Sex: MaleHe didn't know where he was. The foliage was thick around him and all that could be heard was the sound of water doing its best to flow. The weather had warmed recently allowing for some water sources to become more available. Deacon supposed that this creek was one of the lucky sources.
His eyes scanned the area, finding himself alone unless he wished to count the copper-toned rocks as company. The large male wasn't that paranoid yet. Sure, he often found himself glancing over his shoulder as if someone might be breathing down his neck but he had a good reason for that. Aileen had always been as quiet as a mouse when she moved. If she was here he likely wouldn't know until she was upon him.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine and a frown pulling at his features. He needed to keep moving until he knew he was well hidden. Crossing the creek would be a good start...
Lekalta had never been one for intimidation or procrastination, but as time drew on, the more hesitant she felt at returning back to the Surge. She had never been one for wandering paws – not truly. She had left Hearthwood River after the death of her father to clear her head, and had informed her mother and siblings she would be back in due time. The second time she had left had not been of her own choice – the scars that marked along her haunches where the fur now grew back thicker was testament to that.
This had been different. This time, she had simply intended to scout the nearby lands, hoping to settle her apprehension at their relocation, the fact her sister had chosen not to follow them, and the sudden changes that had been pressed upon the pack. And then she simply had not stopped her travels.
Hours had turned to days, which had then spanned in to weeks. She should have returned – but each time she had tried, she had always found an excuse not to.
Finally, her wandering paws had brought her back to Relic Lore, and the honeyed woman was very slowly making her way back to Driftwood Surge. Her return was not likely to be welcomed so openly – and she dreaded seeing the disappointment in Lachesis’ gaze when she would speak to him.
The creek she came upon was welcome distraction, and the she-wolf bent her muzzle down, sampling the cool waters. She had avoided contact with most wolves – the season of breeding upon them, she herself had felt the effects of it, though she had no intention of following through with what nature would try to spur on her. Every other year, her mother had managed to keep her heat from coming – but now she had none.
The gentle change of direction in the wind caused Lekalta to pause mid-drink, her muzzle slowly lifting up as she licked her lips. Not far along the banks of the water was a dark male, and she blinked, uncertain if she should attempt conversation or slip away.
are you deranged like me? are you strange like me?
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
It was likely he would not have noticed her had she not raised her head. The large male turned his head to see what it was in the corner of his eye. His amber gaze settled on the smaller female's build just downstream. His heart hammered in his chest for a brief moment out of fear Aileen had found him. Then he realized this stranger's colors were far too earthy. The colors of this wolf were warm where Aileen had been cold and icy.
He stood there on the bank and stared, unsure what to do. The wind was not in his favor and he could not smell her. His brows furrowed briefly to try and think if he knew her. If they had met before it must have been fleeting, for he could not put a name to her face.
A low woof escaped him as he took a tentative step forward. Did she even want a conversation with him? He had no clue but he was trying out this whole polite thing. His rugged form was held a bit low, tail limp between his ankles as his face smoothed completely. Hopefully this would be none threatening enough for the honey-toned stranger.
Her gaze raked over him – he now saw her, and the potential for her to slip away unnoticed was gone, especially when the dark wolf ushered a low bark at her in casual greeting. He held himself neutrally – if not even lower, and she canted her slender muzzle slightly. Licking her lips in her own uncertainty, the wind remained in her direction, and much to her relief, concealing her scent mostly.
She began to tentatively lope in the direction of the swarthy male, her own posture maintaining an air of casual grace. While she remained relaxed, the Baranski did keep her tail closer to her hind, and slowed her pace once a decent few feet from him. “You look lost,” she murmured, deciding to break the quiet tension with an arch of her wolfish brows. “Or I just interrupted some really deep thoughts.”
are you deranged like me? are you strange like me?
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
He stood and waited patiently as she closed the distance between them. His tail twitched slightly wondering just how friendly she would still look up close. Had he bothered her? While she didn't seem to be charging at him with aggression, Deacon had learned some were just more sly than others.
His ears perked at her words. Any thoughts on her once being an aggressive creature quickly faded away. "Both." He admitted in hoarse tones. "Glad to know it shows." He awkwardly shifted his weight on his large paws. Deacon hadn't intended to give away too much by his looks but he supposed he had always been a bit of a physical speaker than a verbal one. It was no secret he hadn't always been the best with his words.
"You don't look lost, though." He wondered if she was from around her or if she just knew exactly how to move. The large male could never hold the same gracefulness she seemed to.
He seemed laid back enough, and it was then that Lekalta allowed a small breath of air escape her lips in quiet relief. His tone was rough – and he was quite large, towering over her. His dark fur was unkempt, and while he seemed almost.. sorrowful, he at least remained amicable. Perhaps they could gauge information from one another – though his statement indicated he wasn’t quite sure of the area he found himself in.
“Not really,” she decided, her eyes drifting from him to nod in the direction of the north. Little did the she-wolf know she was in the land her great uncle had once laid claim to. “I’m more familiar with the areas more north of here.” She paused, her eyes drifting back to studying the rather sombre creature before him.
“Have a name? Or should I just call you ‘tall, dark and broody?’” It seemed fitting enough, anyway.
are you deranged like me? are you strange like me?
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
His gaze followed her as if he might see the places she was talking about. Of course, it was nothing but trees, shrubbery, and the creek. "What's it like up there?" He asked as his brows dared to knit together. Deacon had never been this far before. It was almost shocking to learn there was still more land up north. What would possibly want to live up there? And why? Then he reminded himself that obviously the she-wolf before him was familiar with the places. Perhaps she had been one of those creatures living up there.
He let out a small chuckle as his tail gave a few brief sways. "I kind of like 'tall, dark and broody' but it is a bit lengthy." The large male offered a gentle roll of his shoulders out of thought. "Let's go with Deacon for short." His face briefly held a smile before it mellowed back out to something neutral and plain.
"What about you? Have a name or do I have to get creative?" Deacon asked as a dark brow raised slightly.
He was such a serious guy – her comment only elicited a small smile, and while he rolled with it, he offered his name before his features sobered once more. Deacon. “How about TBD?” She wheedled at him, canting her muzzle once more as she offered him another smile – perhaps there would be a way to break through to the behemoth’s relaxed nature.
At his own request of her name, her smile instantly grew impish, her slender shoulders lifting in a gentle shrug. “I’m all for creativity – what would you name me?” She paused then, her form slipping back to the edges of the creek, though she made no move to close further distance between them – he might have been friendly, but she wasn’t naïve. This was not the time of year to be crowding out the opposite gender. “Make it good, though. You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.”
are you deranged like me? are you strange like me?
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
“How about TBD?”
His tail gave a few amused swishes. "That could work." He had wanted a fresh start, hadn't he? Here was this small gal giving him one even if it was in the form of a strange name.
A smirk broke his stoic features at her words, amber gaze watching her move to the edge of the water. In a way, he was grateful that she didn't get closer. Deacon was well aware of the time of year and while the wind had been helping him so far he was sure the wind would mean nothing if she picked to get right under his nose.
"Hmm." He hummed out loud as he thought over names. The large male was not nearly as creative as he thought he was. "Graceful, lean...and confident." That was the name he had settled upon, following her own naming process for him. His eyes settled upon her honey-toned form again wondering if the name would be good enough for her. "GLC for short, if you like."