Stone Circle whiskey's good proofing water

many and more things plague his thoughts: namely a freckled blackthorn princess; his own personal persephone personified and ingram avoids his thread bones though the temptation to selfishly read them gnaws at him. instead, he favors the borders; prowling them like a stalking, shadowy assassin.

cerberus and hades morphed into one terrible prince beast.

the borders are quiet so far, and ingram uses the routine of patrol to contemplate. no longer are they quite so effective at providing a distraction: so he lays out his cards on the proverbial table in his mind and regards them all as he patrols.

Skáld had been patrolling, in the opposite direction, when he caught sight of the monochromatic man as he approached. For some reason, there was something about the man's countenance that Skáld found intimidating. Perhaps it was his size, but there was something else; the air of mysticism about him that made him something that Skáld did not understand. From what he knew the man was something called a 'seer,' though he was not sure exactly what that meant, and the unknown was frightening. 

Still, he could not be avoided, and it was with a sheepish wave of his tail that Skáld greeted the man, and a congenial nod of his head. Secretly, he hoped they could simply keep going, though he knew he should not avoid one of his own packmates.

this contemplation of his current crossroads, and the paths open to him make ingram distracted. not exactly great for patrols but there is nothing that neither smells or sounds out of ordinary; thus, ingram cannot be arsed to care much. which says more than he was perhaps willing to look too deeply into.

crossing the paths with another packmate on patrol is not, in and of itself, unexpected but ingram is forced to resurface from his internal deep dive. he is younger, this man. and not one that ingram has came across before — but then again, he has spent many and more nights away than actually being apart of the pack.

the non-verbal greetings are acknowledged by ingram, who is equally as comfortable with leaving it at that. but something compels him to speak, offering a quiet, hello.

perhaps it is the soft hunger for a distraction from the freckled blackthorn and her never-ending questions sneaking her way into his thoughts often.

He tried to convince himself that perhaps this wolf was just shy- maybe even as shy as he was. It wasn't a very useful strategy, as Skáld immediately felt nervous when the man deigned to offer him a friendly response. His tail waved, and he gave a skittish grin; but he couldn't make his tongue move to offer up conversation that might make the man less intimidating. 

He froze a bit, and stalled in his walking to sort out what he might possibly say that wouldn't sound absolutely idiotic. "It is nice day, ya?" He asked. A very mundane bit of small talk- but it was all Skáld could utter in the face of a stranger, one who seemed so impossibly collected.