Bramblepoint Tōboe

The prey smell had led to a rewarding chase across snowy fields.

Shiranui had run swiftly. His instincts drove him faster, pushing harder, until his fangs had closed around the small goat. It bleated into the air before the killing blow silenced it. The white wolf tore away at the flesh, revealing the string of sinew and meat that filled his nostrils with their smell.

It was likely that the goat had gotten separated from its mother. The mountains to the west appeared to be suitable for a variety of prey. Shiranui was only pleased that he had not been forced to chase it along the rocky peaks. The footing of a goat was better than that of a wolf.

Bloodied and full, Shiranui lifted his head from his kill and gazed across the terrain.

hope you don't mind me snagging this! <3

With her children halfway to reaching their first year, the mother dove was afforded the ability to range beyond their borders more frequently. She hoped to find evidence of returning plant life though it was still too cold for such things and to determine how the prey near their village had been affected by the plague. With Sivullik becoming a mother, she would need to help provide for the pack as they had when she fell on hard times the season before. 

A light snow fell as she loped across the plains, dusting the cloudberry woman in a spackling of ivory. The she-wolf slowed as neared the tangle of the bramblewood, breath puffing from her lungs in a white cloud of vapor. Peridots flitted across the trees, the forest dormant and still beneath a blanket of white. The artist sniffed at the tracks of a young goat, head dipping earthwards as she determined it had passed through recently. 

The smell of an unfamiliar man accompanied the scent of goat, causing her to hesitate -- feet shifting uncertainly as she cast a wary glance around. 

Squaring her slim shoulders, second wife tugged the deer hide closer around her for warmth as she plowed onwards -- determined that not all strangers, not all men, could be necessarily bad. Aiolos, Inutsuk, Foxfur. They were all good, honorable men. Perhaps this one was too. 

Following the trail, Lótë felt her heart jump into her throat in spite of her bravado when she finally happened upon the pale figure. For a moment, she halted in her tracks. The ruby of his gaze was a comfort however, causing her to take a few more hesitant steps before she stopped a respectable distance from the he-wolf's kill -- not wanting the stranger to think she was here to scavenge. 

"I greet you, hunter," the Nuiruk dipped her head in a slight nod. "I am..Aiwë," she dallied only a moment, not certain she should give him the name Moonglow knew her as. 

"I'm sorry to trouble you," she continued with a small, apologetic smile, "but I came to the forest to see how the game fared with the sickness that has swept the land. Do you happen to know if any of the large grazers on the steppes have been afflicted?" 

The herbalist did not yet realize the man was mute as her own daughter was, waiting patiently for a reply with her ears cocked forward. 

I do not mind at all! I am so pleased to have you. ^^

The scent of blood had masked her fragrance. As the stranger approached him, the hunter’s gaze found her movements and latched onto them. Shiranui had not anticipated that he would be met by another wolf in the wood. There was a slight bristling of his pale guard hairs before they settled, and the white wolf rose to stand upon his long legs.

Ruby eyes peered toward the woman. Aiwë she called herself. Shiranui had never heard such a name before. The white hunter yapped in reply. His torso dipped toward the earth, leaving his rear end to rise back. Shiranui’s tail swayed easily from one side to the other. His head was tilted as the she-wolf spoke and he listened with curiosity.

Aiwë spoke to him of an illness that had impacted some of the herds that they hunted. She asked him if he had noted anything of the sort in the prey that he had killed.

Shiranui whined uncertainly.

He had not noticed any sickness in the animals he had hunted for himself and the preacher. The white wolf’s ruby gaze shifted over his shoulder. He hung his head low and shifted his gaze away from Aiwë. He did not feel that he would be helpful to her when he could not answer he question. Shiranui wondered if she sought these answers for her family, for her pack.

For a moment, the herd-stalker's ears twitched and her brow flickered with confusion as the ivory he-wolf dipped low with a yap but did not speak. A heartbeat later, understanding smoothed the perplexed wrinkles of her expression. "Ah," she breathed gently. 

"You are one who does not speak," she murmured, offering him a small smile. "My daughter was born without the ability to make sound as well." Lótë wondered silently if the man could mouth his words as Wilwarin did, or if perhaps he spoke the same sign language her family was learning, but did not ask for the sake of propriety. 

"May I?" she wisped tentatively, gesturing towards his kill with a dip of her tawny diadem. "I will not take your meal, I only wish to smell it for sickness." The dove clarified as she tiptoed closer, eyeing Shiranui for signs of aggression. 

Granted that the garnet-eyed male allowed her close enough to sniff his kill, Lótë would edge closer and lower her head before taking a few whiffs. If he reacted with territorialism, the doe would flit away and dart back through the woods to safety. 

The woman wished to inspect his kill. Shiranui tilted his head at her, curious. He did not know of sickness that lived in the animals that he hunted. There had been times when he had come upon a carcass that had reeked of disease, but he knew better than to scavenge it. Instinct instructed him to move on and leave it where it had died. The white wolf was a hunter, though. He did not doubt the animals that he fell with his fang.

Shiranui looked to his prey with a small waver of his tail. It was already mostly devoured.

Stepping aside, the white wolf glanced toward the woman with a pointed stare. The ruby color of his eyes was intent on her for a moment. When he pulled his sights away, it was to look back at the remnants of his meal.

Shiranui chuffed softly and stepped back several paces so that she might have room to do whatever inspecting she wished. He sniffed at the air, curious about the scent of pack that she carried on her coat.

Lótë offered him a grateful smile as she bent over the kill, relieved that she found no hint of the bitter smell of sickness clinging to it -- only the salt of blood and the musk of the he-wolf who'd slain it. "It does not appear to have been ill," she murmured to the brumal hunter. 

"Thank you," Lótë met his gaze as she backed away from the remains, feeling as though she could sense the red fingers of his gaze brushing along her skin. It was not entirely unpleasant, albeit intense. 

"Is there anyway I might repay your kindness? Anything I could do to help you in return?" It was the way of her homeland to return favors.