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To some extent, he was growing bolder in his interactions. More and more New Caledonians were becoming known to him by name. More learned of him as the healer and sought his aid or counsel. Life still felt unfamiliar often, but he found it was finding more and more room in him. He accommodated the new awkwardly at times, slowly, still making for many a clash of traditions and attitudes towards things. Even people who were no longer strangers could remain strange to one another. But the more time away from his brother and in the midst of the rest of the recently formed pack he was afforded – the more he discovered.
One recent discovery, earned through the curious Willow who relied on his knowledge of plants, he felt inclined to share. The flowers were new, unknown, and he felt reluctant to make much use of them yet. They did not seem like medicine, and he knew better to eat what he did not know by name, by form or by scent. The latter however, their scent, made for a peculiar reaction and was not at all unpleasant. Perhaps, if approached with respect and precaution – not delving too deep into their midst, not sampling them carelessly, keeping some measure of one’s wits about oneself, they could even be enjoyed. He wanted to share the feeling with her, if only because the brief flower-induced euphoria so surely brought her to his mind.
The Songthorn took rather little effort to spruce or preen prior to the meeting. He still lacked any garb worth noting, though he’d begun to consider a cloak or something to dress his loins. Bellad did, however, remember the Moonwraith’s attention to his mane, and took the effort to comb it into something that very nearly seemed less of an unattended mess. No cutting. Change took time, and change to habits in regards to his appearance was no different. The faint smell of herb still remained about him too of course. With how much he’s been spending around lavender it was no wonder it was starting to rub off on him together with other grass and wildflower. He did have more confidence to his step, like he no longer walked among the dwellings of New Caledonia afraid to take a wrong turn. Not that the journey to her doorstep would be long either way.
Having had some practice with the subtle art of knocking on doors, the experience of barging in on Calan and a little practice during the Casa di Cavalieri tourney making an impact on his manners, he rapped at the door to her dwelling with the back of his knuckles. A sound that would not be at all difficult for a luperci to pick up. He expected the door could open to reveal a number of people these days. It could, of course, be Amon, perpetually looking like a glacier with a stern look about him and a manner some could read as pairing a verbal invitation to come in with a non-verbal invitation to get out. Could also be Fennore’s new guest, and oh what a joy she would be. He still could not fathom how Ierian could stand her attitude. Perhaps it, like many other things, needed time to grow on him. Or perhaps Bellad would take more frequent baths to stifle said growth.
That said, he received neither answer, nor sound of approach, so his newly acquired skill of knocking on doors was put to the test again. He did not want to persist if no one was home, or no one who wished to be disturbed by him at least, so no third series of knocks followed. Instead he stood patient, even as his mind raced with anticipation. Would she find the new flowers surprising? Would she go with him to see them and bask together in their sweet aroma? Would she reveal to him if New Caledonia’s people would pick flowers for one another, or else, more like Bellad’s, only bring their cherished to where they bloomed to contemplate them wherever they were found? Would she want one? Perhaps he should have brought one to show-…
The string of thoughts and questions, evoking some of the thoughts he’d considered during his visit to the patch of unfamiliar plants, was interrupted by something else. He smelled something. Surely enough, to him it was second nature to react to the approach of a luperci scent. He would have perhaps known who was at the door before they actually opened it. He did know, almost certainly, who bore this smell. But there was something to it. Some not entirely unfamiliar nuance. His ears perked ever so slightly to join his nose in its attempts to anticipate who was now in the house. More importantly, what could this smell be?
