue Willow. Kierkegaard would have thought more of it if Peregrine was someone of particular interest, but he had only just met the shadowy male, and so he had no ties to the stranger. It seemed that the expression on Peregrine’s face seemed to fade as quickly as it had arrived, and before long he was making quips about being a tree. The ashen loner narrowed his brows at the dark wolf and frowned slightly at the remark, not entirely sure he understood the reference. It seemed as though it was time for the Alpha to take his leave. Kierkegaard nodded his head slowly to the male in farewell. “You as well,” he returned in response to the sooty wolf’s ‘take care,’ before he watched the fellow fade away into the woods. Turning, the ashen brute set off at a trot, seeking to abandon the woods and whoever else had decided to make a temporary home of them. He had not disliked the dark wolf who had approached him, but he was not willing to remain there and find any others hiding in the thickets and the underbrush. Catching sight of a rocky peak in the distance, Kierke made his way in that direction.