Hearthwood River Cause I can't live this nightmare

Dated 12/5 @Mojave

There were many paths she could take here. There was already a scout and a medic. The former she was the most interested in—it called to her like some beacon—and the latter interested her. The songbird wasn't much of a Hunter, not independently anyway, but it was something she considered if only due to her navigation abilities. She scouted prey often enough; perhaps she ought to become a hunter? Not only that, but her nose had grown particularly keen to prey since her days as a lone wolf...

Nightingale sighed. She felt everything in her could be attributed to her being a scout... but then, she could still become that, she supposed. The songbird shifted her weight. No one had explicitly told her she needed to do this, earn a trade, but she had felt the desire to. To the very last, the songbird would make use of herself to the generous Hearthwood pack. She supposed she ought to start doing something now.

So she sniffed out a rabbit warren. It was inactive and stale, and she lifted her lip for a fugacious moment in a disappointed pout, before she—this time—took her snout to the sky.

It was easily past a fortnight into her tenure with the wolves of Hearthwood, but to Mojave it did not seem that long at all. In fact, things had been jumbled up since her acceptance into the pack. She had the acute awareness that things had transpired since then, but didn't quite have the connections to entirely figure out what those things were, or what they meant. But there were the murmurings that Maksim had met the wrong end of someone, or at least something. She had steered clear of finding out, perhaps playing pariah to business that did not need her nose placed in. Instead she wandered the territory, this time alone for what seemed like the longest time. She had tried to find Aleksei at one point but gave up, and she hadn't been keen enough to spy out Inna against the wintry backdrop that engulfed the territory.

However, she was hardly the newest of wolves to find themselves apart of the pack. One such scent had come to her in a shifting gust of wind, one that pushed cold down through the thickest of her winter coat. Such a chill dared to settle in her bones but she had continued on in the thick wood, following a withering trail along one much more worn in. One that seemingly delved off of the beaten path towards a cache she had located another time but had not bothered to tear into. Not even more than a few minutes into her venture she spied out the she-wolf and stopped, struck with a sense of déjà vu she could not place. Mojave shook her head roughly, clearing the feeling, and barked once to draw attention to herself. She wasn't about to go sneaking up on someone, even if they'd hear her coming. It was one accusation she wasn't keen on being the receiving end of.

The songbird spun on her heels as the other whuffed to her. No sense of what came over her fellow came over her; instead there was only pleasant excitement at being found by a pack-mate at all. Around strangers the songbird was wary, tentative, anxious even... but her pack? By proxy they were her family; it would be senseless to pussyfoot around the fact that she would adore them all, no matter how short her stay. She wished to befriend them all and she would do it as best she could. She had not been here a fortnight as her latest companion had been. Hell, she didn't know how long she would be here for, but she imagined past the Wintertime. Even dreamers sometimes had to be realistic, and the only damn signs she had received were in the form of dreams she could not remember and memories that hardly linked her to this place.

Nightingale wasted no time; she approached the other and slid sidelong to her, sniffing loudly to memorize what rest there. Only in that moment was there any familiarity at all—a scent was difficult to forget—but in looking at the face, the songbird could say for certain that she did not know her. But scents... scents did not lie, they couldn't. She was baffled and withdrew, cocking her head. Y'have a sister running with The Caldera? It was the only thing she could think of. Familiarity wise. Obviously she had never met this one before by look alone. She stepped backward to give the other space and smiled, shaking her own head now as Mojave had done. The Caldera wasn't worth mentioning, not anymore. The headshake in itself said nevermind, and yet, the question lingered in her eyes for another moment longer. I'm Nightingale. As she tried to make sense of the scent the other wore, she attributed it, finally, to the fact that the other must have passed the Caldera and she caught the scent on patrol, but nothing more. She had thought the same of Iopah; the Wildwoods and The Caldera were close enough for her to assume as much, anyway.

There is a family of deer nearby. Hunt Opportunity

The other spun around and again, there was that sense that she had encountered her before. Yet a certain disconnect lingered there too, and for all Mojave knew it was just another one of those instances where she thought she knew someone, but in all actuality she didn't. Like with Aleksei, who only bore a familiar resemblance to their leaders, she didn't see that with this she-wolf. A roll of tension overwhelmed her and dissipated as the other neared her and kindly, Mojave returned the friendly gesture of a tail wag with one of her own. At least she was friendly and for her, there was nothing askew about her scent that suggested that they had crossed paths somehow. But the sensation that they had would not leave her be, not yet.

She had to abandon the premise for a moment as the older wolf prompted her with a question, leaving the yearling to curiously tilt her head. Her brow knitted with confusion, leaving her to answer breathily: "No, I don't." And by then, they had parted and it seemed dismissed – perhaps she had only been mistaken about who Mojave was... which well, she didn't know who she was. It ignited her curiosity, but enough that she left a return introduction behind. "I'm, uh, Mojave. What's the Caldera?"

The songbird frowned slightly at the others words. The songbird had great difficulty forgetting a scent. The way one knew prey from predator and pack wolf from trespasser, she knew one wolf from the next. But there were so many wolves; surely she had collected so many scents of wolves that had passed her by for a brief moment... she had not expressly interacted with a cougar, after all. Then again she did not know its exact scent, not as she seemed to recognize this... but it did not matter, she realized. This Mojave, as the woman introduced herself, was likely once a passing ship in the night not yet meant to be on her course. Life was strange that way.

It's a bit of ways from here. Outside this place. A pack lives there, going by the name of the place. She gestured in the general direction, but she knew it wasn't much of a help, that. Either way, it didn't matter. You just smelled familiar, 's why I ask, she thought it worth mentioning, in case the other was worried for anything. The songbird shrugged; there were a million smells in the world, and had to acknowledge that she was likely to mix up a few in her lifetime. Really, what was the consequence of it? Nothing at all; she had never supposed she had made any enemies and any friends must have been at the Caldera, like they, the Caldera, had expressed.

She switched subjects, a bit uncomfortable with her error even though it meant nothing. So I was just tracking and had hit a dead end. No rabbits in that warren right now. Wanna join? She waved her tail, more than happy to invite the other along and move on from the last moment.

It was then she noted another scent on the wind, and her eyes flashed excitedly. Scratch that. I smell something better than rabbits, she hummed eagerly, hoping that would entice her packmate moreso than the last. Rabbits might not be tempting to track but they had their uses. This herd, however? Even more useful, as it was here.

(This post was last modified: Dec 11, 2015, 07:24 PM by Kite.)

Nightingale offered up information about this Caldera, but none of it rang any bells with her. It also did not sate the feeling that she had encountered the older she-wolf before either, but it was a topic better left to sit in the dust for the time being. The where and when would not come to her, nor would the why of the reason she seemed familiar; it was very likely that they may have crossed paths somewhere before, but therein it became cyclical, and the where and when popped up again. Mojave would not waste the time to rack her memory and instead, honed in on what her companion for the moment said.

Her attention shifted to the cache before them, not at all surprised that it was empty. It was winter and slowly the wolves would filter through what caches had been well-kept and maintained, searching out the quarries within when larger game was absent to sustain them. She hoped that there would be more in the future, but for now she contented herself with sussing out the smaller prey. Far from a proper hunter, she was still learning, and when the opportunity arose for her to join she could not help but wave her tail eagerly. Her mouth parted to agree to their venture, but closed abruptly when Nightingale picked up on something else.

Testing the air around them, Mojave noted it too; it was unavoidable with the shift of the wind, an all too common occurrence with winter. The winds wrapped themselves around distant mountains and rushed in across the forested valleys, which as far as she could tell seemed to stretch on for untold miles. She still hadn't gleaned the realization that she had come back to Lore, even though she had resided within in for some time. "What is it?" she stated, unafraid to admit that she did not quite know what it was. It could have been deer, or an elk. It could have been some smaller and smellier quarry too; it was hard to ascertain through the heady tinge of pine and assorted timber, and the musty air of telluric winter.

The scent the mammals left as they moved could be considered telluric; at least, it could be by her. Even wolves seemed to be telluric in scent. It was the way they interacted with the earth. Like they were born of it as much as they were a part of it. The songbird was glad for the dropped subject; she felt as though she would suffer another headache, a longstanding one, should they debate it any longer. It was she herself who thought the other had been familiar after all... and Nightingale acknowledged she had been wrong.

The question was answered firstly with a perfunctory sniff, merely to confirm as opposed to investigate. Smells like deer, Nightingale responded easily enough. The hazel-eyed sylph had plenty of experience with them by now, and had tracked them for The Caldera. Rolling her shoulders to warm her muscles, she took a couple of steps forward. She was eager to get a move on and begin tracking, and decidedly happier for finding something more of substance to the River pack than a warren. Her tail waved invitingly.

We can report what we find to our leaders. If a whole herd is bedding here... She need not say more. It was obviously to their benefit, and if they could corral and keep the prey here? All the better with Winters approach. The territory was large enough... The songbird darted forward again a couple of steps before bounding toward Mojave to nip the air near her shoulder as though she might corral her into motion. Her tail had not stopped in its steady wave, her eyes flashing with excitement. Nightingale would be more than happy with the others company, but would not be offended if Mojave had other plans.

The energy of sussing something out from the woodland was enough to spur Mojave into motion, though the nip at her shoulder also did the same. She bounded forward into Nightingale, if only to urge her into taking the lead. She was clearly the more experienced hunter between them and for the yearling, it only made sense that she had the goal of leading them to this suspected herd of deer. Being able to report them to their uppers would do them good too, though in all honesty it was safe to say that such a thing also did not entirely cross Mojave's mind. It would have eventually, no doubt once they were upon the herd; she would have lost them by the time she would have returned with more eyes.

So as they set off through the wood, the younger of the two fell into an easy pace in the wake that her older companion cut through the underbrush. Mojave hoped that Nightingale's words would ring true, that a whole herd was in fact bedding down in their midst. A single whine left her, so eager at the prospect that she could hardly wait for them to come across them. But it was more than that, as she also keenly watched what her (not so) new found friend did as well; this was yet another learning experience for her to hone her own skills, and figure out the general approach on what more of a tracking and scouting mission than a solid hunt.

Or so she thought, anyway.

Nightingale was prompted by Mojave to take the lead in this. While she had no direct leadership experience, and truthfully had not led a hunt, she felt the familiar pull of her ambition that let such a thing occur without second thought. The wave of it overtook her and the songbird was off, trotting ahead with her nose to the ground. She alternated between this and sniffing the earth out... but in time there would be signs enough. The Hearthwood was not yet thick with snow; that meant that they would detect the beasts by their typical bedding habits than the ovals she would seek embedded in snow.

At every mile they moved, the songbird would pause at the mark and observe the trees. By the fifth there seemed to be a small thicket ahead, gnarled trees that would make entering annoying and a hindrance. It would also make their approach obvious and detected. The scent of the herd here was strong, but not its strongest, and faded by what must have been a couple of days when thinking of timespan. So the lithe she-wolf moved underneath the thicket, finding spaces that would let her pass. Her thick furs caught burrs and weak twigs in the process. By the time she emerged she looked as much a part of the wood as the forest herself, especially when she stood so still.

Before her eyes was veritable proof that there had been a herd here. The foliage was in various sizes. This group was certainly fawn and doe alike... but she could not note bucks, and her nostrils flared. She looked over her shoulder to gauge what her newest (to her knowledge) friends reaction.