Windsong Fjord the crow and the butterfly

Evening. Not a cloud in the sky. 2 ° F, -17 ° C ─ @Kite <333 CLICK

I painted your room at midnight
so I'd know yesterday was over
I put all your books on the top shelf
even the one with the four leaf clover
man, I'm getting older

From up here, the waters below appeared like a snaking, metallic reflection of sky cutting right through the heart of the wilderness. So serene, they seemed, as if untouched by the winter winds that blew through the fjord's towering walls of snow-covered earth and forest. It air cut through his coat, stinging his eyes the longer he stood there on the ledge that protruded from the edge of the forest. One misstep and he could have easily toppled over the edge to meet his death. It would be a beautiful death, he thought, his eyes roving up and down the curves of the glacial river from far above. The sky was a deep blue, the sun just beginning its descent from the sky, and it was so wide open that he felt incredibly small. It was as if he were the only thing alive in the world.

He'd needed a couple of days away from the thicket he'd only recently returned to. In the wake of his great disappointment, the confines of the familiar forest seemed too small, the familiar faces he'd been dreaming of for weeks while on the road so expectant...They all had a right to expect lots of things from him, but he just didn't have it in him to give. Not now. Not when he felt so hollow. Mirren did his best to show Lyanna his affection and to give Nina reassurance that he was fine, but in his mind he knew that the emerald eyed woman could see through his facade. Maybe he'd been alright for a while before the world had grown cold, and maybe he'd held things together tightly enough to be the leader his pack deserved, but he couldn't deny even to himself that he needed time to heal ─ something he also needed to do alone.

The great expanse of the north was unfamiliar and he liked that. Throughout the night and for most of the day he'd traveled north and east, the only sign of his passage through the hills and forests the paw prints left behind him in the snow. Though the sky above had not a cloud in it now, even those were sure to be covered by fresh snowfall by morning; plumes of silver-lined clouds drew closer by the hour from the west. Bidding his view of the fjord a reluctant goodbye, the swarthy man retreated into the safety of the winterized forest. Back a ways was an old bear den, where he figured he'd settle for the night, but not before finding something to fill his belly. Slinking quietly through the shadows cast by the conifers as they stood bathed in the last of the day's light, Mirren was accompanied by no sound but the wind.

(This post was last modified: Dec 07, 2015, 02:28 AM by Mirren.)

The songbird had traveled long and far to decide what would be her best course of action. After settling for a time with the River wolves (whom she still wondered if she would belong to, as things hardly felt complete in her mind... if only because her reoccuring dreams never seemed to end), Nightingale was off to do what she knew she could do well. Scout. The songbird didn't know much of these lands and perhaps ought to have asked for a briefing, but what better way to find things out than discover them for herself? She was under the impression she herself could change the course of everything; she intended to find out.

Cutting through the fjord was easier for her than it would have ever been before when she had first come (not that she knew). Nightingale looked like a seasoned mountaineer. That was to say, unafraid and confident in her footwork. The Caldera had been perilous. It was not heights she feared, though she knew how all things ended when things did not go well there. The lean woman could not help but gambol some, up until the moment she smelled... something. Something that caused the hair along her spine to lift and stand on end. Her movements became stiff and rigid as she sifted through her scent bank. When she recognized what, impulse gripped her by the nape and dragged her along for a miserable ride.

Bear. Nightingale could not help but sprint forward, like a spooked horse. Control and direction were the last thing on her mind, surviving first and foremost. Bears were bad. Something had happened with a bear; the Caldera had told her that. The bear had given her a notched ear and a botched memory. She would be damned if she gave the creature another opportunity like that. She was coltish in her sprint, caution to the wind. It was easy to miss the scent of another wolf; if he did not shift his own path, she would surely crash into him. Her honey eyes were wide with fright, and she never braced for impact.

There is a rabbit\'s nest nearby. +1 Health

I took all your pictures off the wall
and wrapped them in a news paper blanket
I haven't slept in what seems like a century
and now I can barely breathe

The quiet surrounding him was eventually broken. There was a shuffle in the branches of a nearby pine tree and he stopped in his tracks to watch as a blackbird flew from its perch, the branch it left behind swaying and dumping a mound of snow on the ground. Overhead, the bird joined a number of others, all of whom darted past in a flurry, their caws echoed wildly through the woods. Mirren paused, a furrow settling on his brow. Just minutes before he'd been utterly alone and it wasn't he who had startled the birds...In an instant he was on guard, lifting his muzzle to test the wind with a flick of his tongue. His eyes scanned the horizon...his ears scanned the air...his mind was focused and his muscles were ready to move at any given moment, and then...

BOOM!

It happened so fast.

Just as soon as he'd picked up on the direction from which the chaotic-sounding crunching of snow came, just as soon as he'd spun around, hackles raised and a dangerous gleam shining bright in his amber eyes, she hit him like a freight train. Mirren toppled over in the snow as the stranger proceeded to trip over him like a baby deer on a patch of ice, catching a paw or two to the side of his face as it was stomped into the snow with a 'hrmmpphh'. Groaning, it took him a long moment to collect himself, rise to his feet, shake off the snow and whirl about to take in the sight of the girl who'd come flying out of nowhere like she was running from an avalanche.

"YOU!" he rumbled, the fur on his back standing on end in a threatening ridge. "What the hell is wrong with you ─ Can't you watch where 'yer going!?" Mirren huffed and puffed, red with anger at 1.) being plowed over, and 2.) being caught off guard, and 3.) having his peace and quiet shattered by this...this...tawny-furred half-wit! Chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes were drawn to the shades of brown and grey and cream in her coat, to the angles of her shoulders...He waited impatiently for her to get her big head out of the snow as his own began to ache.

(This post was last modified: Dec 07, 2015, 02:25 AM by Mirren.)

The collision was one that rocked her. Her head split, already frayed nerves wildly moving to fix the potential disrepair and connecting something for her. She remembered visiting a Creek. From the heavy slam, the full vision of the proper one entered her minds eye. She was infinitely aware that she had visited the wrong place that day. But this meant she was on the right track; Nightingale was meant to go to a Creek. A bleary memory of a thick tangle of trees came, too, but that was it. Then fear woke her, and Nightingale pulled her head out from the snowy mouth that had swallowed her. What had she run into? That it was a bear occurred to her–that she'd likely be minced meat already if that were the case did not. 

Nightingale reeled backward, flinging snow in every direction and emitting her most fearsome growl while not pissing herself in the process. But the voice that spoke was not the grunt of a cavebear–and her fear/fury melted to pure horror at her error. But the scent of bear was still present, more now than before; it did not feel safe here. “Stop that ruckus!!!! 'M sorry!!! Bear!!! I smell it! Come on!” the tawny wolf looked at him in the face and for her own part, there was no recognition. Nightingale was infinitely aware that she was looking into the face of the best looking wolf she had ever seen. But her bleary-eyed, perhaps reconcussed self could not pull at her dreams then. 

The snapping in the distance betrayed the presence of another. A bear foraging for its last meal, perhaps. Nightingale grit her teeth, but felt herself secured in her spot despite the fear that would typically cause her to never look back. It always had before this encounter, after the incident. She attributed it to the fact that he had gotten in her way (denying the fact that she wasn't looking where she was going... In a moment of silly pride). “Come on,” Nightingale ushered, “I can't leave you here to become dinner.” there was a low, hungry moan out there now; her skin crawled, and terror lit a flame beneath her paws. Nightingale bolted a few feet forward but felt a foreign need to wait a moment, wait, wait!

Why that was she couldn't distinguish. Just hoped he'd get his ass moving. Never mind what he said; she'd sass him back later, but was far from her right mind in her terror (never mind the fact she'd literally lost it–known yet unknown).

ooc PHONE POST SORRY

(This post was last modified: Dec 07, 2015, 05:14 PM by Kite. Edit Reason: html hehee )

Just like a crow chasing the butterfly
dandelions lost in the summer sky
When you and I were getting high as outer space
I never thought you'd slip away
I guess I was just a little too late

The girl whirled around backwards with a screech and a snarl, managing to spray snow everywhere and all over him. A chunk of it splattered across his face and in his eye, causing a rumbling growl to reverberate low in his throat. He was fully prepared to lose his shit, and then...

"Stop that ruckus!!!!"

Mirren was absolutely horrified. First, the breath left his lungs, his chest seeing to collapse in on itself like a deflated balloon. Then his eyes grew wide with disbelief and confusion and a skeptical expression settled on his face as he squinted to get a better look. It couldn't be? This twit could have been Kite's twin, save for the notch in her ear and the blank yet frantic look about her. In fact, everything about her was Kite-like, right down to the swirl in the creamy fur on her chest. "Y-you," he stammered, unable to mask the way he was shaken by the sight of the stranger. "W-w-who are you?" He stepped clumsily backwards, unable to register the fact that she was trying to warn him.

She said something else, too, but her words only echoed in his head as his ears began to ring and his heart began to race, drowning out her panic. His legs felt weak. His chest felt tight. All he could do was gawk at her. Was he dreaming? If he had been, he was quickly roused from this nightmare by the sound and sight of the grizzly bear that was now tearing its way closer to the pair of them by the second. She had enough sense to make a move and managed to take a few steps before hesitating to look back and bark something else at him. His limbs sputtered like a motor without enough gas and he wanted to be closer to the girl who urged him to do so but the shock at the sight of her had him immobilized. However, an angry roar from the adversary pleaded to his instinct and, somehow, snapped him back to reality. "Go, go, go, go!!"

Mirren whirled past Kite, ushering her forward with a nip to the shoudler. If they were lucky, maybe they'd make it out of here in time to figure out what in the hell was going on. Even if fear had served to temporarily ease his sense that what he'd been looking for, longing for, and hurting over all this time was now right under his nose.

(This post was last modified: Dec 07, 2015, 05:21 PM by Mirren.)

If it were possible for a wolf to pale, the other would have been the perfect picture of it. He froze, looking at her as though he had seen a ghost. Nightingale first had the good sense to look over her shoulder to see if she had been running in the wrong direction, to see if the bear was standing there ready to do away with her. But there was nothing there but the trees... she squinted at it. No, no shadows moving through them. No bear behind her. So the songbird looked back to him, and as he spoke she registered the shaken tone. Nightingale would have guffawed at him if she could think to, would have said, you're thinking of introductions at a time like this?!?! but in looking at him, Nightingale felt something peculiar within her. Her heart jumped to her throat at the notion of what raced through her head. It was the worst time possible for her heart to skip a beat and for her to lose her wits... she scrutinized his face.

But the breeze distracted her. Closer. Closer it came. Louder. Its breathing... nearby. Nightingale couldn't wait anymore. But she wheeled toward him, to nip him into motion if her words were not enough; in her moving forward, out from the woodwork came first the snout of the beast and then, soon after, the rest of it. Its beady black eyes seemed startled to register wolves so near to its home; Nightingale's own eyes were wide, and now it was her turn to be fixed in place. She could only watch as its face changed from surprise to outrage. Its roar shook her to the bones, but could not move her. Nightingale knew she had been here before, but could not remember the moment. She had forgotten everything the moment the bear landed its broad fist to her face.

The stupidest thought came to her. Maybe she ought to not move. Maybe she ought to remain here... maybe, if it had a second go, she would remember. But in the corner of her eye was the handsome wolf, who still looked at her. Nightingale's seconds ticked by. Anyway, it wasn't looking at her; it was looking at him. He moved in time, before any attack or thought of it could come from the sleepy, full bear who had foraged... Nightingale tried to move after, tried to do anything. Only when his {the strangers} own voice sounded off and his teeth bit against her did her body seem to function again. She breathed in a sharp breath and turned, moving to keep pace with the other who would lead the way. Nightingale was swift, so very swift, but she did not try to surge ahead of him. Her self-preservation had faded to nothingness in the span of seconds; she had nothing to lose, and he, he who smelled of so many... surely he had so much.

The bear could help her remember. Or it could kill her. But whatever the cost, it would not touch the male before her. She could not help but feel as though she had gotten him into this mess; she would get him out of it. Her ears cupped backward and she heard the sound of the bears charge; Nightingale withheld a whine, and kept with the stranger beside her. The world was not cold any longer; it was hot with the fire of fear that fueled her, and the snow on her feet felt like proverbial coals to run across so that they might escape this.

(This post was last modified: Dec 07, 2015, 05:43 PM by Kite.)

What was happening would have been like a blur if he hadn't been so hyperaware of everything. Of the bear chasing them. Of the fact that she looked like a spitting image of his mate. Or that ─ if fate wanted to play another cruel joke on him ─ the girl was his mate. Of the way the cold air burned his lungs as he was propelled across the snow by fear. His limbs were on autopilot now, if only because his mind was still trying to process it all. One minute he was alone with his eyes on the big, empty world around him, and the next minute everything had gone to shit and had erupted into chaos.

Mirren weaved through the trees, looking over here and there to make sure he hadn't somehow managed to lose his counterpart; his eyes would linger a moment longer at times, when he dared to take them off of what was in front of him to watch the way she moved. Like the wind, everything about her long stride eerily familiar and intriguing and nauseating. Was this a dream? He'd think again and again.

Eventually and after an unknown period of time, just as the world started to lose daylight and he started to lose steam, the sight of a jagged ridge rose just ahead of the fleeing pair. "There─" he directed. If anything, he was confident that they could scale a part of it and be safe, for now. If they were lucky, maybe they'd managed to lose the bear already. Out of breath and feeling like he was running out of time to ask the questions that were burning at the forefront of his mind, he came to a dwindling standstill, waiting for the girl to make her way past him and up the rocky path.

The songbird continued to run, continued to think. She could not feel his lingering gaze; could not feel anything but this all-encompassing fear. Soon the thoughts of entertaining the bear at all ran from her faster than she could perceive. Nightingale did not want to die; did not want to be struck again. Surely the first time had been luck, if forgetting everything could be called that. Was it better than dying? Nightingale had to believe it was. The songbird was not well-fed, was not properly equipped for long-distance running any longer. Her steam ebbed from her, even with her adrenaline and fear. There was exhaustion in her weary step, and her breathing was labored. She felt the shadow of a phantom paw and nearly tripped but someway, somehow, she regained her step. He found a place as she began to lag, before she was about to insist he go on without her. What good was she? What good was keeping her alive? No one knew her here. The Caldera would miss her, but only for a little while, she bet. No mate, no past, no real present. She thought of Kisla, of Inna. Would they hunt for her? Probably not. Winter was coming, and everyone always went to assume the worst—abandonment. They were blameless for that; it so often happened. But Nightingale had never been a leaver... The Caldera was the exception, but she knew, could feel, they would never let her go. They admitted it was never there way; death was a consequence, evidently. Yet Siskin had left freely, and so had Starling.

She flung herself toward the pathway he had found. It looked tricky, and she knew she would need to focus. The songbird knew he waited for her, but she ushered him forward, too, with a nip. She would not let him be the one to be eaten alive. But then maybe he knew he ought to be behind her; the songbird was undoubtedly bear-bait if she fell any more behind than she knew she could in her state. So she threw herself upward, one leg nearly missing before getting purchase, and began to climb. Nightingale looked back to check that she was being followed, and only when she was certain she was would she go on. The bear roared in the distance, and it ushered her forward and upward. She could see a cave... and, despite nearly losing grip on a frost-rimmed ridge [and after whispering an urgent Careful!] the songbird made a quick and final dash for it. A hearty inhale was all it took to know there were no current inhabitants, and she threw herself inside, stopping short but not quick enough to avoid shouldering the wall. She let out a winded oomph before sprawling onto her stomach. And then she tried to gather herself; the best she could do was flop onto her side, wind whistling from her nose, her eyes searching for the agouti wolf who she had literally run into.

Her eyes sought her aid. She moved to her belly again, crawling exhaustedly toward the entrance and hearing the sound of approach. Nightingale would do nothing; if it was the bear, she would let it have her so that she would not snarl in the face of her present comrade, to deny him his safety.

(This post was last modified: Dec 17, 2015, 02:46 PM by Kite.)