Larkcall Lowlands there ain't language for the things i've seen

For @Cyril so we can have more puppy time <3 Set Aug. 10th, between WRF and WM. Closer to WRF, tho.

Being at Wild Rye Fields was helping the child immensely with her grieving process. The loss of her mother didn't feel like a fresh wound in her soul anymore, which was due to not only the pack's help, but the fact that she was so young that the two weeks that had passed seemed like months. It wasn't to say that it didn't still hurt, but it was much more bearable now than it had been, though she still had nightmares and random flashbacks of that terrible moment that the monster killed her mother.

Ris still wasn't talking much. It wasn't like before - when she would approach anyone she saw. It was much more difficult for her to form sentences now, and it was rather frustrating. So she usually just didn't speak at all, outside of what was absolutely necessary. She'd answer questions, but she'd never initiate conversations or anything like that. The girl was much more solemn and subdued; less excited and less forthright.

Still wasn't scared of things, though. In fact, regardless of the fact that she needed the Rye wolves, she didn't like being so stagnant. It wasn't like before, where she was eagerly bouncing headfirst into adventure after adventure. No, now she was much more likely to go off for the sole purpose of being alone for a bit, to rest and recharge. Being around and entertaining others had become something of a drain for her, and although she loved other wolves, she had to have some time to herself.

Which was what she was doing now. It was the first time she'd left the Rye since she'd arrived, but she was a wanderer at heart. She'd be back in a couple of hours, but she didn't want to be hounded for a while. She was enjoying the peace of the Lowlands, and came upon a slight rise before she decided to lay down and watch the grass sway beneath her. The tawny pup blended well with the grass, and apparently had tricked a blue butterfly into floating over and landing upon her nose. Silver eyes crossed as the insect rested on her muzzle, iridescent blue filling her vision for a few moments.

She liked that color.

Some days he was unable to stop his little legs from moving down the monadnock, his dark body scrambling over the rocks as he distanced himself from his birthplace. There was nothing wrong with the monadnock—he was incredibly fond of his home and proud to be born to the alpha pair—but he could not stop himself from exploring. There was so much to see, so much to do, he could not stand being contained on the rock for too long.

Cyril tried to be a good boy. He seldom talked to strangers and avoided uncomfortable situations like the plague. He did not mind being on his own, as he was able to do whatever he pleased without having another influence his decisions or prevent him from doing something. The smudge was not stupid; he knew right from wrong, good from bad. He was quickly learning which situations to avoid and which ones to insert himself in. Sometimes he was naughty, but he tried not to be as he never told his mother when he was misbehaving off the monadnock, and he hated not telling her things.

A familiar scent brushed against his nostrils as he maneuvered through the lowlands, his hindquarters swaying gently behind him. His brows furrowed instantly, his nose wrinkling as his pace slowed. A frown cut into his dark lips but he did not interrupt the girl, despite seeing her silver body poking through the grass. He debated announcing himself, for he was not sure if the silver-eyed girl would be pleased to see him.

The boy was not even sure he was pleased to see her.

 

A young deer has been separated from the rest of its herd. Hunt Opportunity

The butterfly lazily flittered its wings a few more times before rising into the air and floating off down the incline. The girl lifted her head from her paws to follow its movements, and jumped a little bit when she spotted a familiar smudge against the backdrop of grass around them. She was not particularly happy to see him - after what had happened before, how could she be? - but she did not want to start another fight.

She mulled over what to do, because she was still kind of angry with him. Maybe she could use one of those bad words that Aytigin always used - but that would definitely start a fight, and she was a lot physically and emotionally weaker than last time she'd seen the dark pup. Muscle had atrophied, and she had certainly lost weight, whereas the boy had only appeared to grow bigger. So with that plan scrapped, the child went onto Plan B, which was to ignore the fact that he was even in the area and pretend she'd never seen him. But that, too, wouldn't work. He had clearly seen her, but he wasn't approaching or walking away. So maybe he didn't want to fight, either.

Unknowingly, her tail had curled around her hock where she lay, and her head lowered back down a bit. She did what came most naturally to her at the moment, and offered him a soft smile, her tail giving a couple of hesitant wags from where it was pressed. The smile was unsure, but it was something that she could offer that would serve as perhaps a bit of a welcoming gesture.

Her silver eyes cut to the side afterward, but she remained laying down, instead of getting up and leaving.

cyril lowkey attempting to engage in staring contest

His paws shuffled uncomfortable in the tundra grass, his yellowed gaze not wavering from her pale figure as he tried to work out what to do. Did he apologize for his previous abrasive behaviour? Did he resume the snotty attitude he had during their first encounter, or did he shed that skin and adopt a new one; a nicer one? His lips twitched. The boy was still working out his personality, learning about his likes and dislikes. There was still lots of growing he had to do—into both his fur and his mind. He was unsure of if he had enjoyed his explosive behaviour, for it had been uncharacteristic of him. Sometimes he was snobby, especially to those he did not know, but it usually diminished once he got to know his companions.

However most of his companions were packmates and Cyril tried to be nice to as many of them as possible. He did have to live with them, after all. Everly and Cheedo were pleasant to be around; he liked that they treated him like an equal rather than a child.

Strangers were a new concept to Cyril. He did not know whether to engage or flee. He preferred to keep to himself when he was not with his parents as the Kael did not like distractions. The silver-eyed girl before him was certainly a distraction—or, she had been, with her annoying flurry of words and desperation to be friends.

Gross!!!

She turned to him, after a moment, her expression soft; different. His brows narrowed darkly, unsure how to interpret the girl’s quiet reaction. Something was different—she was not as explosive, or talkative, as she had been during their first meeting. He frowned. Something didn’t feel right. She offered him a small smile, but Cyril was not sure it was genuine. It was hesitant; sad, even.

His hindquarters slumped against the ground as he studied her, unsure of how to respond, as his lips tightened.

 

ris awkwardly has no idea what to do

She wasn't sure that she had the energy to deal with the black pup at the moment - wasn't even sure that she wanted to, even. The child was half-hoping that he would approach after she smiled, and half-hoping he would leave. But instead, he did the worst thing possible, and just sat there. He just sat there and stared at her, weirdly, without smiling or saying anything. It wasn't fun, and it made Risaela immensely uncomfortable. Her colorless eyes flicked over to his vibrant yellow ones a time or two, and her shoulders hunched a bit as she tried to figure out what to do.

The girl didn't like being scrutinized. She hadn't known of her dislike of it until that moment, but she did not like it, and she wanted to yell at him to stop. But she could hardly raise her voice above a whisper nowadays, and she couldn't stand the thought of another argument. It all made her want to hide behind someone - Kisla, in particular, but that was impossible now. The thought of her mother made her eyes burn, and she swiped a paw across them quickly before she could address those negative emotions.

Silver eyes found their way back to yellow, and her brows drew up in discomfort. But she couldn't just lay there all day, and he couldn't just sit there all day, so perhaps she should say something. The tawny child took a deep, steadying breath before rising to her paws. She only hesitated for a second or two before walking down toward him, head lowered and tail curled around one hind leg. Everything about her posture was nervous and submissive and non-confrontational, practically spelling out the fact that she'd rather be anywhere but there. But she could think of nothing else to do, aside from leaving, and that would be rude. Would the boy still be sitting there if he didn't want to talk?

She didn't think so.

It took a moment for her to reach close enough that her voice would carry, and a moment longer to clear her throat and glance up at him, her tail giving a couple of slight wags behind her. "Hi," she whispered, voice gravelly and hoarse from disuse. She'd avoided speaking as much as possible for the past two weeks, but it seemed now was unavoidable.

He continued to observe, only because he did not know what else to do. His toes curled into the ground as he shifted, awkwardly, in his seat, his yellow pools not once wavering from her agouti frame. The little Kael was not trying to make her uncomfortable, but he could tell by the way her brows pinched together and her silver stones flitted around that she was not happy with their current situation.

Oops.

Was it too late to leave? Maybe that’s what she wanted, considering the way their previous encounter ended… his frown deepened, his tail curling tightly against his hindquarters. But he was rooted to the spot, his legs stiff and unable to move. But he did not know what to say. He did not really understand the concept of apologies, and he was not sure if he was supposed to give her one. If he didn’t feel like he had done anything wrong did he have to say sorry? That seemed silly.

His head fell to the side as he watched her discomfort grow. The smudge was surprised to see her push herself into a stand and start toward him, her movements slow and hesitant. It was becoming more apparent that something was different about the silver-eyed girl. Had his bullying traumatized her that much, or had something worse happened? He gulped, desperately hoping that he had not been the cause of her subdued behaviour.

Her voice was small and frail as the single syllable rolled off her tongue, filling the empty air between them. Adopting a more neutral expression he nodded gently in greeting, his tongue laying flat between his teeth.

Their last encounter had not ended well at all, and Ris was well aware of that. She'd almost been expecting him to want to fight with her again, or to just walk away as she approached, but he didn't. And when she greeted him, he nodded in return. She thought that, maybe, she should apologize, or maybe he should, but she didn't know if that would help anything or not. At the very least, she was glad that he hadn't gotten angry at her again.

She wagged her tail a bit more earnestly now that she didn't have to worry about outright rejection, and a part of her wanted to see if he wanted to play or be friends like she had before. But the bigger part of her - the her that was a much more dominant part of her personality now - shut that idea down instantaneously. However, there was no point in not extending an olive branch, and she did still feel really bad about being so mean to him before. She doubted that Kisla would've approved of that behavior at all.

Again, the thought of her mother caused her eyes to water slightly. She ignored it.

The girl sniffed slightly before attempting to speak again. "S-so-sorry," she croaked in reference to their first meeting, eyes dropping away from his dandelion gaze. Ris hoped that, perhaps, the two of them could start over and maybe not have to fight anymore. She wondered if he even remembered her name, because she had introduced herself that first time. She wished she knew his, but she didn't want to ask before she was sure that he didn't hate her.

Normally he would have preferred this subdued personality, for Cyril was only outgoing and spontaneous around his packmates—not strangers—but something about her behaviour was all wrong. Even despite his young age and limited knowledge Cyril knew that something was not right. Her entire demeanour was wrong, wrong, wrong even if it had been annoying the last time they had met. With her frantic tongue and endless words. This time the greeting had been strained, almost forced, and her eyes were puffy around the edges. His frown deepened as his toes curled into the ground, unsure of what to do or say.

He just hoped that he had not been the cause of her personality shift. Oh, mother would be so disappointed in him.

Sorry. The word sputtered off her tongue, causing his brows to pinch together in confusion. Why was she apologizing? His head fell to the side, his tongue suddenly heavy as a question hesitated on the tip. Was she sorry for her behaviour during their last meeting, or was she apologizing for her behaviour now? He blinked, dumbfounded. “Sorry?” He repeated, testing the word out for himself as his paws shifted uncomfortably. ”Why?” He gave another owlish blink in her direction, his frown only deepening. Cyril did not understand girls at all, especially this one.

He seemed surprised by her apology, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. Because she had been mean. She had gotten angry and had even tried biting him at the end of their scuffle, and she absolutely hated fighting. The child wasn't even positive why she and the dark pup had begun fighting in the first place, because that dilemma was overshadowed by the day afterward, but she was well aware that she felt bad for being such a jerk to him.

Silver eyes traveled back up to his yellows when he asked her why she was sorry, and her brows furrowed slightly. Because why didn't he know the reason she felt bad? He'd clearly been part of their little spat, so he should be able to remember it. Surely. However, when she took into account that his face was doing that frowny thing, she understood that he really didn't know why she was sorry, and she was going to have to use her stupid mouth again to speak words that were going to come out wrong and frustrate her.

"I-" she began, her voice breaking off in a squeak. Which was, ultimately, the straw that broke the camel's back. Because nothing in her life was working - not even her own dumb voice. Tears sprung into her eyes and she struggled valiantly against them, but it was too late. They slid down her cheeks and her ears pinned back, more embarrassed and frustrated than anything. She didn't cry loudly, and instead only sniffled and snuffled a few times before she tried to get the next words out. "'m b-ba-bad," the girl stammered, her voice thin.

How could there be any other explanation? She had to be bad. Her voice didn't work, and she left the territory when she wasn't supposed to, and she fought with this boy, and a monster took her mother, and she left again. In her mind, it was the only thing that made sense.