Redtail Rise crocus

Tall Shadow had returned.

Her siblings grew; Pebble, Clover, and Little Paw. The spirit knew them.

Sister watched their land with tireless eyes.

Red Eye and River had dispersed.

Wealda welcomed a new man into their fold. He felt like a timely addition, considering it was Spring. Moon Runner had smelled his marks but had yet to see him. Would Wealda bear children this year?

Moon Runner found the scent of game and began to stalk towards the East.

Hope it's okay I join!

During idle moments he thought of Redd and the play of sunlight across her shoulders, setting her nape aflame.

He did not let himself indulge in these schoolboy's thoughts, thinking them foolish. But he had never liked anyone before, the only female figures in his life having been a caustic mother, and a sister who was equally as corrosive. He thought that being in the presence of the feminine inevitably came with its own radiation burns: unnoticeable at first, but resulting in ulcers and atrophy days down the line.

But there was no such discomfort where the Wealda was concerned. He pondered upon it as he walked aimlessly, found no answer.

Instead, he saw that his path intersected with a packmate's. He scented her on the wind; she smelled vaguely of "Augur".

Having a favorable opinion of the man, he was quick to approach, his gait light and elastic.

Yay!

While on the trail Moon Runner was discovered by the Rise’s newcomer.

At first, the yearling halted abruptly and her body became stiff. The Blod’s silhouette was a foreign one. It took a beat or two to buffer and take his scent by air. When her nostrils flared she recognized that this was the male she had detected with Wealda.

Her posture melted into friendliness. She put trust in her leader’s judgment of this wolf. He was a young-looking adult with odd pigmentation and sky-blue eyes. But his most noticeable feature, undoubtedly, was the patchwork scar that puckered the skin on the left side of his face.

Scar.

Moon Runner’s tail wagged to and fro, held level with her back. Her bright amber eyes watched Scar closely, but if they met the man’s gaze they would flick away. She didn’t want any conflict and did not know his character. She approached him on a curve, as if to take scent.

Who are you? the spirit wanted to know.

They crossed each other at oblique angles like planes in nimble formation. Then they parted, and met again, each discreetly examining the scent and disposition of the other. She was albescent but the uniformity of her pelt hid many shifts in hue, subtly patterned like the dapple of sunlight through leaves.

Gavrel stared at first, belying his affinity for faux pas both verbal and nonverbal, and belatedly followed her lead, gingerly avoiding eye contact.

Seeing that Augur had not spared a word to him earlier, it made sense that his kin -- a daughter or niece, perhaps? -- did not speak either.

He had never been in the company of wolves like this, who communicated by simple gesture; a language he was undoubtedly fluent in by virtue of being a wolf, but a language he had not fully spoken for most of his life. The passive bilingual communicated through halting, awkward signifiers, made himself understood with significant effort.

The scent of Redtail Rise and Wealda was on him now, but undertones of his travels across the flatlands and Sunspire range still clung to his furs. Most notable, however, was the absence of any kin scent. This led Moon Runner to believe he had been a lone wolf for quite some time.

Now, she had knowledge of his physical body and travels… but what of his character?

As a creature fluent in wildspeak, it was evident to Moon Runner that Scar was an unpracticed linguist. Perhaps this was because of his solitary time…. Or, perhaps, he was the product of an atypical upbringing. Unsocialized and unexposed.

Moon Runner did not judge him for this. Others had come before Scar in the same way, though perhaps not quite so stunted.

When his eyes lingered a moment too long, Moon Runner took the opportunity to educate him. Her body became stiff as their gaze connected. She served him a hard side-eye as her tail wagged stiffly. Then, she abruptly broke the tension with a play bow to show him contrast as she looked past him, over the shoulder.

Eye contact is conflict, the spirit said. Let’s play instead.

Her eyes drifted away from his face. He wondered at the disconnect, at her new stiffness, wanting badly to turn his gaze to see what had caught her attention -- but somehow he knew that there would be nothing there, that there was some other intention behind her gestures.

He found that without words, every movement became dense with meaning, like the difference between prose and poetry. Signifiers congealed along the angle of one's chin, the degree of tenseness in the shoulders.

Not unlike this one, which he thankfully knew from childhood and beyond: a play-bow.

Gavrel immediately accepted the invitation with much relief. His tail whipped back and forth like a flame in the wind.