Finding a perhaps less difficult pass back along the mountains, Mojave ventured off in other directions as the days grew longer.  It was a gradual sort of thing with so many things to take in, so many faces to greet.  She didn't know what she was doing or where she was going to be truly honest.  The fact that she had been bouncing back and forth between the mountainside and the forests didn't say a lot to her, expect that maybe she was a creature of routine.


But as it were, her nomadic ways kicked in and she had set off again, regardless of whether or not she was with someone or alone.  She hadn't seen hide nor hair of Deacon for a few days, but that hardly meant anything.  He had things to do and places to check out too, and her return trips to the shore of the lake in the mountains hadn't turned up anything much either.


And so, the honey-kissed Ostrega had ventured southward, aimless like a broken compass as she wove her way through the crevasses and cracks.  Twice she had almost gone off the edge of a cliff none too sturdy to be holding up a wolf, and the third time she had narrowly missed going down with the proverbial ship for real.  That had been enough to drive her further down the slope, collywobbles and all.  Eyeing the ridges above her, she wondered what would stop them from coming down on her now.


"Probably nothing," she commented to herself, unaware that she spoke her thoughts aloud.

She moved forward carefully, though it was quick to fade away as her confidence built steadily. Here the stones were more sturdy and she felt less prone to slipping or sliding to some inevitable end from the incline. Yet it was only minutes into her continued travel that Mojave was left with a feeling that unnerved her. It took her far too long to realize what that feeling was, but when it came upon her it was swift and like a dagger. There were eyes upon her and carefully, discretely, she cast her own gold-eyed gaze to the landscape around her as she moved. But nothing jumped at her, nothing revealed itself. It was as though there was some mysterious secret lurking in the woods that she was still out of. Hadn't someone said that the forests were full of things of all sorts? Good and bad?


She shook the thought of this away mentally; it was nonsense. If someone else was there, if they were really and truly there, she felt that they would have approached her now. But she didn't look behind her, didn't see the inky shadow that trailed after her in her steady path over and around and through the mountains she had been venturing along for days.


It was only when that feeling persisted well into a smattering of moments after she thought she had quelled it that she came to a slower trot. This was in part to the feeling and part to cross over a large piece of granite that seemed less than trustworthy; as she crossed over a fissure in the stone she could not help but cast a glance backward. And that was when she saw it — darkness moving from behind. It was enough for her to send herself pulling an one-eighty, whirling around all teeth and show to ward her pursuer off even though Mojave was far in a position to defend herself.

Once she had spun and he had halted away from her, she found herself surprised. Far too used to the sight of others charging her for some rough play, she only found that her anger crested and plateaued off somewhere. He was nothing more than an inky, lanky smudge that stood out just as much as she did from the stone. If she had to guess, he probably wasn't any younger or older than she was so the jury was out as to why he was following her around. Instead of something sly and creepy sliding around on his features, she found neutrality in the distance between them. It prompted her to drop the charade of being a threat, though she still felt hotness under the proverbial collar for being followed.


"Why are you following me?" she asked, sounding far more authority-like than she thought she could muster. A multitude of other questions were willing to linger on her tongue, but she kept them at bay from slipping out between her pale lips. She only hoped that he would prove not to be a mute sort or out to play tricks on her; Mojave was not against fleeing from anyone, even if they were no more a youth than she. And there was quite no telling how things would go, as her own eyes would not leave the darkness of his face, nor those stony eyes that watched her back so crisply.

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Luckily for the long-legged boy, her aggression did not pursue any further. She seemed perplexed by his calm demeanor, but once she realized that he was no threat to her, she relaxed considerably. The russet-coloured female was not much older than he was and did not belong to one of the nearby packs, as he coat was void of any other scents (aside from the faint scent of Deacon). His curiosity burned at the thought of his brother – where had she seen him? Had he found a new pack to call home, or was he living as a loner like this girl? Although he preferred solitude, his family was his family, and Greer missed his brother’s presence in Willow Ridge. Things did not feel right… there was something missing, leaving the slender boy feeling out of place.

His thoughts were interrupted by her question, which prompted a roll of his shoulders as the words dripped from her mouth. There was no reason for his pursuit; he had wanted to explore more of the land outside of the Ridge, and following her had been something to pass the time. So, he answered honestly, his response short and to the point: “Bored.” He could not muster a better explanation, nor did he want to. Greer preferred speaking as little as possible – mostly because his speech was not very good – and did not want to stretch out his reasoning if he did not need to. 

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