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He had what he liked to call a case of territorial ADD; despite the intrigue in cartography and the art within it, the rascal Nikolai could only take one scene for too long before he grew bored of it and moved on. Of course, he had every intention of returning--what was a map if it was incomplete, after all--but the creature had adopted a delight in nature and its sights. He was no simple wanderer, no hero on a redemption quest, no masterless warrior searching for a purpose and place in life. The grayscale, duel-eyed beast simply was Nikolai, and that needed little explanation.
That said, he found no reason not to wander carelessly into what appeared to be claimed territory--the air reeked of a number of pissing wolves and their pissing mates, and the scent couldn't have disgusted him further. He was no snob; Nikolai simply disliked what it was that characterized claimed territories and packlands, mostly because he had never found one that acted anything like an actual pack in his travels. Not to mention, he had a bit of a grudge against them--the wolf had been run out of packlands time and time again by snarling wolves and their territorial disputes. He was no spy. They had no right to get in his way of doing what he enjoyed. There was a sort of thickness in the air of those lands that struck him as anticipating or challenged... some sort of conflict was happening there, he assumed. Like the creature could say for sure... he was just passing through.
It would have been nice to hear the pack's name, though. He had moved somewhere within the territory that overlooked the ocean, now sitting atop a rock and spying the land on the other side of the bay. The shape was peculiar, difficult to put on paper... He tapped his pencil against the piercing in his lip idly, listening thoughtfully to the small clacking sound that resulted. Nikolai was far into the packlands and well aware of it and, well, if he was challenged... They'd have to deal with it, anyway.
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700+
The night was dark and cold, and she lay alone in a thicket listening to the sound of snowfall and the occasional click of the Raven’s beak. Cwmfen had only just returned to the packlands of Dahlia de Mai. She had travelled far from its confines to carry out the rites of her Long Nights, and she had taken her time on her return. The woman had needed to think, especially after the completion of the Long Nights, for things that she had not expected had occurred. On the night of the full moon, she had heard the voices of her ancestors, and they had revealed much to her. But they had required her to finish off the rite with a final initiation into womanhood, one that had required her to fall into the embrace of a carnal beast. Ironically, that beast had been Haku, Dahlia de Mai’s Lilium. The woad-marked warrior turned over, her hand reaching for the spear that lay beside her. Soon she would need a sword, and a shield, perhaps.... The black luperci attempted to occupy her mind with such thoughts, but it was in vain, for her mind was already occupied by other, more intimate things—things that had been new. Things that she found that she had liked....
Sighing, the woad warrior rose, her lithe, toned form fluid and silent even as they pushed past the winter branches. She held the spear lightly in her hand, testing its weight absent mindedly. The song of the weapon rang idly in her mind, and she listened to it for a moment, closing her eyes to savor this strange, new sound. Then, shaking the snow from her coat, the Lierre strode silently, deep in thought once more. Vaguely, she was aware of the beating wings that sounded above her as she departed, and, while the Raven never spoke, she was glad of his company. His soul was a strange dark thing, and she turned that concept over in her mind like a cool stone in the hand. Sometimes, she would hold the bird to her when it was cold, and he would allow her to hold him, and the feeling of her fingers running through his feathers gave her a strange feeling, as if it was a familiar thing from the past....
Cwmfen ceased, her posture erect and alert. The red-dipped kill-feather flitted in the wind. She brought the spear to her side, but planted it in the deepening snow. The white orbs watched ahead, for the sound of approach was clear in the silence. It was not a familiar sound, nor was the scent, when it reached her, recognized. The woad-marked tail flickered behind her in anticipation. She wondered, then, what this creature was doing so deep in Dahlian territory.... She considered the possibility that another pack member may have granted it access into the lands, but she discarded the notion when she realized that the approaching wolf was alone. A solitary character did not characterize a guest, and thus the black female became wary. But she merely stood there, awaiting the visual appearance of the other. Her posture may have suggested that she held some high rank, but this was not true. The black female merely understood her own capabilities, and she was prepared to put those capabilities to use should they be required.
She was surprised to discover that the approaching one was a male. She did not know why such a fact surprised her. Perhaps she was merely not expecting a male, though she thought that it would characterize a male to penetrate into the territory. Usually, Cwmfen would have been amicable and good-natured, but she did not like that this male had disregarded the formalities of another, especially this pack that had accepted her. Swiftly, the white orbs swept over the male, noting the piercings, eyes, pencil, and lack of weapon. Thus, the Lierre felt no need to raise her own, but let her woad-banded hand remain upon the shaft to provide a physical warning. As she spoke, the Raven, the epitome of her Dream, appeared out of the flurry of snow, landing dramatically upon her extended arm. The one-eyed blackbird clicked his beak, regarding the large, slim male before her. Cwmfen showed no sign of regarding him, but inwardly, she listened to the song of his soul, searching for any sign of warning.
“Who are you?” The sweet, silver-toned melody cut clearly through the cold and the snow. “Why are you here, so deeply beyond the boarders. Do you have no respect for others? Such disregard should be regarded as dangerous.” The woad-marked fae spoke quietly but clearly to the male. While the alto voice held no immediately apparent threat, there was a warning in her undertones. The white orbs made an open challenge by meeting his gaze. She would know soon enough what personality this creature was.
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The brute sat rather stiffly on the rock, duel-hued eyes glaring out over the iced water and mind abuzz with spiraling thoughts, all of which consisted of his homely Russian language. Nikolai was surprisingly focused; studying the land was something he took his time with, and although he had a certain fondness for the cold and snow (he was sitting in it undefended, for the most part), it was rather difficult to determine land formations and twists and turns of the earth. It was not until the voice of a obnoxiously colored pack member startled him from his thoughts that his concentration broke, and the brute rolled his eyes and groaned in reply. For now, that was all she got, and Nikolai did not turn around or pay her any more attention for the time being.
He had hoped she would leave or go on her way if he ignored her long enough--surprisingly, it worked for a number of braindead pack members he'd come across in his travels--but finally, he spoke up but held his eyes glued to the land and his back to her. "I yahm mapmaker; your leeders hire me," he nonchalantly lied, suddenly putting his pencil to paper and jotting something down. "Vhat name of thees land? You tell me name, then you leave me alone." He was a bit unusual for an unwanted visitor, but Nikolai was well aware of the ways that packs worked. They either granted him access, being as harmless as he seemed, or they attacked. Either way, he was prepared, but he didn't intend to be bothered from his work.
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500+
He responded with silence. His body language did not acknowledge her words. The woad banded ears were erected listening for his response, but they were greeted with nothing. She felt a mild irritation itching at the back of her mind, but she held it in check, remaining calm and seemingly unperturbed. Cwmfen rarely ever got angry—it had been so long since she had lost her temper that she no longer knew the consequences of such a loss of control. It was always said that the quiet ones were the most dangerous.... But she did not think that this creature would cause her to lose her temper. He may have been many undesirable things in her mind at the moment, but she did not believe that he could push her that far. And so she persistently stood there, unmoving and lithic, unwilling to allow this perpetrator to leave.
At length, he finally spoke. Cwmfen’s hackles bristled when he did not turn to confront her, but she remained where she was. The pied Raven, as if sensing her disapproval, cawed and croaked deeply several times before falling silent. The black female did not once believe that Cercelee or Haku would have hired a mapmaker—though she considered the scenario as useful, perhaps—but the fae decided to humor the grey hued male. She noted his accent and handle of words. He knew enough vocabulary for her to assess that he was very familiar with the language, but he did not regard its grammatical structure. The female was also able to identify his accent to be Russian, as there had been encounters with Russians when she had first set out those years ago. She had never really learned the language, although she found its sound pleasant. And even now, with this disregarding male, she could not help but like those Slavic melodies.
“Zdravstvujtye,” she tested. This one greeting was pronounced clearly, and it was passable for native Russian. But she did not know anything else of the language. She was merely confirming that the mapmaker was, indeed, a Russian. Her curiosity seemed to precede her aggression. Cwmfen ignored his first comment and responded to the next. “These lands are called Dahlia de Mai, and I am Cwmfen nic Graine.” The woad-marked female clearly let her displeasure be heard, but she had still showed no sign of aggression. She wondered, then, why this male was so content at keeping his back to her. Did they not teach respect—at least on a personal level—in his country? Cwmfen, who tended to show much respect—a quality from her Korean heritage, perhaps—found his lack there of to be disturbing.
“If you will not share your name with me, I will not push for it.” The soft lilt was quiet. “However, I still require that you explain yourself.” The woad-marked female was determined to figure this one out. It was clearly seen that the grey male was drawing some sort of map, but that was not what she was referring to. What made him think that he could waltz into these lands—or any lands—uninvited. There was a reason for such boarders, and such reasons surpassed a male’s mere need to urinate upon the dirt.
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The grayscale-hued creature kept to his busy work, very obviously unfazed and unimpressed by the visiting stranger. It was clear that he did much care for manners or properness; he did what he liked when he could get away with it, and when someone got in his face, well. Something usually resulted, anyway. However, when she spoke in German all of a sudden, his ears twitched in the most disgusted fashion, and he immediately spun around and pointed an accusing finger at the interfering ignoramus. It was clear that he knew the Russian dialect, and he knew it well. "Hey, don't you be bootcheerink my language veeth your fohreign tongue! I geef all evvorts to be speakink your language clearly!" That said, she earned a rather caustic duel-eyed glare, and he turned his back to her again. He began to jot down the name of the land, but crossed it out and started over at least a few times.
"Dah-lee-uh dey..." He slammed his hand on the paper stressfully before sighing and rubbing his eyes. "Vhy name pack stoopid names? Not same language. Can't spell damn thingk. You born in pack? You havf stoopid name also. Not Russian name." He cleared his throat, though. He did not care much for manners or impressing people--that was pretty obvious--but he meant to harm. He knew how to be proper, he just didn't practice it. "My name Neekolai. I come from Russia." Of course, when she went on to mention 'explaining himself', his brows furrowed again and he twisted to face her and held up the now scribbled-on map in a frustrated fist. "I told you, I yahm cartographer! Vhat do you theenk I yahm doink?!"
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But “Zdravstvujtye” is Russian.... :/
For the Russian in my post (I had my RL friend help me, hah, ^=^; :Если ты даже не знаеш как принимать русский язык, у тебя нету даже прав себя называть славик. (If you do not even know how to take the Russian language, you have no right even to call themselves Slavik.)
500+
The white orbs regarded the Russian as he turned, and a snarl formed upon her maw as he pointed a finger to her. He seemed to be pushing her irritation higher and higher, but she never lost control, and she held onto that control now. Her temper caught the pied Raven’s attention, and he crawed aggravatingly, ruffling his feathers. She felt a strangenss shudder through her, and she found that the strange sensation emanated from the large, obsidian bird. The woad warrior found herself speaking, and her banded ears were pressed forward in offensive aggression. “Yesli ti dazhe ne znayesh kaka prinimat russki yazik, ooh tebya netu dazhe prav sebya nazivat slavik.” She was surprised with herself—where did that come from?—but, save for a swift, sidelong glance at her Dream, her surprise was not apparent. She stood there silently, staring at his back, before she allowed herself to relax once more.
“Perhaps these names are stupid because you cannot comprehend them,” she replied quietly. “Some languages have words that contain a meaning inexpressible by other languages. So why try and compensate for the loss of meaning?” The question, of course, was rhetorical and required no response. Of course, she would not have been surprised if she received one. “No, I was not born in this pack. I come from across the sea.” With her left, free hand, she gestured to the east. “Perhaps, as a cartographer, you know of my lands? Caledonia--” she cut herself off, remembering that this name had been unknown to Firefly and thus supposing that this name may be unknown to the male. “It’s also known as Briton....” Maybe who would know the land better by this name. Or maybe he would not have traveled here and would not know it at all. “I was born there, but I also have Korean blood in me.” After having learned that she had not been raped by her father, that it had merely been an illusion readily accepted as reality by a virgin mind, it was easier to discuss her father. She no longer feared him, but she was well aware that he might still find her.
As he offered his name, she allowed a smile to cross her maw, accepting his name. “Nice to meet you, Nikolai,” she greeted again with a slight nod. Her tail flickered behind her in the wind. “I am well aware of your obvious preoccupation, Nikolai,” she responded sternly. “Perhaps I should be more clear,” she murmured to herself. She did not mean it in a rude manner—she was aware of the difficulties of language and of the barrier it created. Patiently, she reworded her query. “What are you doing so deep beyond the boarders?” Realizing that she had merely repeated herself, she began again. “What I mean is, why are you disregarding the boarders? You’re merely putting yourself in danger....” She peered over to see the map and the crossed-off word upon the parchment. As she didn’t know how to read any language, she did not know exactly what it was that he had crossed off. But using the context of his speech before, she assumed that it had been the name of the pack. “Would you like me to repeat the name of this pack?” She wouldn’t be able to help him with the spelling, but at least she would be able to help him write it phonetically.
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He was not a superstitious creature, and his demeanor spoke nothing for magic or miracles. Nikolai was incredibly down-to-earth, this was true, and thus his belief in unbelievable or unconfirmed things ran low and thin. He was skeptical, and he knew it. His scowl thickened when she blurted something in his language--such a dirty, terrible accent there in its musical subtext, it made the words sound so ugly and blurred--and when she sent a headlong stare at the bird that was following her around and sending the grayscale-furred cartographer death glares, Nikolai rolled his duel-colored eyes and groaned. "I don't haff time for thees," he muttered, grumpily climbing to his feet. He hated being interrupted, being questioned, all that. Why did people have to be so damn nosy, everywhere he went?
He glared at her. She said something else about words, inexpressible meanings, something about a homeland, and other general things that he wasn't listening to and instead, he waved his hand at her dismissively. Move on, move on. Nikolai, in his swirling little crusade of thoughts, focused more on how the dark-winged bird was staring at him and how the beast wanted to pop its pretty little head off and throw its body to the mother sea. Clearly, he didn't like birds, but he didn't much care for the background of the wolf or where she came from, either. He didn't care about people, he cared about nature and the sea and cartography. While she was talking, he did take a moment to look at her pelt and furrow his brows, briefly wondering if she'd been a part of some sort of sacrificial tribal ritual or offering to the gods or whatnot, but his mind ceased wandering when his name suddenly came up. She smiled, though, and he folded his arms.
"If you know of my 'preoccupation', then vhy you ask vhy I yahm heere again and again?" He snorted, tipping his nose to her. God, she talked too much. It felt like ages since he'd said something last. "Maybe you stop talkink, can heear vhat I yahm sayink. I come to draw map of pretty little pack, and then I go. It is vhat I do. I do not hurt anybody, so they can leave me alone. I do not understand vhy pack make zsuch big deal about strangers. I do not hurt anybody!" He threw his arms up in the air enthusiastically, before collecting his papers and pencils and starting to shuffle away, still tossing his arms around in the air in frustration. "Vhy everybody get in my vay?! I do not vant to heear pack name again! I yahm leavink and pack stay off map!"
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White orbs patiently watched the struggling male. He rolled his eyes and groaned, trying, it seemed to be as rude as he possibly could. Cwmfen did responded with nothing as he muttered about time under his breath. When he rose, she merely stood there, watching him. She ignored his irritable mood and waited for him to gather himself up. The female had no sympathy for him. It was obvious that her presence bothered him, but he had simply made matters complicated for himself. Should he have asked permission at the boarders initially, such irritation on both parties could have been avoided. Luckily for him, the warrior’s irritation was fleeting, and by the time he started speaking again, he had to start again from the beginning—as far as her temper went, anyways.
He glared at her and then her bird. The Raven turned his one eye in the direction of the Russian, blinking once as the black eye took him in. Finding the grey male uninspiring, the large, pied raven turned his attention to the feather of the spear, which fluttered in the snow. This feather, it seemed, was far more interesting than the noisy Russian. Unconcerned with whatever violent thoughts passed visibly across the male wolf’s face, the black bird ruffled his feathers against the cold. Cwmfen shifted her arm slightly, and the bird made as if to open his wings to regain his balance. But, having regained his balance rather swiftly, the bird relaxed, clicking his beak once before returning its attention to the weapon’s feather and to the snow about them.
A small frown tugged at the corners of her lips. The Russian had begun to speak, and he was being overly boisterous—needlessly, especially since she herself was being so patient with him, who, at the moment, was the perpetrator. She suppressed a sigh and a smile—a smile because his hysterical behavior was rather comical to the calmer warrior. Whatever she may be socially, the female at least knew that males had vast amounts of pride, so vast, in fact, that a mere smile or laugh could bring them crashing down. So, for the other’s sake, Cwmfen held herself in check, patiently waiting for him to be silent.
“If you do not wish for others to speak, don’t ask questions that require answers, boy,” the woad-marked female said quietly. The white orbs watched him as he gesticulated, flickering over him and watching every movement. When it was obvious that he was done and that she was not going to be able to get a proper answer out of him, the female allowed that sigh to escape her, though it was more of a heavy breath than anything. “Rules and laws are made for a reason. Even nature has her set. To break them is to make a violation, and violations are intolerable.” And she left it at that.
“If you wish to leave, that’s fine, though you have caused much trouble for not only yourself. Whether Dahlia de Mai is recorded on the map or not will only be your loss. We Dahlians know that we’re here. You’re the one who wants to record it,” she said, taking note of his apparent hobby. If he was going to leave, that was fine, but while he was still there, she still had a question. (The female was naturally curious—perhaps he understood? After all, did not curiosity drive him to map unknown lands?) “You called this pack ‘pretty,” she stated. She herself found the landscape to be beautiful. The variety of topography enriched her living condition, and it reminded her a little of her home. “Perhaps you could enlighten me. What do you find so pretty about this place?”
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She was so terribly uninspiring, treating him like he was some sort of child--she didn't need to know his first birthday was only a few days away. She didn't need to treat him like he knew nothing. She didn't need to act like such a prick, sending him glares and hisses like he had no knowledge in his head whatsoever, like he was a child who didn't know how to treat himself. Nikolai knew how to handle himself. "Do not speek to me," he said grimly, his temper being tested, "as if I yahm child. You know only rules; you do not know people." For some reason, he did not go any further into that statement. "I do not belongk to pack... does not mean I do not know how pack vorks." That was all.
He straightened, eyes searching the skies when she moved on to something about the pack and being prideful of it, or whatnot. He interrupted her somewhere in the endless lecture: "You havf not had fun in many, many years," he said, looking into the overcast sky. The sun was not shining... a shame. The clouds had carried it away, saving its glory for another day. "You speek like there is nail in ass," he added, shrugging. "Like can't pass a shit. I do not ask you to let me stay. I just say that you need smile more off-ten. Make friends, not enemies." He paused a long moment, sighing. She would be pissed at him, no doubt, probably spend another couple hours lecturing his language or his rudeness or his lack of proper English grammar. Or, maybe she'd send that pretty little blackbird to claw his eyes out, in which case, he would stomp it to the ground without a second thought. He could stomp her, too, but then she'd just lecture him about it.
He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. "All land pretty," he said quietly, tone gentler than it had reached before. "I travel around vorld to see diff-rent places, diff-rent people. See how people leeve in other places of vorld. See all seas and animals and become better cartographer. I do not speek to people. I just vant to vatch them." Still not facing her, his eyes lowered to look over the horizon that the sea bordered so evenly, so beautifully. "Pack members do not like idea ovf strangers. Chase me avay. I just come to pack and take chance, now. No other choice. Just vant to make map and learn lifestyle of members."
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Hahah, he makes me laugh, ^=^
500+
“I didn’t intentionally do that,” she replied, her ears briefly swiveling back apologetically. The pricked forward once again to listen to what he continued to say. “For claiming to know things, you don’t really implement your knowledge very well,” she replied quietly. “What’s the point of knowing the workings of the world if you do not use it?” This was a rhetorical question, and one directed more at herself than anyone. It was applicable, she felt, to the male, but was it not also to everyone. “But it shouldn’t matter who the rules belong to....” Of course there were exceptions, but there were exceptions to everything.
He spoke again, and his words directly concerned her. The white orbs peered over at him. She wondered whether or not she should be angry with him, and she bristled as she stood there considering her options. But then she sighed, laughing quietly at his choice of words, but at his observation too. The sound was quiet and light, like a bubbling brook in spring. “I suppose your right,” she admitted with a light smile. Her own gaze turned out towards the white wilderness. “I haven’t played in a while,” she repeated, murmuring almost inaudibly to herself. The matter of merely surviving and honing her skills had been the main concern in her life. She decided that even if she did want to play she wouldn’t remember how to. All she did now was explore, hunt, and practice the arts of war on her own, and if she wasn’t doing that, she was just somewhere enjoying the nature that she lived in, that she thrived in. Now that she thought about it that way, her life did seem rather dull—but that was from that perspective. She was rather content with her life, and war was her passion. Of course, there were no wars to be fought currently, but it never hurt to keep ones skill honed. “I guess I’ve forgotten....”
“Does smiling really help?” she wondered genuinely; she had never been up on social skills anyway. But she thought that it didn’t really matter.... Perhaps that was why she could never succeed socially. “I guess I’m always watching too closely and miss the bigger picture....” The white orbs considered the male. “And my ass is none of your business,” she added coyly, almost as an afterthought.
“I’m not trying to chase you away,” the alto voice offered. “But a better explanation for your presence would have helped....”She looked at the other male. “Packs don’t like strangers because some pose a thread. I guess your not one of those...?” She tried out one of those smiles he was talking about—it was her poor attempt at a joke. She shrugged it off, breathing deeply as he spoke of the world’s beauty. “I have to agree with you on that,” she replied. “The land here is part of what keeps me here.” She didn’t know exactly what the other part was, but she knew that she loved the land. “You know, where I come from, they say that my people got their knowledge from the trees...” The Druids where her people, and they learned and lived with nature. The white orbs turned from the land and looked back at the male. “But why a cartographer?” She wondered. “Why not simply... wander?”
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"I do not speek to people off-ten," he answered, shrugging again. He turned again to look at her, face somewhat deadpan and unamused. "I havf no need to show off vhat I know. That ees vhat people like you do. They talk and talk and talk and they don't say anytheengk at all. I know vhat I know and I oose it. That ees all." He rolled his eyes as he reached up and scratched at the back of his neck shamelessly. "Rules go so far. People go farther. They are diff-rent."
He snorted when she agreed with him, that she hadn't had 'fun' in a long time. A slight tinge of compassion streaked through his demeanor when she mentioned that she'd forgotten how, but his shoulders sagged only a brief moment before he caught himself and straightened back up. "I do not know eef smile helps. I do not smile. I heer eet help other people. I just make suggestion." he said, shaking his head. He was a horrible role model, and he didn't really care. "You do not see beeger picture because you are alvays talk, talk, talk and you do not lissen!" The ends of his mouth downturned into a disapproving scowl. "You say so much, I get bored. I stop lisseningk. All boreengk, all you talk about. You do not theenk about vhat you are sayingk, you just talk, talk, talk. No time for fun vhen talkingk so much!" He folded his arms suddenly, snorting again. "See, I lecture you too, and it does not take so long. You talk too much. Too much."
When she denied chasing him away, though, he pointed his finger at her much like he had before. "Ohhh, no, you try to chase me avay. You chase me avay vith all your talkingk! Tell me maps do not matter!" He let it go at that, though, silencing and folding his arms again when she continued. "I tell you I yahm no threat. I tell you three times I just vant to make map and go. You keep talkeengk and your rat make faces," he nodded disapprovingly at the crow on her shoulder. "Eef bird demon, I kill eet for you. Pop off head and throw in ocean. Demon blood make pretty color." He was mostly sarcastic, but the lack of inflection in his voice made the statement all the more serious and believable.
"I yahm cartographer..." he started, trailing off briefly as he tried to think of a proper reason she might not scold him for. "...I vant ree-son to vander. I like nature and sea. I like to make maps. Givf excoose to go in pack land and draw, and sometimes meet people. Maybe I find place to stay. I havf no luck yet. I vill not go back to Russia." He shrugged.
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500+
"Please, you must tell me more about myself," the woad female remarked wryly. One of the things that irritated her most was when wolves like him presumed to know everything, especially about her. About who she was. About what she did. Modesty kept her silent, but belligerence bristled in her mane. She was shy but not outspoken. Such dichotomies laced her personality mercilessly. The white orbs regarded the male, flickering with white-hot tongues of a wild tranquility. "Perhaps you will better understand when you’re older. Some things only come with age and wisdom," she sighed with resignation. The woad-marked female was not going to waste time trying to make someone understand when he did not want to.
"For one who claims to listen, you do not seem to be hearing," she said quietly. She lifted her maw to the heavens, closing her eyes as she slowly swept the vast world and listened. She heard the song of the world, stronger to her now than it was when the heavens didn’t weep. Sighing, she turned back to the male, opening her eyes white as snow. "I’m listening, and the world seems to be singing a different song." But she doubted that he would hear the same song....
"Yes, you did tell me that three times, but that is not what I was asking. Once again, you have failed to listen, cartographer." She watched him sidelong as she reached up to stroke the pied Raven’s throat. Then her full attention was on the bird as she was silent, and she wondered to herself the implications of this Dream. "He is no demon," she murmured quietly, searching his black eye with her questioning white gaze. She had often thought that he might be, for it was too much of a coincidence that the bird’s markings were the same as her father’s, who no doubt hunted her even at that moment. But, despite her own personal demons, the Raven Dream had brought her no ill fortune thus far, and she felt no ill omen would come from the bird. Even as she peered into the bird’s soul, there was nothing of darkness that she could find there. Content, she turned back to the Russian. "If the Raven bothers you so greatly, he need not be in such proximity." And she sent the large creature into the sky with a powerful thrust of her arm, the spear piercing the sky as the form of the bird rapidly dissipated into the white, snowing world. But he was never far from her side. The song of the spear burst forth with that single movement, and she was silent as she regained herself, breathless for its beauty.
The woad warrior watched the place where the Raven once was before returning her attention to Nikolai. She wondered why he would not return to his homeland, but she did not ask. She nodded imperceptibly in agreement to the statement. She could not return to Caledonia either, for her father, the crow wolf, would find her, and he had something worse than death on his mind. If he discovered that her body had already been taken once by another male, she did not know what would happen. A slight shiver of fear ran down her spine, but it was easily dismissible, for the world had grown cold. There was very little that the she-wolf feared, but the crow wolf was no ordinary creature. The black female looked up at the male. "Dahlia de Mai is welcoming new members. She is short of males. If you are no longer wandering, creating maps for the world, perhaps you can find a place here."
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Nikolai didn't appreciate sarcasm, as sarcastic a creature as he was. He didn't like being belittled or misunderstood; most of what he said was serious talk, with sarcastic undertones. When she asked him to tell her more about herself, he gave her a disgruntled but apathetic look, arms folded and scowl evident. He said nothing, and she continued about age, something like that. He didn't much care for the wisdom of his elders, didn't much care for experiences of all kinds. He had been halfway across the world. Nikolai had found enough experiences to last him a lifetime, or so he believed. He still did not reply when she spoke about listening, about the world singing songs, and his look of apathy did not shift as he glared at her. Simply put, he cared very little for what she was saying, though refraining from speaking against the last bit because he simply had no idea what she meant, and didn't care enough to actually ask. They were two completely polar opposite personalities, clashing and neither side was particularly winning over the other.
The Russian's dark eyes did flick up to attention when the ugly rat-bird was suddenly dismissed and vanished out of his sight. Nikolai was not quite relieved, so much as he was thankful to have the bird's stare finally absent. He hated things staring at him. It was just one of those little quirks he had, he supposed. The wolf did notice her little daze when the bird beat its wings and departed against the wind, but still, he said nothing. She could have an entire conversation with herself if she wanted. It wasn't really necessary for him to say much of anything, so he decided to keep his speaking to a minimum from then on. Perhaps then, she'd get bored and leave, or he could sneak away when she was too busy blabbing.
"No," he replied to the statement about the pack. "I do not belongk een pack. Better ovf alone."
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Sorry for the wait~ And I can’t remember where they are, so I’ll place them somewhere near Oberon’s Spring
500+
The dual-eyed Russian had also observed the pied Raven as it disappeared into the snow filled world. Yet, his gaze, she thought, was much different than her own, for while his foul mood seemed to lessen with the absence of the Dream, though it was not nearly close to being absent. The woad-marked warrior wondered whether it would ever be cleared away, whether there was an approachable demeanor beneath that mistrusting exterior. Perhaps it was merely who he was, or perhaps she had merely brought a fouler mood upon him. The male was silent as she spoke, and she knew that she was not fulfilling the entertaining potential in his standards, though it did not bother her much. They were both different personalities, and nothing at this time was going to change that. And she knew it.
"I used to think that once," the female murmured softly. "But that lupine nature moved me to seek company. Yet even now I spend my time alone." The white orbs regarded the strange Russian before her. It was very apparent that their leisurely debates were going nowhere—it was a stalemate, and different tactics would have to be used. As a warrior, she knew when to change her course of action. Perhaps she should have done so many minutes ago, but that was beside the point. This was, after all, not a life and death situation as war was. With a resolute sigh, the woad-marked female lifted the spear up once before plunging into the earth. When her grip was released, the weapon stood on its own with only the feather dancing in the breeze. The white orbs regarded the spear momentarily before she turned them upon the younger male.
"Come." It was a command most definitely, but somehow it was given in the most gentlest of ways, and while it required adherence, it did not seem as if it did. A light, non-threatening smile flickered over her maw. He could leave his things with her spear if he wished, but she would not require it. These were not his lands, after all. "Let me show you something." She did not wait for the male to respond before she turned. She had decided that a change of scenery might be helpful, and as he claimed to love nature as she did, she suspected that the beauty of the location would not be lost upon him. He was already within the boundaries of the pack, and so she found that there would be no harm if he stayed a little longer.
They were not far from Oberon’s spring, but they were not particularly near. So, once within the cover of the trees, for she was naturally a timid creature, she took the time to shift, for she believed that it would be faster to travel in lupus form. The change was easier and quicker than it had been those months ago when she had first learned that she had such an ability. Once the change was complete, she released a single, labored breath before rising from the snow. Cwmfen counted on the other’s curiosity to keep him from running off, and the white orbs quickly scanned the surroundings to make sure he was still there. If not...well, she was a warrior, after all. He wouldn’t be too hard to run down.
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I have replied to this twice. I hope this post stays.
He rolled her eyes when she compared herself to his situation--bah, she didn't know what it was like, she was another pack maggot. Those pack folk didn't know true adventure in the world. They hadn't seen all the sights he had, they only saw as far as their packlands and some general exploration outside of them. This Cwmfen and her silly bird hadn't been to Russia, hadn't seen the rolling green hills of Europe or felt the bracing waves of the Mediterranean against the boatside. He didn't understand the appeal in pack life or why so many chose to do it--Nikolai was perfectly self-sufficient. He could handle himself, catch his own food, make his maps. Companionship? He was a year old. He'd been on his own without companionship for more than a few months. Nothing like that could stop him now.
Nikolai jumped mildly at the sudden action of thrusting the spear into the cold, hard earth they stood on. He gave her a questioning, duel-colored glance soon thereafter, but she had already began to move away. Show him something, she'd muttered. He sighed. He just wanted to watch the ocean and finish his map... regardless, the girl was already gone, shifted to four feet and flashed away. How he hated that limited, four-legged form. To keep up, though, he did shift to the lower form and follow along like some sort of rebellious and angry cartographer duckling, giving her a skeptical look when she had stopped to turn and look at him. "Vhere are we goingk," he muttered darkly, unimpressed and apathetic.
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