Red Fern Forest mama loved you, but daddy left you

Open for one!  Light snow, 6F/-14C, early evening.

Mathéo Tainn was a tired boy.  No amount of rest or laying around ever quite shook that thick mantle from his shoulders; as the days grew shorter and his coat grew thicker, that cloak of darkness only grew heavier.  But with this, the Tainn did grow; he was not a tiny child any more, and his broadening shoulders could handle the weight.  It was the price of having known his mother, and hard as it might be, it was far better than always wondering.
 
The wolf cracked his jaw in a yawn, staring down absently at the frost and early snows covering red ferns.  “I like the cold,” he whispered softly, a voice harsh from disuse.  His tail wiggled slowly behind him, sweeping the snow up in ethereal puffs.  “I want to live in the snow.”

This was the forest that housed the bone covered hill but that was not why she was here today. The evening was silent as more snow dusted the earth. Orange eyes darted back and forth, wondering if Plant Boy might come out from behind a tree. They had a habit of running into each other unplanned.

Oh but there was a voice. Soft but hoarse. It most certainly did not belong to her tawny friend. Slowly the girl moved forward.

It was a boy who seemed far more drab than Plant Boy. Her nose crinkled for a moment before soothing out. He was big in size but so was her confidence. "Why ya wanna do that?" Hawthorne's head tipped to the side with curiosity obvious.

@Hawthorne -- Thanks for joining!

“‘Cos I like it.”

For a moment, just a moment, Theo Tainn liked to think that maybe one of those spirit-things his mama seemed to fancy were talking to him. She never really explained. Not that she had the time to, not really. But Theo lifted his head and found a pair of bright orange eyes staring right back at him. The green-eyed boy blinked owlishly, his tail giving a tiny wag when he realized the other wolf seemed to be roughly the same age as him.

“‘Cos it’s quiet, too. Iunno. I like the snow better than the trees, I guess. The dead wolves are in the trees. But it’s quiet here.”

His answer wasn't exactly one she could argue with. In fact, it was the same kind of logic that kept her around the falls with her friends. She liked the place and the wolves. If this kid liked the snow so much he wanted to live in it....well, who was she to judge?

She took note of how soft he seemed to be. The green eyes were lively in color, a good kind of different compared to the eyes of Plant Boy. Slowly she took a few steps closer. She just wanted to hear him a little better. Yet what she heard wasn't exactly desired.

"The dead wolves are in the trees."

She wanted to question but figured it best not too. Maybe he had seen that bone hill too with the little bones scattered in the branches. "Snow's pretty nice but I like my trees back at the falls. Nothing dead in them." That she was aware of. "Where ya from?" She asked as she noted he smelt different than she or any of her friends did. He may not have been one of them but he wasn't close to the falls and he wasn't posing a threat. She could play nice with the neighbor kids for today.

“Oh. You must have some good trees, then.”

As far as Mathéo could tell, it seemed pretty usual for other wolves to drop dead as the seasons turned. The adults were surely sad when his mother died, but none of them seemed that surprised. They had a place to bury her, were several others were buried first. You didn’t just collect dead wolves for no reason. Her next question shook him free from contemplation.

“Hm? Oh – I’m from Hearthwood River. A little north ways of here, where the red trees grow very tall and a river runs through it.”

And the dead wolves sleep.

“Are you from ‘round here? Cyril said he lived by himself, so…”

And she didn’t smell like Aleksei or the Rye.

Yeah, they're pretty nice. She said with a hint of pride lacing her tones.

Hawthorne tucked the information away, making a mental note to share the knowledge with Plant Boy (@Sachiel) and @Askan. Maybe one of them knew more about this Hearthwood place. A brow raised at the mention of the name Cyril. She had no clue who that was. Don't know any Cyril but I live up in the falls. Shallows Edge. 'M Hawthorne. A gently smile threatened to break her neutral features.

Ya know, if you don't like your trees you can probably come see ours. Just make sure to call if you ever come around. We don't take kindly to lurkers. It was less of a threat and more of an informative piece.

“Oh. Shallow’s Edge? Never heard of it. What’s that like?”

Cyril’s rock had seemed kind of weird – not the kind of thing Mathéo wanted to live under (or on top of). He liked the cold, but the wind was a bit much. He wasn’t exactly sure what a Shallow’s Edge was, though – probably not a puddle, though that was the only thing that came to mind at that particular moment.

The invitation though, that certainly got his wheels turning… He wasn’t sure if he really deserved it, only just meeting the other pup, but it seemed more interesting than going to the Rye Fields. Aleksei was there, but he really didn’t know his brother. Theo didn’t know anyone, not really.

“Are the wolves sad there?”

She settled her rear down as she thought over his question. Hawthorne had never really explained what the Shallows were like to someone. Most of the wolves she talked to already lived in the wonderous little claimed section of the Falls. Well we got a bunch of trees protecting us from harsh weather and anyone who gets too nosy. She spoke with fondness and a smile. There's a river that feeds into this lake. It's actually pretty deep despite the whole Shallows name. What a strange concept now that she thought about it. Had Askan and Reyes done that on purpose? Like a joke? A real nice place overall. Her shoulders shrugged. Hawthorne couldn't spill every detail to the boy. Some things were best left for the locals.

His question caused her brows to furrow for a moment before they unknitted. I don't think so. Grumpy maybe but no one seems sad. It was a strange question that caused her to ponder a few things. Tell me 'bout Hearthwood River? Are they sad there?

"Oh… That sounds nice."

He liked Turtleback Lake. He liked the running river too, of course, but there was something about the still pools he found appealing. The trees keeping out nosy wolves sounded even better, though. The redwoods were massive, but the canopy was so high, it did little to hide the wolves living inside the forest.

But Hawthorne had told him freely and without hesitation, so Mathéo felt obligated to do the same. He hummed, nodding slowly. "Yes. Many wolves died. My mama. The alpha's first mate. Others went missing. The adults just seem very…sad. When they are not, it's very loud. Chaotic. I prefer the quiet, the snow." He gave a tiny smile. That was how she had stumbled upon him in the first place. "One time I went to the rye fields, but I didn't like it so much. I am not sure what I like, maybe?"

She nodded her head sharply, agreeing with the larger boy. It was indeed nice - very nice. In fact she felt rather lucky to even be living amongst such a pretty place with the wolves she did. The girl could not have asked for a better ending to getting lost.

Well shit. Hawthorne had not been expecting the punch of feelings the boy delievered so freely. So slowly she moved forward before laying on her stomach in the snow next to him. It's alright to not know what you like. She hummed back softly. And, I don't know 'bout you but I wouldn't wanna stay somewhere sad or loud and chaotic. It was only her say on the situation presented. Hawthorne wasn't going to go scooping up this boy from his home - unless that was what he wanted.

Come by and give the Shallows a look? You don't have to stay but maybe it'll help ya figure out what you like. A peppered brow raised above orange eyes, wondering if he'd take the offer.