The days were colder, the nights felt longer.



She was nowhere nearer to any answers of anything. One, was it two?, wolves had called her Kite, but that answered nothing for her, either. In her tiredness, in her exasperation, in her hunger and every other miserable thing she endured, Nightingale could not summon even the most recent of memories. Not of Inna, not of the gray (had she been gray?) woman with children, not of anything.



Nightingale wondered if she ought to have left at all.


It was about the time she walked alongside a Creek that she nearly gave up on everything, until the very thought of the word Creek seemed to illicit a memory of a place. Was it identical? Could she conjure up that place? Was this it? Nightingale continued to chant the word within her head, her exhausted eyes lighting up with the thought that she might know something, that this might be a place of her dreamworld. It could be real, could it not? Nightingale cared not if it was a delusion; she let herself believe, because she had nothing else.



Creek. Creek. Creek. Yes, she talked to herself. Maybe it would help her remember. The rocks. A den. I grew up here in a voice that was not her own, but not one she recognized. A voice of dreams.

Nightingale moved and her mind continued to bombinate. It was like walking with a veil over ones eyes, her state. But when a voice spoke, Nightingale stopped short and turned, her muzzle very much so the accusatory point of a finger, her eyes a glowering, haunted, screaming you!!!


That lasted all of ten seconds. An eternity, for her, stuck in her own mind and body, possessed by knowing she was both so close and yet so far to s o m e t h i n g! Creek was right. She thought the word in her head over and over. Yes, creek was indeed right. But this place was wrong. Not the place she... what? Certainly she knew no place, not in the literal sense of knowing. Nightingale was aware she could have never been here before. Without a doubt this creek here was no place she knew. It was the word. The word Creek evoked something in her, but that something could hardly be called a memory.


Nightingale nearly begrudged the other for interrupting her reverie. She might have figured something out here. The tawny she wolf felt she had been close... who knew if she could have gotten closer? But the loner checked herself. Her head hurt, and she was nothing but lost. The others words echoed in her head. He had been being kind. The songbirds ruffled feathers settled, and she softened. I'm a bit lost. In thought and place, She answered. The wolf had not even noticed his stammer. But she asked too out of kindness, wondering if his own asking might have been a personal cry for help. Probably not, but Nightingale had a bigger heart than she was aware of, and she did enjoy helping others. Yourself?


She did not yet look him over, did not yet take all of him in. Nightingale was coming back to reality, stepping out of the dream. Noticing shapes and textures and colors was a slow process in the moment; everything seemed to be a blur, the past few days. As though she slept even still.

His stammering caused Nightingale to now berate herself. Look at what you've done! Frightened him, made him nervous, something... what is wrong with you??? So many things... And such a mental tangent went on. Had it been her look? Gosh, I'm sorry about... that look... I was just in the zone with my thoughts, you ever get like that???? I didn't... I didn't mean that look, whatever it was, so please don't be afraid of me. Not that I'm saying you're afraid of me, Nightingale blanched herself, withdrawing into herself. How unfortunate she was not a turtle with their armor and their ability to shrink into it! But she was damn well trying. Why would she make obvious his nervousness? Anyway I didn't mean to insinuate that you weren't okay, you look totally fine, maybe a little hungry, but then so did she. The she-wolf was lankier than normal due to her time as a lone wolf, but at the very least skin did not hang from her bones.


Are you a scout? You scouting around? Nightingale would do damn well anything to not make him so nervous. Scouts are cool. It'd be a cool name. Scout. Was she revealing she was nervous that she had made him nervous and that his nervousness would never end because she had caused it? Yoooooooouuuu moron! The tawny wolf laughed and then grit her teeth, saying through them, 'm gonna shut up now... That seemed like the best course of action. But then she piped up, I can, you know, go, if you want.

Nightingale listened to him with apt interest, ears pressed forward but not in a manner that insinuated aggression. Her tail swayed, the tip of it twitching; she wanted to give off the fact that she wasn't, well, a horrible wolf or something. These anxious reactions came easily enough, but at the least it could make her appear gentler depending on any others perspective. On the other hand, it could just make her look strange. Nightingale meant well but always managed to botch things up; she hoped not in this case. How she hated the idea of upsetting anyone! Her stomach sank at the idea... but then, there was his voice again!



It took a minute, but she got it. He was. He was scouting? And then, fish. He was scouting, and his name was Fish? Or... or was he here to fish...? You like fish? She tried, her tail waving. They're one of my favorite snacks, she offered. And then it hit her. What if his name was Fish? Did she just insinuate that she was a cannibal who liked to eat other wolves. No, you like to eat fish! If his names fish, you've made things weirder than they already are. Nightingale tried to act normal, but didn't come nearer yet, not wanting to spook him. An idea struck her, and then: My names Nightingale, by the way! Whats yours?


Perfect. The first decent thought she'd had all day, she imagined. And one that would make him realize that if his name was fish, she hadn't known, she'd misinterpreted; he was a scout after all, a scout named fish. Offhandedly she thought that Fish would be a cool name, too... but could not help but hope she didn't tell him that what he was named for was a favorite snack of hers.

She could not help but pray. She knew the uselessness of it, at least for herself; she had prayed daily for her memory back in the months passed the attack, but it was all for naught. Nothing came to her, nothing but dreams... dreams she now followed [she was unaware thus far that they had led her here... she would keep going, even still, if she felt she had done what she could however]. Please, don't let him think for even a second I just said that I love to eat Fish, which is his name, which really I do love but come on, time and place! Not here! This kids totally going to think I'm some closet cannibal or something implying I want to eat him! What the heck! I do not want that! I don't know how wolves taste, and I don't want to know! Hannibal Nightingale watched him, though her eyes drifted now and again. He began to introduce himself and...

It took him a minute, but the relief was instant. Du- was how it started. Duh didn't matter, D mattered, that beautiful, brilliant letter that sounded nothing like F—but then she was about to ask, your name is duh? You must have a sassy mama, that's cool, but I am the opposite of sassy, I pretty much don't talk to strangers... well, I guess I kind of am better at it now, but being alone makes me want to talk to strangers... because I'm so lonely... [Nightingale cat shopped every day, but no cat wanted her.]

But! He clarified. In one fell swoop he said his name, and her tail waved behind her. Duck. You don't walk like a duck, or talk like a duck, she quipped, tail waving behind her, But you're named like one! She started laughing, finding herself hilarious when the reality was it wasn't that funny. She always had herself to laugh at her corny, terrible jokes. Teary-eyed and nearly drunk off laughter, she said excitedly, We're both named after birds! Birdsq-waaaaa, Nightingale shimmied to the left, and her ear twitched. Want help fishing?

At last, the motormouth, nervous and anxious herself in this new company, quieted.