Hideaway Strath There's just Devils and Dust

Artok woke and as par usual he broke into his routine with gentle stretches on the ruined shoulder. Then with a softly uttered oath, he strode forward. Today he would hunt. The caches were pretty filled, but he wanted to make sure they stayed as such throughout his time here, however long or short it would be.

He caught scent of the nearest prey animals. Smelled like fowl. With a determined stride, broken up only sightly by the limp he ran towards the birds. The tiny beady eyed fucker beat it's wings at his face, and he quickly juked to the side, despite the pull. The snag in his shoulder and grasped the bird between teeth and lip and crunched the bones in it's wings. As the creature let out a pitiful wail he strode forward and dispatched it with a quick bite to it's throat. The life blood dripping down his white downy fur.

nala returned home.

but was it still home? she felt...disjointed. as if she had left something behind on the trip and had forgot to bring it home with her. it felt unfair that most of her sleeping and waking time was flurried with thoughts of @Tavina. she had brought nothing back from her trip as proof of what she had said it was for.

this too was a thought shoved aside in favor of her return to the doctor.

the only thing that did break her thoughts was the sickly smell of blood. a wail of a dying animal, nala starkly remembered just what she had come home to.

and it was there she saw a giant older man, blood on him. she could only stare at him in some sort of disjointed shock.

Hello :)

Artok turned, blood and gore dripped all around him. He dropped the bird and licked his lips, bowed his head. He probably looked a fright usually did when red got on his fur.

Before him sat a strange little creature. She was small, so tiny and like always a protective streak woke up deep in his chest. She needed protecting right? Female, tiny. Sure she could probably take care of herself, but she was the strangest looking wolf, he had ever seen. Her coat a patchwork of colors, longer than even his. Her eyes different shades and hues and colors.

He motioned down at the bird at his feet. Filling the caches.

helloo! :D very excited for these two to meet

he spoke so casual, the crimson coloring on him teetering her into some kind of dizzy spell. although this was far more common since returning from her trip than she'd like to admit.

her eyes looked from the bird before they quickly bounced back up to him.

are you a hunter for the saints? her toes gripped at the earth.

YAY. Hope the meeting goes well :D

She stared at him, different colored eyes, dancing along his pelt and his face. She was so tiny, he could fold her thrice beneath him. What was she doing here, in the wilds. Why did no one protect her. It irritated him a little. 

She spoke her voice curling around him, and he tilted his ears forward. Of sorts yes. Warrior, hunter, whatever they need of me. He shifted, and moved his leg pulling at the muscles at his shoulder, his limp a little more pronounced.

it was so hard, to be faced with such softness and kindness when he had scared her so downright. but shouldn't she know better? fury was a face of great strength and power, who had showed nothing but kindness to the dog.

there was a subtly to his movement, the hint of some old injury. she wondered if he had been a hunter, a warrior, all his life. he fit far more than she did if that was the case.

that's very kind of you, she answered softly. i'm not — i mean, i'm not...good at those things. i'm a...singer. fury brought me here. she —

nala felt flustered, more than she ever wanted to be. and very quickly she looked away from him, suddenly wishing for distance from here.

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Artok would have laughed his ass off had he known the she singer had called him kind or soft. He was none of those things. He was a barbarian, a jerk, a certified asshole. And he knew this. But for some reason, he had always liked small things, always wanted to protect them. Perhaps it was that he hadn't been protected as a youth and it had worn a very deep, very painful hole in his soul.

A lift of lips on one side of his face, showed his amusement at her attribution that he was kind. He had to lean forward to hear her words, but he could see why the War Chief had brought her hear. She had a musical quality to even her voice. And he liked to listen to it. Reminded him of windsong and river dancing.

We all must Revel sometimes, and I would say that is a good skill to have. You make other's happy. No?

He licked at his fur again, attempting to wipe away some of the gore. One because she didn't seem to like it, and two because if he didn't it would stain.

flushed, hot, burned.

she was not sure what she wished for. more words of kindness, of some sort of assurance that the saints were not as barbaric as she saw upon her return or for distance from all the warriors of the wild.

she imagined tavina. the safeness in the empty space of her chest.

i can only hope so, she whispered meekly. do you think warriors are made happy by songs?

Artok wasn't sure what compelled him to be kind to this little thing. Other than he had always held special place for tiny things. The ones that needed protection, the ones he could protect, if he liked them. And it was almost always a femme. There had never been a male he wished to protect.

Perhaps it was a sense of self-preservation, perhaps it was simply he was a cold, hard bastard. He wasn't certain, but he was too old now to change his ways.

He tilted ears forward, and settled to his haunches. Her question swirled about his mind, and he thought of a proper answer. Did singing make warriors happy? Well he thought so. They were always singing on their ways to war. A small moment of respite.

I think so yes. Warriors. We see all the terrible things, and for those brief moments of inbetween, music fills the space. And music is it's own beauty. It can mean so many beautiful things. A bard can sing of sugar cane, and river song. They can take something that is hard, and heavy and bleeding. And turn it into something that is beautiful and pulsating. So yes, I think singing makes warriors happy, much more than most anything.

He could have argued that their lovers made them happier, but that was not what she had asked, and he felt unsure about sullying her question, and her innocence with such a comment.

they used the name of warriors, but all nala could imagine was women. a woman. her head dizzied at the words of the older warrior.

do you think doctors enjoy music too?

a topic turn, she asked, quickly stumbling over her own words.

Artok studied the she dog. She looked a bit ill, or confused, he wasn't certain, but he stayed his course. Her next question drew him pause.

Yes i think so. Miss. Scarlett was a healer, and she liked music, was always humming under her breath.

He blinked, he thought that was his memories of her, but he wasn't certain anymore. She had sung and hummed different times, he was certain.

he seemed softened by her and she could not pin why. her skin remained hot underneath her patchwork fur.

do you remember the song?

how foolish a thought! to think that all doctors might like the same song, but it might certainly be a start, wouldn't it?

Artok shifted. This tiny thing. She was making him remember all things. And asking questions. The biggest surprise he was humoring her.

I'm afraid not. I never heard the words just the melody and I'm not a very good singer.

He could offer to hum the melody,but it would proba ly sound awful.

oh,

she breathed, as if suddenly surprised. mismatched eyes blinked, as if once more surprised! what on whoever's green earth was she doing here?

thank you, either way. i-i think i should get going — and i shouldn't keep you from your duties either!

Artok raised a brow, or the equivalent of a wolfish brow, and dipped his muzzle downward. Without a backward glance, he turned and headed back towards his bird.

She could go now, clearly she was a bit touched or distracted or something, he wasn't even sure. But he did know when he wasn't wanted. He knew that lesson well.

Some could even argue he knew it too well, but his hide was thick for a reason.

Well met. He called behind him.