Hushed Willows it’s a most unusual day

During his long vigil, he had snatched a few hours of sleep here and there. He had toileted on the spot as needed, though that urge had all but ceased as his guts emptied. Cambria had otherwise ignored the demands of his body.

Now driven by thirst like he’d never known before, Cambria rushed to the nearby ravine and plunged himself right into its waters. He drank so much so fast, he vomited. He lingered in the current until his stomach demanded to be filled properly.

He climbed out of the ravine and ranged toward a willow grove growing at the foot of the mountains. Cambria stalked among the trees, gnawing patches of moss off the northern face of every trunk he passed. He stopped only when he lucked across a dead bird. He inhaled it.

After that, he folded down beneath the dangling curtains of a willow, sated and exhausted. He put his head on his paws and closed his eyes, falling so deeply asleep he didn’t stir when Wyvern landed on a bough overhead and let out a single trill.

He didn’t rouse until the next morning. Cambria blinked sleep from his eyes and peered upward, where Wyvern slept with her head tucked beneath a wing. He wanted to smile, though the memories of the last few days prevented it.

He wasn’t sure he would ever smile again, after that.

It was when he had come to check on Phobos that for the first time in too long, he scented another hiding within the willows. It pulled him from his task at hand, sending him down a new trail.

A stranger, dove white and stirring from their sleep. Chaudry gave a 'whuff' to alert them to his presence.

He would not stay long, maman would ask questions if he did, but he wished to have an interaction outside of the pack. A treat away from judging eyes.

In fact, he frowned, though not because of what he’d gone through these past few days. He looked at the few feathers still scattered on the ground and felt guilt chewing at him. Cambria quietly crushed them into the dirt, though Wyvern had probably already noticed them.

Sorry, he murmured to the sleeping nighthawk as he patted down the soil.

He began to sit up then, arching his head toward the canopy as he stretched his neck and spine. When he lowered it again, he jumped a little at the sight of a stranger stalking toward him. Although he offered a polite woof, Cambria cursed inwardly. He wanted nothing to do with, well, anyone.

He said nothing as the gray male closed in, looming over Cambria despite the yearling’s tall stature. The Dragonling checked his posture, keeping it as neutral as possible, but didn’t hesitate to glance into the other man’s face as he tried to read the intent there.

Overhead, Wyvern clacked her beak as if to say, I’m here.

His eyes grazed over the stranger, briefly glancing up to the bird in the tree above them. Were they.. together, in some sense?

You come to the mountains. Why? The question was direct, but genuine. Not many did, not without reason. That, and he did not want Phobos to be discovered. The herbalist, battered and unmoving, belonged to him now. He was Chaudry's secret.

The boy in front of him reminded him of Tousaint in a sense, but only in the youth they shared. For one reason or another, that alone kept Chaudry in place.

She left that fruitful place to the southeast, although she would return. Truthfully, that snaggle-toothed woman had made her feel less than welcome. Judged, really. And she was far too on-edge to put up with that kind of judgment for long.

Aisling followed the base of the mountains for a while until she came across a place beyond imagination. Willows, everywhere—boughs draping gracefully downward, adorned with spring blossoms. The air was fragrant and just a bit heady (though that was perhaps due to the increased elevation).

But she wasn't alone. Voices soon caught her ear, and with skin of berries swinging from her jaws, she padded that way, cautious but curious.

Two men. She much preferred the company of her own sex, but this was perhaps fine—although one was the largest wolf she had ever seen, with a demeanor that did not seem altogether pleasant. The other was tall, lanky and as pale as Aish was dark.

"You come to the mountains. Why?"

Well, it's not quite the mountains yet, no? Aisling remarked wryly, having set down her bounty at the base of a tree. She padded toward the pair, brow quirked upward.

Shit, Cambria thought, his stomach clenching. Had he unwittingly trespassed on claimed territory? He hadn’t been paying much attention to his surroundings yesterday. He attempted to sniff at the air without being too obvious about it, his brow furrowing in confusion before smoothing.

No reason, he said. I’m just a nomad. I don’t want any trouble. I’ll leave.

He took a single step before another figure appeared, this one a lissome black she-wolf with piercing eyes. Shit, Cambria thought again, every muscle in his body tensing. Although the woman sounded as though she was refuting the other man, the Dragonling immediately suspected it was just banter. They were toying with him.

I really, he began to say, only for Wyvern to cut him off with a shrill screech.

His mismatched gaze automatically flicked to the nighthawk, just in time to watch her flap off her perch and dive bomb the darker, slighter, femaler of the two strangers.

He seemed to have confused the boy. He shook his head, No, I only ask because - He was then cut off by the approach of a dark coated woman, who based on her comment, seemed to think she was quite smart. Were they together? He sighed, looking to continue.

I ask because - And once more he was cut off, this time by the screech of the bird in the tree above them, his head rearing back as it dove at the female. Maybe they weren't together then.

What exactly had he walked in on?

The two spoke almost in tandem before a bird cut down from the canopy and made a beeline right for her head. With a screech, Aisling ducked, feeling tufts of fur pulled from her nape in the nighthawk's fury, eventually flattening herself to the ground.

Oi! she cried out, and when the onslaught had ceased, rose again, albeit very slowly. What in bleedin' hell?! 

Her eyes cut to the men like tongues of blue fire, jaw clenched in fury. Is that one of yiz? Aisling spat, lifting her chin toward the branch where the bird now rested once more. Or merely a coincidence?

She had half a mind to seize her berries and get the fuck out of Dodge.

If not for the past few days, Cambria might’ve laughed at the sight of the stranger ducking Wyvern’s attack, her screech even shriller than the bird’s. He might’ve found her accented speech fascinating, despite her furious tone. But there wasn’t an ounce of amusement in his drained body.

Wyvern! he shouted, clicking his tongue sharply. She’s not a threat.

The nighthawk squawked in response, circling only a few yards above the trio of wolves. But she did not go in for a second attack. Instead, she winged toward Cambria and banked, coming to land on the slope of his back. He winced a little as her talons pinched his spine.

Sorry about that, he said through gritted teeth. She thinks she’s my wife, doesn’t take kindly to other females talking to me… or looking at me… or perceiving me in any way, Cambria explained, a comment that might’ve been accompanied by a smirk if not for the preceding circumstances.

Wyvern tugged a tuft of fur out of his nape, earning another grimace. He muttered something under his breath (“What? It’s the truth!”) and shook out his pale fur. Truth be told, he considered this a feature, not a bug, as he really wanted nothing to do with women. Or men, for that matter.

Aloud, Cambria added, We’ll get out of your way, as his two-toned gaze flicked between the two strangers.

He didn’t wait for a response before he began moving away, the nightjar bobbing on his back, her head swiveling to keep her sharp eyes trained on the black she-wolf.

A bird for a wife? Poor man.

I was trying to say, He paused, almost as if to wait for another interruption. I ask because we have not had others come this way for a time. Finally his words managed to leave his throat, Chaudry nearly sighing in relief. My pack lives in the vale. We will not bother you,

He then frowned, looking up the mountains. But the uh.. what was the word? Béliers or.. the sheep with the big horns? Was that enough explanation? Maybe just saying 'boy sheep' would have been better. They are aggressive. Watch if you go up the mountain. Point made, even if it was not made very well. He hated those stupid sheep in the spring - always charging at him. He had tried to fight one as a yearling, and very quickly learned not to mess with them.

Yer wife?! Aisling managed, gawking as the man called off his harpy. It wasn't the biggest bird, but it sure was fierce. D'ye. . .talk to her an' all?

But he was already making his exit from the scene, the nighthawk perched on his shoulder and giving Aish a gimlet stare. She glared right back, resisting the urge to bare her teeth before turning toward the giant wolf, who was speaking again.

I take it ye're not together? she asked him, nodding toward the retreating Cambria, then back toward Chaudry. Neither of whose names she knew at this point, but you know, for narrative's sake. . .

She sat, disgruntled, twisting her neck to preen at the fur the creature had disturbed. Bloody bird, Aisling muttered, brow furrowed. Without stopping her ministrations, she added, So ye live nearby, eh?

He only shook his head in response to her initial statement.

Yes, we are called Montagne de Cigue. He responded. I am Chaudry. It stung a bit that he couldn't add in 'grand gurrier' anymore. Can I ask your name?

His eyes briefly flicked southwards before returning to the woman. He had learned from one of his last meetings with a wandering stranger that some wolves were easily offended if his eyes showed a lack of attention - even if his mind was entirely on them.