Larkcall Lowlands Flowers Entrance

She'd enjoyed spending time getting to know her birth family -- at least part of it -- but it wasn't enough to keep her anchored from the last weeks of adventure that Witchhazel could cover in the last warm days of Autumn. They'd felt shorter than they were, passing in a blur as she traversed the wilds beyond her home.

None of it could compare to the shore, but the rocky, rolling lowlands she came across now at least slightly reminded her of the sprawling coast with its coating of snow, and Witchhazel pranced on carefully with the knowledge of the stones beneath the slick snow for long hours before finally stopping when the sun touched the horizon. Her graceful frame danced forward, tail and head high in a queenly posture, ears fanning from forward to back as she checked for company before finding a high-placed stone to perch on, pawing away the snow and setting down the bulging rabbit skin of herbs and protective leaf bundles she carried with her. Her bicolored eyes swept casually from side to side around her, and the off-white femme sang softly with the wind when she eventually lay down. Her honey-laced voice carried over the gentle slopes with ease, both loud and silky, quelling and calling for the company she wished for.

                           "Come sit with me, so I may listen, listen to the whispers of the gentle breeze.
                                                    Calling, calling,
                                        Bring here with you knowledge of the wind, a story of life I need to know.
                                                                          Calling, calling, Calling, calling.
                                                         Come sit with me, so I may see, see the colors of the burning flame.
                                                                                                         Calling, calling.
                                                                                         Bring here with you courage and strength to will on forward, towards the light.
                                                                                                                        Calling, calling, Calling, calling,

                                                                                                           Come sit with me so I may taste, taste the tears of sorrow and joy.
                                                                                                                                                  Calling, calling,
                                                     Bring here with you healing waters, so I may dare taste the power of love."

Askan preferred to spend his time in the rye fields, patrolling the borders and making sure Percy didn't get into too much trouble, but he also spent a great deal of time roaming the Lowlands that surrounded his home. He knew full well to avoid the northern regions of the tundra, for obvious reasons, but every other option was open to him. At this time of year, with knee deep snow, travel was hardly easy. But it would take far more than a little sprinkling of snow to stop the Yukon wolf, if wanted to roam he would and that was that. It was a good thing he knew the Lowlands well, as the air was choked with a thick grey fog, as though storm clouds had descended from the heavens. He waded through the snow, squinting to see better when he heard a song-song voice call out, like a siren beckoning unwitting sailors to come closer.

He was a fair distance from home, he'd been traveling for an hour or so, maybe more, so he doubted someone had turned up at the borders. And it certainly wasn't a voice he recognised. It lacked the timbre of Drestig's call and it didn't have quite the same melody as Adelayde's. It couldn't have been Jessie's as it held little tone of authority, nor was it Percy's as it wasn't playful or mischievous. And he knew it wasn't Icicle's as it lacked a lamentful tone. So who the hell was it and what did they want? Askan made it his business to find out.

As it turned out, it was a loner. Or so she appeared to be. Approaching with caution, Askan eyed the loner with a cold stare. It was rather bold of her to just call out like that, and Askan couldn't help but get the impression that she was rather hoighty. Gods he hated stuck up wolves, who thought that the world revolved around them. 

"It's not a good idea to call out like that , who knows what sort of wolves might turn up." Askan chided her, as one might with a disobedient child. "Not all the wolves who live here are nice you know. Some of them like to attack loners." 

Hazel wasn't left waiting long before a mud-colored man came into her sights and approached -- his scent gave her the information that he was in a pack, but there wasn't much else she could learn this way -- and her song quieted in lieu of of friendly chuff. The stranger, however, didn't seem to appreciate her presence, and Witch fixed him with a curious stare. 

                           "Are you such a wolf? If my voice offends you so, I could move forward and leave you." 

Ears fanning forward with a gentle twitch, Witch tipped her head to the side and awaited a response. Her body was tensed and ready to leave, but her calm demeanor didn't fade: she was not afraid, but wished for no fight she could avoid. Just before Winter, even the smallest of wounds could be fatal for a loner such as she -- even he could be in danger from a wound in the cold months. The pale fae let the reprimanding tone roll across her shoulders easily: stubborn, yes, but also steadfast at least a little wise. Her bright, round eyes suggested more innocence than the Quinzel possessed, but they sure were cute placed on a slim and rounded face like hers. 

"Not really." Askan told her with a shrug. By no means was he the friendliest face about, but he wasn't going to attack a stranger unprovoked. "It'll take more than a howl to piss me off." He neglected to mention that it wouldn't take all that much to antagonise him, but of course he would, wouldn't he?
 
Askan continued to watch the loner and within a few more moments or so, he came to a conclusion about her. A hastily made one, but a conclusion nonetheless. She held herself with pride, a certain sort of dignity that stemmed from arrogance perhaps? Like she thought she were a queen, or at the very least a princess. Something regal. Askan wrinkled his nose in distaste. Just as he thought, she was haughty through and through. Not the sort of loner he thought would fit in well with the others in Wild Rye Fields. Yes, their numbers were low but were they so desperate to beg every loner they met to join their ranks? Hell no. If they let wolves in willy nilly things would certainly collapse around them. They had to bear in mind not every wolf joined with the intention of sticking around after winter.
 
"Just figured I should warn you is all. It's your choice if you wanna listen or not. No skin off my nose." His tone, which was dull and monotonous made his feelings quite clear. Like he said, he didn't care.
 
She sured liked to batter her eyelashes though didn't she? Like she was making an effort to look cute. Askan frowned. Women were difficult creatures, he wasn't quite sure what to make of them. Especially when they teased him, or paid attention to him. It was weird, but thankfully this conversation- if you could call it that- wasn't of that nature. He was comfortable enough, he could deal with a pesky loner. He'd be on his way soon, but first he needed to figure what she was up to.
 
"You planning on heading anywhere?"

Rough as the man seemed, he claimed he was only warning her of perhaps other wolves close. Would his pack be cross for her being here? Another pack, perhaps? It was quite clear that he didn't care, and though his robotic-sounding voice grated against her fuse, the witch kept her stoic stance. Perhaps she was a little too queeny for her own good, but as it hadn't hurt her yet, she didn't think it was out of control -- she didn't need to avert her gaze or bow to someone who didn't claim any authority he might have, especially because Witchhazel Quinzel had no ruler anymore. Her Maloid Banrion was no longer the witch queen -- at least not of the home 'Sel knew. Perhaps she was a queen again, beside her leviathan, but then again maybe they weren't even alive anymore. Witch had no way to know. 

                         "Much obliged. I'll take my risks for a little bit of singing."

Winking to highlight the joke, attempting to make a friend out of this man, Witch gave a smile before suddenly remembering her manners and announcing it politely just after he asked where she was going. Her head righted itself before tipping to the other side as she wondered her location -- was she any place like her birth home? Were there shadowy woods or sprawling meadows with stone hedges? Was there a coast, sand lined with the salty water of the ocean?

                                                 "I'm Witch, by the way. Witchhazel Quinzel. I don't have a plan just yet, but maybe you could help me by telling me where I am?"

It wasn't easy to make Askan laugh. In fact it was a herculean task, she'd probably find it easier to pull the stars out of the sky. It wasn't an impossible task for all, Percy was able to make him laugh with little effort. But this loner wasn't Percy and Askan had no intentions of letting her in like he had with the pup. She was the exception to most, if not all of his rules. She was the only one allowed to step over the boundaries he'd drawn. So of course, all the loner earned with an unamused glower and a rude 'tsk.'
 
"If that's what you want."
 
It seemed as though he'd found another loner who had no idea where she was. How'd she managed that? Had she gotten lost in a storm or something? Askan decided he didn't care enough to ask, and neither did he really want to stand there and explain everything to her. But neither could he really dismiss her questions and just walk away. So with a resounding sigh, Askan went onto explain and introduce himself. Even if it felt as though he were pulling his teeth out. How tedious, why couldn't she just ask someone else who cared to talk to strangers? Then again, he had sought her out on his own accord so really he had no one else to blame. Not that he would ever see it that way. He was always ready to lay the blame at someone else's feet.
 
"The name's Askan Selwyn from Wild Rye Fields. You're in Larkcall Lowlands, Relic Lore."

Shallow water has trapped several fish in a small pond. Hunt Opportunity

Witch's attempt at a joke went heard, but he who identified himself as Askan only silently scolded her. The fae sighed good-naturedly, annoyed by the clear lack of friendliness but not at all disappointed with the mere conversation itself -- she'd been alone so long, even a shifty and tense meeting as this one was welcomed. 
The dark male sighed himself, but it wasn't an easy one like Witch's rather than an irritated one that clearly said he didn't want to be here. Nonetheless, the pale woman listened attentively to both his name and her location -- Larkcall Lowlands, of Relic Lore. Her first thought was "strange name" but that brought up memories of a long time ago, meeting one of the shore packs allies and calling her pack weird too -- in the end, she'd accepted that all names were weird and all of them could possibly be her friends. Why not this one?

                  "Thank you."

Witchhazel uttered her thanks softly, turning her rounded face from the stranger to sweep her gaze over the land. Her bicolored gaze found the liquid not far from the pair and, upon noticing the ripples of fish in the no doubt icy water, she gave a smile and moved towards it. Her long legs carried a pudgy body forward with a grace most didn't expect from such a large frame, and the femme shot a curious glance to Askan to see if he'd join her before again giving her full attention to the spontaneous and easily-attained hunt. Nothing easier than scooping some fish out of the water, specially when it was a small pond with nowhere to go compared to a current-driven river in which there was always a chance your prey could get away. 

Askan harrumphed at her show gratitude. For all he knew her words were empty, so there was no point in getting caught up in them. Talk was so cheap, there was no point in putting stock in it. Those who did were fools, of that Askan was certain. He would not fall into the same trap so many before him had.

Paying little attention to his crass response, the Witch moved on, coming to a stop in front of a shallow body of water. She planned to fish? And she wanted Askan to join her? He wasn't the sort to turn down an easy meal, but this seemed so... Askan wasn't sure what to call this sort of situation, he wasn't sure whether he was comfortable. It was so much easier to be snappy and brash than to be cooperative. No that wasn't quite the right word. Askan decided he didn't like the way she was looking at him with that curious glint in her eyes. It was clear that she simply wanted to know if he was game, there was nothing else to it. It wasn't lingering or poignant but... Women. Askan huffed.

Padding over to the water hole, Askan peered down into the shallows. Nothing could be easier than snapping them out of the water, but Askan remembered what happened last time he had tried to fish. He'd made an ass out of himself. 

"Ladies first." Askan grumbled, gesturing to the pool with a paw. At least if he watched her he could learn how to do it, that was the plan anyway.

(This post was last modified: Jan 01, 2017, 02:31 AM by Askan.)

Perhaps he was right; Witch felt rather than acknowledged the fire in her soul that sparked when their met eyes in silent challenge, and maybe it was a little queenly of her to assume at his hesitance that he couldn't fish, but just as he held no regret for his judgement of her, Witch didn't so much as think about her own sinful thought as she turned giddily back to the water. Askan's words only fueled this internal party of shameful happiness, and she shot him a playfully sharp glance. 

                    "Does the guardian not know how to fish, or does he not like to get his paws wet?"

Despite the edge to her tone that suggested she wasn't so good at the social part of life, her poor and perhaps miscommunicated joke was accompanied by a wink just to show that she was, indeed, making good fun. Without waiting for a response -- more likely, not looking forward to the verbal lashing she expected -- the femme hunched on the bank, setting focused bicolored eyes below the surface to wait. It wasn't long before a fish meandered closer, and with just a slight upward adjustment she knew was critical to fishing, Witchhazel aimed and, like lightning, struck a paw into the icy water and hooked her nails around it. The blunt claws did little to the fish or for grip, but with a twist and a flick of her foot it was slipping out of the water and at the paws of her new frenemy with a proud flick of her perked ears and a grin.