Nightingale Palisade Yesterday was hard on all of us

The songbird had her burdens and her worries, but released them now. She was freest when she ran. There was a point when the songbird did not desire that freedom, but that was a time she could not recall. A time when she had found love, and desired to stay. But in not knowing of those times, she could not imagine the tether to any but pack, and for the pack she would wander and do what she could. The Caldera wanted to clip her wings—understandably, given the bear incident, but!!!—and she could not stand it for very long. Here she was, now. Nothing bad, she hoped, would come of her escape from there. Escape was perhaps too extreme a word, but it fit.

The breathless songbird smirked as the other responded gamely. Her ears swiveled forward as she watched and listened, and nodded in exuberant, ecstatic approval.  Right! She responded, grinning ear to ear. Another perfect distraction; she had forgotten everything, really, but now she could think that in earnest. Even all she remembered was released for the moment, and the songbird felt an immense amount of pressure off of her shoulders in releasing her will—

As he moved forward, a veritable knight with his jousting stick, Nightingale surged after him willfully. His bellow was answered by a resounding  BOO!!! That echoed throughout the little clearing they had found. She was laughing too hard to be truly frightening to the 'yotes, but they were still wary of the teeth she revealed in the cackle, her tail beating at her sides now. As they scattered, Nightingale bounded after them to nip at their heels.  This is ours now! Came her decree to the coyotes, who looked at her and yipped shrilly. The songbird answered in kind, pausing only when she looked at one with a single eye, an eye that in this light, looked green... hauntingly familiar... but the creature bolted at her stare, and Nightingale came to, giving very little chase to it and laughing again.

She turned 'round and trotted excitedly to the large wolf, panting from the good, fun effort that she had put in. Her tail waved freely, and Nightingale gestured grandly toward their quarry.  After you, defender of the... thing... She didn't know the specific name of it, it didn't come right to mind, but it looked and smelled better than any prey she had seen in a while. The tawny wolf looked back to the other, smiling at their little victory, not wise at all to the fact that she was—or had been—admired by the other. The stranger before her was very grand in appearance, but the she-wolf was committed to a man that did not exist, a man she would search the ends of the earth for before she gave her heart elsewhere. There was, of course, no denying that this stranger was handsome; she could not, in appearance, detect his age, and so he was as good as an equal to the agouti woman who now moved beside him, to join him.

The smaller beasts shrieked and split from the carcass, yipping and protesting loudly. In his mind, Aleksei heard them crying out but finders keepers. It was his imagination that gave them all comically nasally voices, which only pushed him to find the situation all the more hilarious and enjoyable. It seemed that his companion found it equally exciting. He heard own barking, her laughter and the sound of her darting after scampering coyotes that zipped around like disturbed and angry little flies.

Aleksei himself singled out those that tried to sneak back to the carcass with little skittering steps, leaping between the small figures with various whoops and hoots. "Ha-ha! You'll never beat us!" Whatever it was that the two wolves (and the various scavengers) had found, the adolescent couldn't help the pool of saliva that was beginning to flood his mouth, spraying spittle with each sharp bark. It was a warm mess of flesh and blood that engulfed him fully, completely undisturbed ... well, save for that dusty canid scent it seemed all coyotes shared.

Regardless, the agouti Hearthwood wolf grinned toothily, salmon-hued tongue lolling from the side of his mouth making him look far more goofy than intimidating. "Run, run!" He bounced around, as if running on linoleum, and laughed breathlessly. This freedom, this moment of utter pleasure, was almost addictive. Part of him wished he never had to stop, that pack duties wouldn't come wheeling around to kick him firmly and squarely in the rump.

Finally, standing breathless, he beamed at his fellow coyote harasser and panted. He had certainly spent a lot of energy, bounding around like a rabbit. "I can't believe that was so fun," he practically chirped, tail once again wagging. Alek nodded, trotting to the carcass with a triumphant chuff. If they couldn't defend it, maybe they just didn't deserve to have something that smelt so good. "Hey, what do you think it is? It doesn't look like any kinda deer that I've seen." Curiously, the male nosed it ... and then promptly snatched a slither of meat away from the carcass, testing it on his tongue. Gods be good, it was tasty. "S'good!" He shoved his snoot right into the job at hand. It really was nice.

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying

In no time at all, the duo managed to peel the wily coyotes away from what was now their dinner. Or lunch. Or late night snack. The fog and the chill made it hard to detect a legitimate hour, and she could scarcely see a shadow in the shroud. The figures of the coyotes faded into nothingness as they darted off, disappointed and offended all at once. Her jaws closed shut with an audible click, her own goop of saliva bursting in the process. She hmph'd at the retreated backsides of the critters before she returned her attentions to the other.

His whooping and cajoling were two things she already liked about the male; he knew how to have fun, to be free! He accepted the proposition of it wordlessly, and it endeared her to him. Nightingale had already decided he was her friend, whether he liked it or not. His chirping was met with a wag of her own thickly furred plume, and she smirked. Fun could be my middle name, she said with a grin, and laughed. The funny part of it was that it truly could be, and she'd be nonethewiser. She had only been given the name Nightingale back; she hadn't thought to ask of others, if others were even a thing. As he went to take a bite of the thing, Nightingale observed him. She knew it wasn't poisonous or anything as the coyotes were perfectly fine, so she was alright with his sampling of it.

And he seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. Nightingale hustled beside him, not very mindful of personal space as she began to take some hearty chomps of the meat herself. She peeled a small chunk away with her incisors and gobbled it down, a positively delighted look appearing upon her face. Blood matted her lips, and the songbird whispered, Woahhh, before turning back to it and taking another bite. That was not telling at all, so she withdrew and looked to him and said, I'm not sure. The great horned thing, I will call it. And its true; its antlers were greater than the tines of a buck. Were those antlers? Were those horns...? She moved around to observe them, licking at the felt tip. The texture was similar to the base of bucks antlers but... different, too, kind of like... moss. She looked to him, head tilted.

He pulled and tugged at the carcass, wolfing back -- ha ha, get it? -- another chunk of flesh and muscle. It didn't matter what slipped down his gullet, it was all edible (as far as he was aware) and so he would take his fill. Maybe he looked greedy. Hell, perhaps he was destined to be a bit chubby! But his father had always said "now, son, when the snows fall you must always take advantage of food; it's a time of lesser supplies". He had tucked that slip of information away, in a folder in his mind promptly titled REMEMBER THIS, or perhaps even just IMPORTANT! After all, LIFE LESSONS YOUR FATHER TAUGHT YOU WERE YOU WERE A KID was just too much of a mouthful.

She seemed to agree with his opinion that this big deer-like thing was good, and began her own feasting. It pleased him, really, though his skin prickled unexpectedly at her sudden close proximity. He stole a glance to her, very much at his side -- he could practically feel her fur brush against his own --, and felt his throat tighten just as he swallowed his mouthful of meat. He coughed awkwardly, wheezing for a brief moment ... oh dear, so much for trying to keep his cool. Clearing his throat and throwing his head back to swallow air, Alek let out a satisfied whew when the flesh slid down into his belly.

"The great horned thing, I will call it."

Chuckle, chuckle. He stepped back himself to inspect the carcass himself, licking his bloodied chops with a thoughtful hum. "Great horned thing fits it ... look at those hooves!" Only just noticing the enormous stompers, Alek's mouth dropped open a fraction. "It could probably kill me by just stepping on me," he murmured thoughtfully, "so lucky us it's already dead!" Wandering around the (enormous) carcass, he pulled up to the antlers too, nudging the head of the great big thing. "So, if this thing's a Great Horned Thing ... what do you go by? I mean, I'm Alek." Reaching forward, the Hearthwood wolf began chewing on the felt-like protrusions, a favourite pass time of his. Maybe he should try and drag one home ...

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying

At his coughing fit, she withdrew and looked at him with concern. Nightingale was no medic but there was no way she would let him choke to death. She'd try her hand at it for his sake. No way in hell was her newest friend going to die, not on her watch! But when he managed to get it all down, Nightingale turned back and resumed carnage. Stripping away the fur from the meaty bits she could eat, she chomped away happily at it 'til her curiosity had her moving toward the antlers.

The songbird continued her gentle gnawing, her bite very much so controlled as she teethed at it. As he mentioned the feet, she looked to the cloven-footed thing. Massive; much more massive than that of what must be their cousin due to the shape. They were the wolves to the coyotes called deer. At his revelation she blinked and looked again, and then nodded; evidently she agreed. Brt rt hrs— she paused, withdrawing from the antler she had spoken past, and began again: Bet it has a mighty kick! Her eyes widened at the thought. The kick of any member of a herd they chased could be fatal if it hit the head. But this beast could probably break a leg with a kick, never mind kick-you-dead in the head! She grimaced. She again had to agree; lucky them, indeed. They had found a free, warm meal that would have taken a lot of work to put down. Two wolves definitely could not have done it in a day.

Also The Great Horned Thing, believe it or not, she responded with a snicker. Some call me the great furry thing... but most call me Nightingale. Her tail waved and she joined him in his gnawing, this time doing so spiritedly. She had forgotten her manners, and she withdrew sharply: Nice t'meetya, Alek! And fell back to the mind-numbing, pleasant task.

om love dat pic

wehwehweh this isn't as good as the post i deleted ;;.

Where she nibbled almost politely (at first), Alek threw himself into the task at hand with great intent to chew the living daylights out of it. He gnawed carelessly, dragging his teeth along the velvety point of the antler. Krr, krr. White marks were etched into the surface as he wore away the top layers without much effort. It was all in good fun. Krr, krr. Besides, the adolescent liked to think it kept his labial teeth nice and sharp, and, as a pup, it had kept him from getting bored on especially dull days.

He guffawed at her comment that her name was also 'The Great Horned Thing', chortling into the antler with a great deal of amusement. He certainly liked her company, more so than anyone else he had ever met, and wondered for a moment why that was ... but he was dragged back to reality as she gave her name; Nightingale. It was such a lovely, pretty name. God, Aleksei, you nerd. "Like the bird?," he questioned, wincing immediately with regret. Well, that was a stupid comment to come out with, wasn't it? Of course she was named for the bird.

His tail began to wag as he offered her a smile, stepping back from the antler to allow the songbird wolf the freedom to go all out on chomping and testing her teeth on the fallen beast's veritable crown. "So, uh, where d'you live? Close to here, or ...?" Please say yes, please say yes. Alek trotted around the carcass, taking up his place at the exposed flesh of the belly and tucked into it once more, peeling flesh from the bone and snapping it back whole. He would fill his belly as much as possible, knowing it would keep him going for days.

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying

His query was an amusing one. Something she would probably ask, too. And so to make him not feel so badly, the songbird shook her head. No; for a breeze in the night, but opposite, and without the. Nightingale. She grinned, ears twitching atop her head. His name would not be so difficult to remember, though his own individual scent would be the best thing she could remember by. He smelled of the untamed wild, a place faraway from here... and yet, at the same time, familiar. Pines and recent snowfall and a dull, empty scent, too, that had a name but that she could not think of. The empty scent was truly a full one; there was no describing it properly, except in knowing that it was there and everywhere, and could not be identified in passing. Distinguishable but untrackable. Water, perhaps. A hint of it.

His next question was answered with a tilt of her head and then, she nodded. Hearthwood River, it's called, she informed, watching him dig into the meal again. She half wanted to do so herself, but she was very much so content in pulling at the velvety antlers, leaving slight grooves in them. These were undoubtedly the best antlers she'd ever chewed upon; and she decided she wanted more of them, that she might even collect them to do this mind-numbing task of chewing them. It was stimulating and yet the entire opposite simultaneously; her mind raced and slowed, a contradiction.

How about you? The songbird asked, now wanting to join him in the meal again. In Winter, she knew food was hard to come by; she had plans to bring this back to the pack, to assist with her newfound desire of becoming the packs hunter. Even if she could bring a sliver of it to cache, it would be enough. But in the meantime she would partake, playfully nipping him aside before shoving her muzzle into the same belly as him, nearly brushing noses with him as she pulled out the things liver, amazed the 'yotes had yet to get to this. The prized piece! And to obtain one as a lone—no, she was in a pack now. The songbird began to chew at it, a string of saliva oozing ever-downward until it broke entirely as she tossed her head upward and threw it in the air, bounding upward to catch it. Of course, now it was fair game for her companion, too; that had been the point of the ever-fair songbird, who would live and die by the rules of the wild but who displayed her heart nonetheless.

Whether or not she honestly meant that her name was, in fact, a reference to a midnight breeze didn't matter. What mattered was that Nightingale had made an attempt to ease his embarrassment, something he was grateful for. It showed in the twinkle of his eyes, a silent thanks given to this strange and wholly wonderful woman. Far too caught up in her personality, in the games they played, to check her scent for familiarity, or perhaps a sign of where she lived, Alek asked her in what he hoped had been a casual attempt at finding out more about his companion.

Hearthwood River.

He froze, eyes wide with surprise. A fat chunk of meat and muscle hung from his jaws, a bloody drool string glooping from his lips. His mind began to race with emotion as he tried to process this incredible information. Destiny. Fate. God's work. Whatever you wanted to call it, Aleksei was singing praises to all of them. He would regularly get to see Nightingale! The adolescent had never been as social as Orren, and never really made many friends with his fellow River wolves (especially considering his episodes outside of the Lore), but now ... things would be different.

Snapping out of his shocked induced trance by her nip -- and, once again, her close proximity --, the adolescent wolf's tail began to wag at hyper speed, the stupidest grin you ever did see spreading from ear to ear on his face. "Hearthwood River is my home too," he blurted, bouncing at her side like an excited puppy. It was like someone had thrown his favourite toy, an expression of pure enthusiasm etched into his features.

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying

There was no competition for the liver, which she chomped midair and swallowed {almost} whole, grinning widely. She was quite pleased at her success, even if the other hadn't put in any effort. The songbird watched him, noted the bloody-string that fell from his own jaw and nearly went for it herself. She was a wolf, after all. Other peoples saliva fascinated the lot of them for some unknowable reason, but Nightingale was weak to that pull! Still, he managed to speak in time to distract her from her next intent, and at his excitement, she grew excited. Particularly when he revealed why. She felt quite pleased with what he had said, and it showed; she bent in a playbow and yipped, springing upward to nip at him. She was not mindful of personal space; the songbird moved to sniff at him and, yes! There was that scent she was coming to know! A part of them both. Her tail waved rapidly, a hazard and quite near her friendshine's face as she sniffed at his tuckus before lunging away and grinning: it all checked out.

Let's tear this guy apart and bring some home then! She suggested, knowing it would be imossible to take the whole big thing of it. It was too massive and would take all energy to take it, even with the two of them. Better to take the good bits back with them. It'd be cool if we could find a whole herd of these guys. We have their scent. And it looks like they're close, given the fallen one... but the weather was too hard to really work with; the fog and the frozen earth made the world dryer and more difficult to suss things out. Maybe we could track them sometime? She suggested this with a tilt of her head, and then lurched near him playfully before falling upon the moose and tearing at a meaty thigh. Nightingale thought they might as well begin working on bringing some of it home, and began the process.

Nightingale dropped into a playful bow, and Alek reciprocated with a bow of his own. He gave a playful rumble, tail practically whipping the air. Mach speed one. She darted forward to nip at him playfully, and his paw came up in an almost feline motion, swatting the air with an excited 'boof'. Oh, he was over the moon! To find out that this energetic lady was part of his pack made this day a whole lot sweeter. She double checked, giving him a good sniffing, and he tried to do the same, positioning himself so that he curved around to reach her pelt to inhale her own scent. And there it was! That subtle smell of his parents' home -- his home.

It was in all the excitement that he forgot about personal space, too, and his nose accidentally bonked her temple whilst he turned himself 'round in a circle to face her once more. It seemed Alek didn't even realise what he had done with his fat snoot, and simply gave that goofy, wolfish grin. It wasn't the first time he'd offered it to Nightingale and now, with the knowledge she lived where he lived, he was certain it would not be the last.

He chuffed blithely at her words, bobbing his head in agreement. "You took the words out of my mouth," he responded, chartreuse eyes falling on the bloody massive herbivore. There was certainly enough to take back to the pack, without causing the coyotes (who Alek was sure were watching from the underbrush) too much belly aching. Who knew, perhaps someone in the River pack knew what this was and would be able to tell the two currently free-and-playful spirits just what they encountered, dead and ripe for the picking.

The woman sprang forward, and Alek sidled up to the other side of the thigh. "We can lead a hunt! 'The Fall of The Great Horned Things', led by Nightingale and Aleksei. That'll be some story, huh?" Without pausing to even breathe, he flung his jaws open and snapped them shut on the moose's haunch. He gave his head a shake, yanking flesh and fur side to side, in a feral tearing motion.

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying