Hush Meadow giiwanimo

All welcome, including sprees!

It was so... so green. Not the green he was used to, the yellowish, straw-like green which was often brittle under your toes, but a lush, vibrant green, a green which swallowed the eyes and made death seem forbidden. Ziigwan paced as if dreaming, the long blades and soft seed heads brushing against his legs. If only one could take back the circumstances of their birth, to request a different home and family. Though he was not naive enough to think that all who lived here were without trouble, it was difficult to believe such at this very moment, when the world hung in a state of serenity and beauty. If he had been born here, and Sakima had first drawn breath here, then everything would have been better. It was easy to blame life's hardships on circumstance over one's own choices.

Ziigwan didn't believe any of it for a moment, but it was a pleasant lie to spin.

Pressing on in silence, the wolf came to his goal - the peak of a particularly tall, alluring hill, one of many in this rolling meadow. Last time he had been unfamiliar with his environment, he had not yet seen his first year, and while he was secretly terrified by the prospect of starting again, he could not deny that there was a thrill in this exploration of the unknown. It was like the adventure he had been craving his entire life, all condensed into this moment.

Reaching the top, he paused, and after a moment's consideration lowered his rear to the ground. The wind blew gently through his fur as if he were made of nothing more than the grass on the hill. His silhouette was clear against the blue sky, probably visible from some distance, but it didn't matter - let the world see him, here, now, starting anew!

He would have lifted his head to sing if there had been anybody to listen, but he desired a chorus made of more than two - and the rest of his choir was many, many miles from here, further than his voice would travel.

 

As much as the shadow prince was happy about the addition of new blood in Willow Ridge, the excitement over the puppies had dulled for him. There was too much going on within the pack – especially with the unexpected birth of his older brother’s child. During all the hustle and bustle Greer had found himself adventuring past the borders more and more. Now that the weather had gotten better the little smudge was no longer concerned about getting lost, or stuck in a storm. With the sun hot on his back Greer pursued adventure: his long, deer-like legs carried him quickly through the willows and over the invisible border.

The trees became sparse as he continued forward, his silver robs fixated on the radiant green colour ahead. As much as the quiet boy was loyal to his family and pack, despite his preference to be alone, he craved adventure and the life of a loner. Although he would never admit it to his mother, or Castiel (who had recently returned to the Ridge), he was envious of Deacon’s departure from the pack. Greer was constantly torn between remaining a part of his mother’s pack, or exploring the rest of Relic Lore to find his own home. While he was incredibly good at stalking and scouting, as well as hunting, it was his lack of social and conversation skills that held him back. His broken, almost child-like speech made Greer wary around others, causing him to become a selective mute. He only spoke when he deemed it was necessary, and only in short bursts (as to not embarrass himself).

With the trees behind him, Greer’s dark body stood out against the lush, green foliage that engulfed the meadow. His fur quickly heated up once he was fully exposed to the sun, but not enough to make him uncomfortable. It was remarkable how different the area was from his home; it was far more inviting, yet oddly unsettling. It was so open… A grimace fell onto his maw as he realized how much he stood out, only increasing the feeling of discomfort. Pushing these feelings aside, Greer continued forward with his slender maw pointed upward to see if there were others lurking nearby. There many scents jumbled together – some that belonged to packs and some that had no affiliation. It was difficult to tell which scent trails were fresh and which were not.

The meadow was filled with rolling hills; it seemed as though the grass was never ending as it continued on into the distance. He continued forward, his curiosity overpowering the previous discomfort. There was so much to see, so much to explore… the frown that had made itself a home on his maw was quickly replaced with a lazy smile as his pale orbs scanned the landscape, trailing over the hills. With no particular destination in mind, he continued on.

For those precious moments Ziigwan was the lord of the land, higher than any other beast on the meadow save for the birds overhead. He had spent some time absorbed in a particularly lack, fluid flock as it danced past, but it was long gone by now, leaving only the tiny black specks of singular flyers. Maybe there was a metaphor to be found there.

With the world still, the only movement caused by the wind in the grass, a grounded black speck drew attention to itself like a flame in the dark. Ziigwan felt himself tense as he watched it from the lofty view of his hill. It was good to finally have confirmation of another of their kind, for he had smelled them on the wind but had yet to run into anyone. Despite Miskwaa's proclaimed intentions to join a pack, Ziigwan was hesitant, though he would follow her lead. As the black speck grew into a dot, and then a shape with identifiable limbs, he realised that it either hadn't noticed him or didn't care about his presence. To let it walk away, and grow into a speck again, would have passed the time, but he would have learned nothing to take to Miskwaa that evening.

You had to live on the edge a little. Once the other was within range - a sizeable beast, by all accounts - still beyond the bottom of Ziigwan's grassy rise, the grey wolf woofed down at it, the same sound he had often used to draw attention to himself when facing intruders on his old territory. The stillness of the day would let his soft alert carry to the black stranger.

There was a scent in the air not far from where the slender shadow was, but he paid no attention to it. He hoped that if he dipped his body closer to the ground and attempted to mask his coat in the grass that the loner would not notice/acknowledge him. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to actually have social skills, but then he realize how much he disliked conversing with others. It was just always so awkward and forced, and Greer never knew what to say. Others always looked at him with pity or amusement in their eyes when he spoke, as they did not understand his broken speech.  

However, it did not seem as though this particular loner was going to let him slip away so easily. A soft ‘woof’ came from the top of the hill that the silvery male had perched himself on, causing Greer’s thin legs to cease their movement. Turning his mercury gaze to the older male his brows narrowed instinctively as he woofed back his own greeting. The boy remained where he was – if was forced to converse with another, he was not going to be the one instigating it or approaching the other male. Nope, Greer was going to remain precisely where he was. Posing as a statue was something that the willowy male excelled at (and stalking, of course). 

engage staring contest

For a split second, Ziigwan doubted that his call would be acknowledged, and that the black beast would continue on as if a shadow. Uninterested in conflict and inherently distrustful of strangers, that would not have been an undesirable outcome. When the wolf stopped, Ziigwan imagined it was with a sigh (though he was too far to see or hear any such thing) or other reluctant action, though the cautious greeting was returned with little hesitation.

Ziigwan sat there, watching the other, unblinking, wondering if that was it. It was. His ears flicked back in agitation, though he did not otherwise move, unsure how to proceed. There had been no purpose to his interruption of the black wolf's flow, no grand question or burning desire for companionship. Two understated and straightforward acknowledgements of each other's existence had been exchanged, and that was all. Was it enough? Perhaps it would have been prudent to simply let that be it, an encounter neatly concluded, with no gains or losses on either side.

But he couldn't resist. He had thrown the first stone, so this was his responsibility, and besides - he wasn't about to leave this hill, not yet. This was just a passing distraction. Once a long few seconds had lapsed, orange eyes fixed on silver, he repeated the woof, and fell silent again, ears twisting forward in growing curiosity.

all the staring owo

This was … odd. Most strangers would have engaged further; this male was different. As much as it puzzled the silver-eyed boy, it also pleased him. Greer despised small talk; it was useless and unnecessary. He was not one to share personal information with others – they were not his family or his pack mates; therefore, they did not need to know anything about him. As a result of his broken speech Greer unwillingly gave away his name ninety-nine percent of the time during encounters with strangers, which was why he preferred to keep his lips drawn shut.

The stranger’s silence was welcome and he greeted it with his own. The silvery male had kept his gaze focused on Greer’s lanky body and only offered another small ‘woof’. If he was not going to speak, neither was the prince. This was precisely what he wanted, and never got – why would he ruin it? A single corner of his dark lips rose slightly as his curiosity spiked, his dark ears pressed forward as he allowed his mercury gaze to remain on the older male. Instead of offering his name or asking the male a petty question about the weather or his day, Greer only offered another ‘woof’. Speaking first – or at all – was something the long-limbed boy liked to avoid. He wondered how long the stranger would keep this up … or if he would get bored and leave the raven to his thoughts.

There are several fresh rabbit tracks in the mud. Hunt Opportunity

oh man Greer reminds me so much of my first character here :c I wish he was still alive for them to meet, it would've been great. Also sorry for all the words which happened here - ironically, I love unwordy wolves :P

Predictably, silence persisted. Something shifted in the back of his mind, a distant memory, though it went largely unacknowledged as yet. Though he could not see the black wolf's expression from this distance, he could read the body language, and he saw curiosity there too. The need to know what would happen next was lit underneath him, heating his toes. Although the first returning woof had been an annoyance, now Ziigwan hoped that he would receive nothing but an encore.

The seconds stretched on, and then Ziigwan was granted his wish.

The gears kept turning somewhere deep down, and he grinned, tail sweeping once from the left to the right. The importance of this hill was dimming, being replaced by something else, but what? This felt familiar, though he could have been entirely mistaken, misreading the intentions of a merely antisocial stranger. But, somehow, he thought not. He probed the feeling, asking it why he recognised this. The fire under his feet licked at him, urging him on.

Oh.

Life under Sakima and Nokomis had taken more than five years from him, from a potential he had never fulfilled. He had grown so obsessed with it that his existence before them had been all but forgotten, an irrelevant past to the things he had wanted most for the future. A life before Sakima, before Miika, before Miskwaa. The very notion was almost absurd, except it was true; he had not been born to their family, he had joined them as a lost youngster, before his first year was up. And during that time?

Feral, that was the word he had learned, had learned to describe the brothers and sisters he had run with before joining civilisation. Cruel, unrelenting, raw - feral. There had been no words, no names, no weakness. Only teeth and tongues and tails, only the pack, only hunting, only each other. The roaming feral packs of the tundra had been more common in his youth, but he had not heard of one or thought of one in more than three years. Is this where they had come? Had he left it behind five years ago only to come full circle now?

The furnace blared. The hill was forgotten. Standing, the grey wolf began to move down the hill towards this black creature, his body speaking only of curiosity and safety - tail held down behind him, though stiff with excitement, ears forward and eyes wide. It was like trying on a set of clothes he had not worn in years, an identity he had had no need of in all this time. He moved to circle around behind the black stranger, larger than he, but not to intimidate or threaten - just to push his nose forward for that most strong of scents. Was it too much? He kept some distance between them, still hesitant at fully slipping into this old skin, just in case he had misunderstood. But the feral wolf inside felt it was right. What would this bring, as opposed to his woofs?

sorry for the delay -- recovering from stomach flu and forcing myself to get some posts in :c
and unwordy wolves are the best, i've had a few like greer (though not as extreme) and i loved them :3

It was peculiar encountering a wolf that was willing to be as silent as he was. Was this stranger also preferable to being mute, or was he merely copying the shadow’s lack of words because he, too, did not want to speak first? Curiosity burned furiously beneath his dark fur as he continued to gaze upon the pale, older male. Where had he come from, and was he just as alone as he seemed? Perhaps he was spying for a nearby pack… The sharp nip of paranoia settled in as he glanced around briefly, allowing his nostrils to stretch once more as he checked their surroundings once more. There were no scents, other than their own, that stood out strongly against the grass… no, they were alone. Putting his mind at ease, Greer allowed his mercury gaze to fall once more against the stranger as his head cocked to one side.

As passionate as the curiosity inside him was, Greer also contemplated leaving and continuing his adventure. This pale loner was merely a speed bump, and the boy was desperate to get over it in order to pursue his brief travels. His paws twitched as he weighed his options while a dark line folded across his maw in a frown. However, would this male attack if Greer decided to abruptly abandon post? Was this stare down ever going to end?

As his thoughts consumed him, the smudge nearly missed the movement from the top of the hill. He blinked quickly, hoping that the movement had been a mirage – the wolf was moving! Toward him! Although his desire to flee the scene increased, the boy remained where he was. Why had the male suddenly decided to move? Greer knew that he had no chance in battle – he was all legs, built for stealth and speed, and this male clearly had more experience than him. While the possibility of a scuffle in sight, the slender yearling held his ground, his silver orbs the only part of his body moving as he followed the movement of the pale loner. As much as he wanted to call out to the stranger and question his sudden decision to move, Greer’s lips remained tightly drawn. 

(This post was last modified: Jul 04, 2015, 05:58 AM by Greer.)

if at any point during this Greer would do something which invalidates the rest of it (like lunge at Ziig or something) let me know so I can change this accordingly! I'm more than happy to, since assuming that Greer doesn't overly react *is* a form of PP but this post wouldn't be very long otherwise :3

Though the black boy did not move, Ziigwan could read the tension there, the distrust and uncertainty behind the eyes which followed him. It was fine, it was proper - the feral beasts would leap to conclusions without hesitation, and those conclusions were usually suspicious and hostile. After all the sweet and polite interactions the grey wolf had experienced so far, it was almost refreshing to come across someone who spoke a more earthy language.

It wasn't totally right, though, his instincts told him, as he made a wide circle around the larger, younger wolf, Ziigwan's posture and expression trying hard to communicate nothing but neutral curiosity, a desire for exchanged information - but he didn't want names and hellos and goodbyes, he just wanted the kind of raw knowledge which one acquired via the nose. To this end, he stopped behind the boy, and hesitantly pushed his muzzle forwards - kept low, kept unthreatening - and sniffed twice. He kept alert, kept wary for any sign that he was pushing the boundaries too far, ready to retreat if necessary. In those few moments he digested the scent of the young black beast, discerning his health, his age, his belonging to a pack ruled, most likely, by his family - the willows? Quite possibly, though Ziigwan had not ventured into those enough to place it confidently.

And that was all he wanted. Grunting his satisfaction, he stood back, giving the young beast back plenty of personal space. Eyes flitting back to the hill, he took a step towards it, though he hesitated before returning to his post, curious to see what the yearling would do.