Hoshor Plains parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

It had been close to a week since she had encountered Kemal; two since she had last caught the scent of Man. Counting the sunrises changed nothing, she knew, but she forced herself to keep track anyway. Ever since she had dragged herself to her feet again, she counted. The alternative was timeless fog, forgetting where and when she was. Forgetting who she was.

She promised: she would not forget again.

Now Merel the Blackbird strode through grass that nearly stood taller than she. The long blades surrounded her in mid-spring warmth, tickling her skin where they poked through her fur. Still a vivid green, they had yet to fade to the dry yellows of summer. Her dark fur stood out in these open flatlands.

Nearly everyone else did too, at least. She spotted another figure up ahead, and called out a greeting.

Hello, she said, tail swishing. Do you live here?

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Hate. He was filled with so much of it, and yet one would never know looking upon him.

Hate for his brutish father, hate for the sleek, feminine figure he was born to, hate for his brothers who ran like cowards, hate for the sluts he was made to call sisters.

But looking upon him, you would never know.

Walking through tall grasses with his stare distant, he was pulled from his thoughts by a voice he did not recognize. He rarely recognized voices out here. Lifting his head he looked to spot them, grinning when he did. Hello! No, I don't, I'm only wandering. His tone conversational and friendly, he was quick to begin making his approach of the stranger.

As am I, Merel said.

Her tail swished calmly behind her as she observed him. Though her smile and tone were pleasant, her hazel eyes were cool and neutral. Another man, but this one was sleeker and leaner. Cream gilded his dark fur. Quite a striking sight he was; Merel could not help but find him beautiful. Harder to outrun, but might make for a fairer fight, an icy, cynical voice evaluated in the back of her mind.

She ignored it for the moment.

Have you been wandering long? I’m new here, myself, Merel continued. She gestured vaguely with her snout to the grasslands that surrounded them. More playfully, she asked: What do you call yourself, mister?

A small woman coated in a menagerie of muted, dull browns. There's quite a lot of that in these lands he's found, nothing like the wolves of his home. It has left him with a sense of isolation and comfort all the same.

Not exactly. I'm only here for a short visit, I plan to settle in the west. He said, gesturing in the mentioned direction. He had found that flatlands and deserts did not bring him anything but anger and grief, despite their familiarity. At the tone that accompanied her following question, he could not help but chuckle.

I am Cinar. And you, stranger?

Merel, she replied with a smile. So his wanderings were not as aimless as her own. (Or rather, his purpose was not so futile.) He seemed to know something of this place, at least—perhaps she might be able to learn something. Merel regarded him with keen hazel eyes.

If I may ask, why go west? Do you know of a pack there? she inquired, curious.

Not exactly. He responded. The wind carries scents of many, but the change of scenery is what appeals to me. He had been surrounded by flatlands and deserts his whole life; the potential for canopies and thick forests had become a welcome sense of security.

Lifting his head to check for scents of prey or more strangers, his eyes remained fixed on Merel. Do you travel alone? He asked after a moment. My apologies if the question seems strange, I can't help but be curious.

When it suits me, Merel said. It can be easier to hunt together. Unless, of course, you’re stuck with fools who don’t know a pheasant from a rabbit.

Or a woman from a rock, Merel added silently, and something cold shone in her eyes for a moment.

She softened her words with a smile. Though, any pack has to have at least a few wolves with their heads on the right way.

He chuckled at her response, it would have been difficult not to. I can understand that, though I can't say I'm much of a hunter myself. He reflected on his previous attempt on a buck far from fondly even now.

Are you looking for a pack, then? He asked at her following words. You look healthy. It should not be hard. Most packs valued healthy, young women. She seemed to be both, and they were still in the usual window for litters which would help her case. He could not imagine that she would be turned away from the average pack.

At Cinar’s question, Merel looked away. It should not be hard, he said, as if health was all that mattered. To some wolves, perhaps that was true.

Maybe. What’s harder is worth finding someone worth following, Merel snorted. (Was the problem really that there were no good leaders? Or that it was easier to act as if there weren’t?)

Merel tried to brush those thoughts aside. Yet a restless prickling still crept up her spine, and already her gaze began to drift elsewhere.

Well, Cinar, I hope you find what you’re looking for, Merel told him with a smile. Perhaps she too would head west; for now, she intended to investigate these plains. Maybe someday we’ll hunt together.