Set in The Sugarwoods. Open to anyone.
[html] Here he was again, on this Gods forsaken strip of land with nothing but a half empty bottle of dry Canadian whiskey to his name. He never put a name to the foul liquid, merely relished in the relief it brought with the inevitable inebriation. It lifted him to a different place, and offered him a few moments of solace that he would not otherwise find in this world, and gave him an excuse to be a real bastard, not just by title alone. There had been a few brave souls who tried to approached the estranged man, but he waved them away with a threatening sweep of the bottle, growling obscenities that would make any hardened sailor cringe. He suffered from no ill wounds, nor did he find himself starving to death. Despite his addiction, he minded himself enough to hunt, and to keep himself nourished so that his miserable life could continue suckling from the hard liquor that was once readily supplied. The strangers would often try again, but ultimately failed. He was a man who wanted no help. He had conned the unconnable into believing he deserved this, every single bit of it. Besides, trust brought nothing but pain in the end, so he was better off without the assistance of some noble stranger.
He drifted drunkenly through the woodland, using his free hand to catch himself on the trunks of trees, leaning and swaying more than the windswept branches above. Locke let his eyes drift upward, to the gray skies, and frowned at the snow that made a brief appearance as the wind cut another swath through the leaves. The weather was wholly unbearable this time of year, made worse by his lack of resources, or gang to keep him company. Beneath the haze that the alcohol created for him, he felt the bitter sting of loneliness; he missed his wife, his gang, and in this particular moment, Chains. What he wouldn't give for the conniving, vile old man's advice right now. Even if it ended in a swift beating. Chains never approved of copious consumption of alcohol without proper reason. Now, a proper reason would be celebration, or perhaps a fond farewell to a friend. This moping, self-pitied state he was in was not proper; it wasn't even sane.
Locke steadied himself against the maple. He stared off into the snowy woods for a moment, before deciding against going any further. He slid down the trunk of the tree and settled himself between the roots. He leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to the silence with all the attention of a delinquent at church. No, Locke's mind was elsewhere, in an entirely different time and place. The surroundings morphed and changed into the caverns that the gang called home. One alcove in particular stood out from the rest. Strewn about the floor in a semi organized manner were animal skins, arranged individually for each soul that called it their own. Two were closer together than the rest; where the twins slept at night. Another was off near the fire: Seles' bed. He remembered them all as children, himself included, huddled by the fire on the colder nights, and listening intently to Chains as he went over another lesson; as he worked tirelessly over his masterpiece. As he sculpted and painted them with the finesse of an expert thiefmaker.
His gray eyes snapped open, and his gaze met with the monochrome of the winter wood once more. His head swam, and he placed his forehead in his hands, muttering something incoherent. He stared down at the disturbed snow, wishing it would all just go away. [/html]
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PM me if I got some details wrong; I was primarily basing his appearance on what you have in his profile description, and I was assuming that the bottle was somewhere in his proximity. 
The sap from the consistent maples in the region had long since ceased their slow descending crawl down the base of rough barked trees, perhaps even frozen in place by the chill of the winter that was blessed upon the land. The very trees themselves were stripped with their fiery extensions, and only the gnarled, twisted limbs of the trees raised their branches to the sky, as if cursing the very winter of robbing them of their flourishing. Wanderlust for the Ayastigi seemed to be never enough, and the itch was far more apparent now than when she had originally been out living the rogue’s lifestyle in the wild. As if her adventures out of AniWaya lands hadn’t been enough to quench her satisfaction, she just had to keep going to pursue the wonder, knowledge, and experience that the world offered. Even at the dismay and frowning of Dawali seeing her run off yet again, she simply couldn’t contain herself. Ah, just blame it on the Spirit Guide, then, right? Jaya always had reason to lift up and soar somewhere else on a whim, and her equine, Aidan, was a bit antsy himself to linger in one place for too long.
There had been little detail behind the war that was brewing between the wolves and coyotes, so the Ayastigi made sure to drift through the regions where cover was granted and could be used to her benefit, and it was an overall grand idea all around to not be seen by one of the warring packs. First, for the sake of her own protection and safety, and second, Dawali would not be too thrilled to hear that not only did she run off again on adventures that would lead to nowhere, but also be consulting with one of the warring packs and be brought into the middle of it. As far as anyone knew (and to her knowledge), AniWaya had been on mutual terms with Inferni. That was the coyote clan, and from their infamous rumors and speculations, most didn’t particularly trust them. The Amara was no fool to ruin a treaty that her father had especially made, thus the reason why her prowling was kept secretive, stealth, and under as much cover as possible throughout these regions.
She had left her equine near a somewhat open clearing, to where he could attempt to graze at any vegetation beneath snow and ice. Jaya had been overhead, hopping from branch to branch, and soaring throughout the bare canopies of the trees. The tools to which the humans had left behind in their process of extracting maple syrup from these very lands were buried in ruins beneath the snow, and occasionally she would kneel down to inspect a particular tool. What was left might have been in ruins, but to herself, it was a gold mine of reusable resources. With her bow and arrows strapped to her back, she proceeded to pick through the debris here and there, collecting some little trinket of items she found could be of use in a wapiti elk hide sack that hung from her shoulder.
It wouldn’t be until rounding a bout of trees, that a peculiar smell filled her nose and make her muzzle crinkle. It was a smell that was just… pungent in nature. It was a tell-tale smell, however, one that was slightly distinctive from the bottles that she had collected for her cabin. Although this had a considerable reek to it, and lo and behold as she rounded the next tree, there had been an individual slumped against a hard barked maple. He was a mottled gray as it appeared, wearing blue jeans, a tattered wife beater, and something of a canvas jacket. The use of clothes never really struck her as something to catch onto, but these ones upon the male seemed to be worn out a little more than they should have. There were peculiar colors and designs on his jacket and bandana that caught her interest, and seemed to give him a little color. His head was in his hands, and it was obvious to the Ayastigi that this fellow might have had quite a good night (or quite a good couple days?) worth of drink in him.
She was a small thing, but not afraid to be a bigger individual than she was, as she stood hovering above right next to him as if she had known him well. His appearance did look indeed pathetic in this state, which caused her to spread her trademark smirk, but of course Asha could never be that rude. Jaya had perched himself upon a branch above them, his scrutinizing gaze staring hard at the male against the tree. The hawk brooded, giving an apprehensive sort of whistle. “Man, that’s got to be some pretty kickin’ stuff you have there. Y'think I could get a little taste?” Asha’s voice was full of amusement, as she kicked the half empty bottle of whisky by his side.
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