Gyrfalcon's Keep [m]The More The Merrier, Right?

@Andr/@Iaghe for reference. @Basilisk and @Haizel (and others) are welcome to join in the area! <3

 
Fleurette was left to her own devices as Andr had gone out hunting without her. She was of no use to him--for now--and she didn't want him to have to worry about her when his focus should be finding sustenance. They had found a cave, just large enough for two or three bodies to huddle comfortably. But, the little wolf felt that odd and unknown sensation again; it made her feel restless. Her body needed to move, to search; if only she knew what this meant for her.
 
She didn't particularly enjoy that she was alone, again, either. She missed Andr. Her lithe body missed the masculine comfort he brought; he was her strength after all. If not for him, she would still be at the Bay, struggling to stay alive in a weather she had little experience in surviving. She was truly helpless here and it bothered her greatly.
 
Despite her feelings of ineptitude, dainty feet moved of their own accord, bringing her out from the safety of their shelter, eager to explore. The snow was not so blanketed here in the woods between what was called the Gyrfalcon's Keep and the northwest portion of Silvertip Mountain. Named for the birds that nested there, the Keep was not a very large mountain, but it was just tall enough for the raptors to have their space and feel safe from the wolves at its base. The treetops even created a natural covering, keeping the wolves below safe from defensive talons. Fleurette could hear the screeching above, unbothered, finding it almost calming to her, already whirring, brain. It was something to focus on as she trotted the wooded grounds. 
 
She felt herself being pulled to the north where the woods bottlenecked between the two mountains. A river was ahead, she forgot the name of it. Smacking her lips, she noticed the dryness, the scratchy swallowing of thirst. Quickly padding to the edge of the river, she lapped at the water eagerly, feeling the cool liquid coat her insides, almost cooling that heat that seemed to burrow into her being.
 
The hell is going on with me, she thought to herself.

A scent wafted near. One of no familiarity. From across the rippling waters, the man bristled. His one remaining eye searched, seeking out what—or who—carried such an atrocious, yet alluring aroma.

Tail swaying behind him, a low rumble bubbled deep from within his trachea. Farther along the bank it, he saw it. Them. Her. Or, at least, he can only assume. 

Cautious, wary, he traipses near, chin hanging at level between his shoulder blades. Nostrils flaring, he watches, breathing in more of what had called to him. He was beckoned near by the scent, and couldn't fathom turning and leaving it behind. Not yet.

Haizel had a real knack for getting lost.

Sometimes far from the mesa and red sand of Akashingo and up to the coast.

Normally, it was a butterfly landing on pretty flowers; but it was winter, so all the butterflies were somewhere far off that he didn't have wings to follow. But flowers persisted in unexpected places and he was on the hunt to track them all down and put them in his chambers to cultivate over the winter season. He'd found Akashingo's soil needed hardy plants, and he stuck everything in there to see what would survive and grow for his wonderful queen and friends. 

And... oooo! Did his eyes deceive him, or were there... new friends about!?

There was!

Best day ever.

Hi! he barked, excitedly. I'm Haizel! Who are you?! Do you like flowers?! It didn't help that a few colorful petals fell from his shaking form.

soooo I couldn't actually think of an explanation as to why she mightve left the islands...and she's just here anyways. I figured I could fill in that blank later as threads wrap up. XD  have a very vague Iaghe for now. Also this got sooooo long, im so sorry!

much like basilisk, it was the scents that brought iaghe's ghost.

a woman -- one upon the threshold of her season. men.

the winterborne had not retained nor relearned enough to understand everything that swirled through her mind at the smell carried on the wind. 

~~~

the cry of her mother. primitive and raking, tearing through the air and along iaghe's skin. 

the smell of copper. the silence that followed, deafening. where there should have been the cries of first breath, iaghe could only hear her heart pounding as ámil's stopped. only hers where there should have been the tiny fluttering of a cub's. 

then.

iaghe on one side of the grave. lindalë on the other.

the weight of lóminórë resting his chin atop her head in a gesture that was meant to be comforting. it lacked the warmth of such.

it was a cold, possessive move that brought bile to the back of her throat and a twitch to her muzzle that bespoke violence.

~~~

it was not enough to place how she knew. only that she grasped what it meant. danger trickled down the wildling's nape, pricked along her spine as her hackles raised and her breaths came fast. 

the spectre swung her weight between her feet. indecisive, panicked. unsure of whether to go or flee as the familiar nausea rose and her throat closed. 

another instance came to her, too clear to forget. a time where she'd hesitated longer than a good person should.

drawing in a snarl of a breath, and praying to the deep for forgiveness, ia soldiered on.

she circled downwind as best she could, keeping herself hunkered at a safe distance. underbelly dragging the snow as her shadowed form crept along. the odors and voices coming clearer as she got closer.

from here, she would watch and wait.

shaking and petrified, but ready to jump to the woman's aid -- even if it was no absolute for the sin of what happened in the fire.

the personalities <3 So many different dynamics. I know for sure Fleur is going to have some fun juggling!

A voice sounded outside of her peripherals. It was a happy voice and it instantly made her at ease! Someone who was excited to see her--did she know them? Was that possible?

Fleurette whipped her head to find the disembodied voice and her eyes landed on a rather large male, lighter brown fur than Ander's, and adorned with lighter markings. What was so striking about him were bright, moss green eyes. Even from this distance they were so alight with delight at seeing her. It made her feel like she belonged.

Stranger danger was not a thing when it came to the little bundle of fluff. She wriggled and danced her way closer to him, excited to meet another, hopefully, friendly face. "It's nice to meet you, Haizel; I'm Fleurette. I do enjoy flowers, but I haven't seen many around...I'm not actually from here. Well, I'm not sure where I'm even from, if I'm to be honest." She watched as petals fell from him and it made her smile. Nosing one, she sniffed, and its aroma caused her to sneeze. Quite a few times in succession, actually. It made her eyes cross with the force of the onslaught.

Muzzle to paw, she wiped away the wetness there, giggling as she did so. Movement caught her eye across the river. A shadow had come alive, moving closer. Cocking her head, she realized it was not a shadow, but another wolf; a male by the looks of it. Massive in stature, head lowered, with eyes--no, eye, she realized--on her. She stared back, mesmerized by the way his body moved, surefooted, calculating. A little tinge of apprehension built within her, nothing to cause her fear, but just enough to make her stand at attention, fluffed tail waving behind her. 

She couldn't quite form words for him. Deciding in what manner should she greet him, Fleurette stood there, allowing Haizel's nearness to settle her. He did not mean her harm, but she was unsure of the male across the waters.

What else, or who else, is out there waiting for her? This land, she was sure, would continue to surprise her.

Another approaches the woman donning the scent, and he bristles. 

Lip curling, he nears the water lapping against the bank and eyes the distance from where he stands to where she does. The river is not wide, so he settles on the easiest way to cross. Hurdling. 

Crouching low, he springs off of his hind legs, fur blow in opposition to the pressure of the wind. Landing seamlessly on the other side, a spritz of dirt flew, leaving a bit of an indentation once he'd stepped to the side. 

Inching toward the two, he focused his cold, one-eyed stare on the other male and issued a low growl of warning to keep his distance. From only him, or the female as well, he wasn't sure of yet. It was safe to suggest both, for now.

Chin still low, he intended to satisfy his curiosity by slowly circling the female, ensuring the aroma was indeed her own. But when that proved to be not enough, he neared her flank, snout outstretched to get a better whiff. 

He'd prepared himself for any potential outlash, ready to jump back if the female took offense at his bold approach. He would do her no harm, of course—but perhaps she wasn't convinced of that yet.

Haizel, a sheer size for a wolf and indeed in every right should be a warlord, was but a giant marshmallow of a man, toasted perfectly over a fire. He did not see enemies, nor even competition. Nor did he smell a whiff of anything that would usually get a man excited. 

Not this one. But he plucked a flower from somewhere deep in his fur, pink as a white wolf's paw pads, and hooked the stem between his teeth for now. Fleurette. That's a really pretty name! he grinned, the delicate petals hanging daintily from his jaws. Always have a flower, he thought. You never know what sort of wolf will appreciate it. And there were more wolves out there who took it as he hoped they would: as a symbol of his friendship. You can have this flower, if you'd like. I could put it in your fur! 

That feathery tail wagged as happy as could be. It was then he finally noticed the other man's approach and cautious sniff, and he repeated his greeting to him. I have more flowers, if you'd like one, too. We could all match! 

There were so many friends here. He loved getting lost, he met the best people.

feel free to skip iaghe if need be!

it was not what she'd expected. 

she could not see them clearly where she hid between the shadows of the trees, nor could she detail every word.

but no screams of fright came. no cries of pain.

just two voices, speaking of flowers.

the shadow deliberated.

This thread will be dated for next week. I'll update the first post to reflect the date when next week rolls around. For everyone's reference, Fleurette is not in heat (yet)--her hormones are still elevating, she is in pre-proestrus. She'll enter proestrus next week and then her heat will be sometime in the first couple weeks of Feb.

With eyes as large as the sun, Fleurette watched the shadowed male clear the river with ease. He was now on the same side as her and Haizel. She didn't dare move. She thought of Andr, then, wondering if maybe she shouldn't have left; maybe, should have stayed where she could call for him and he would hear her. The little wolf was on her own, no one to protect her from herself.

He kept coming, and she bristled. The one-eyed male circled her and got closer with every step. What the...? He sniffed her! 

She cried out in astonishment, turning to face the bold newcomer. "Mister! What do you think you're doing?!" Andr had never done such a thing, but this male thought he could invade her space as he wished. She growled softly, her backbone not as solid as one probably should be in this situation. 

Haizel had offered the male a flower of his own and she deflated into laughter. Yes, this stranger caused her discomfort, but it was so short-lived, thanks to Haizel. Remembering he had offered her a flower, she bounced over to him. "Mister Haizel, I'd love a flower. Place it where you wish, and I'll treasure it for however long it may stay!" Turning to eye the unknown male, she spoke to him, a lighter tone to her now.

"Sir, I think it would be a good time now to introduce yourself. Oh, and stay away from my ass! Wait, why did you sniff me?"

She was shocked, confused toward his actions. Pulling himself back a step, he lifted his chin. Of course, now he was forced to tilt his muzzle down to see her clearly, which was a pain. But it would be what it would be. 

Why? He croaked out in a low, raspy baritone. Why would she ask such a thing? Wasn't this normal. 

Is this not the norm? Through his years, he'd always followed the more feral customs, taking to caution when around others. He hardly ever spoke, hence relying on his senses for communication. I meant nothing ill by it, He assures, his tone taking on a slightly hard edge. His walls were building again, and they were climbing high.