Red Fern Forest i wish that i had jessie's girl

It hadn’t been his brightest moment—to storm off from his birth pack when winter was on the cusp of its unwelcome appearance. He hadn’t known what else to do, though, and now, over a week later, the silver agouti wolf stalked his way through ferns of ambient hues; reds, golds, and even a couple that maintained a shade of green that could spark jealousy from an evergreen.

His nose dipped between the broad leaves, resurfacing every so often to calculate. While the scent of deer was strong through here, it wasn’t what he sought. A rogue had no business tracing the steps of a herd, and instinct spurned him to spare his energy upon something more attainable.

And there it was. Or what was left of it. He snorted in disdain, his bright eyes narrowing in consideration. The partial carcass of the rabbit remained, though a scavenging bird plucked away at it. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. He had feasted upon the resources of a bountiful valley before, and now he was about to steal dinner from a crow.

Brusquely, Rifter strode forward, a growl seeping past his lips and his limbs stiff, making his intent clear. The bird hopped to the side, eyeing him with black eyes as his jaws snapped to the air in a final threat, his nose beginning to nudge at the remains of meat.

Perhaps it had been foolish of him to turn his back on the calculative bird, but the sharp peck on the peak of his head was unexpected, and elicited a snarling yelp from the stocky wolf. He swung, his teeth landing upon air, and a blur of fur and bones swept past him. The crow had stolen his meal back, and Rifter blinked with annoyance and disbelief.

One, two and three powerful strides, and the wolf’s ivory paws propelled him to the air with force, expecting his jaws to once more fall to air, though this time, warm blood welcomed his tongue instead, the bird caught distinctly between his deathly grip. Talons flailed, cutting his nose and jowls, and Rifter made quick work of his surprise catch—he hadn’t ever caught a crow before. Usually they were trickier than that.

Victorious, the male felt a small smirk tug at the corner of his lips, his tongue curling out to clean the blood of that began to seep from his shallow wounds of his muzzle. “Suck it, Hudson. Bet you couldn’t do that,” he crowed, not unironically. And, to no one in particular.

(This post was last modified: Oct 14, 2018, 07:29 PM by Rifter.)

After all the drama that fumed as a result of her tiff with Remi, Lyanna simply needed a breath of fresh air. She'd all but gotten over the sour taste the ordeal had left in her mouth, had done her fair share of fretting over what she couldn't change, and then she'd packed up her dignity despite it all and headed south for the day.

The snow that had fallen just a day or two before had melted away, replaced by weather that better suited her - rain. Like all things did, it's peaceful pitter-patter had come and gone, leaving the autumn-hued foliage of the fern forest glistening in the afternoon sunlight. She sloshed her way onward without a second thought given to the heavier things, weaving through the trunks of the trees like a bird flying through the sky. Except, these days she felt more like one with a broken wing.

After a time and only when she'd managed to run herself tired, her graceful stride transitioned to more of a wanderer's amble. Unlike the Shallows, the forest here felt tall and wide and in a way it made her feel a bit smaller, like she could manage to pass through it unnoticed. Considering the notion, she realized that was exactly what she wanted; the limelight had seemed so bright that she found herself thankful that it began to burn out around her. Finally finding herself quite alone, maybe she'd be able to get her shit together.

But - she wasn't alone. A rustle just off ahead stopped her dead in her tracks, her russet ears perking forward at the sound of a terrible snarling followed by an unrecognizable voice speaking words she didn't quite catch. Her muzzle crinkled up. Great. She wasn't really in the mood to be interactive, and as a matter of fact she felt a little more inclined to pick a fight than to be remotely friendly. Life in the Edge was really rubbing off on her, wasn't it? Silently, she listened for another moment or two before resigning to investigate further.

Rounding a fallen log, she made her way closer until she felt she was close enough, several lengths from the stranger who stood over a pile of black-feathered mess with a bloodied face. At first glance she saw nothing remarkable, and then it hit her like a stone had fallen clear out of the sky and bounced between her ears. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping for a split second before snapping tightly shut. This one was, hands down, to-die-for gorgeous. The dark mask. The lean muscle. The intense blue eyes. How in the hell did she wind up crossing his path? And why on earth was he even alone? In the blink of an eye she'd forgotten all about everything, blinking like a deer in the headlights, dumbfounded.

But, it was only for a moment.

Her memory of Mako’s face bathed in the light of a setting sun bubbled up from her core to the forefront of her mind. It alone was enough to extinguish the tiny spark that couldn't have caught her more off guard. In an instant she was as grounded as could be, but the sudden intrigue remained. With a flick of her tail, her head and ears perked up, she couldn't help herself.

"I find the ones with the black feathers a bit gritty.” The look on her face was plainly inviting.

Studying his latest acquisition with a mixture of intrigue and partial disgust, the silver agouti wolf nosed at the bird that lay at his forepaws. It didn’t necessarily look appetizing, and when a soft voice broke out over the autumn breeze, Rifter’s bright eyes danced upward, falling upon the palatable beauty with a blink of stunned surprise—he hadn’t even heard her creep up.

A lazy grin curved at his muzzle, his head tilting lightly as his tail gave a neutral swing through the air. Had she meant trouble, she would have already brought it with her—weeks as a traveler had already offered that knowledge in the form of many scraps. “Well, that sucks,” he drawled his eyes glancing back down to the fallen crow. “Gritty is better than hungry, though,” he mused, his shoulders giving a shrug. He was unfamiliar with the area, and the scent she gave off was one of freshwater and moss, and in that way he could not tell if she also traveled by herself. Perhaps, his luck was changing, and he had finally found someone he could coax along the roads with him.

Reaching down, he began to pluck the feathers from the bird, his eyes dancing upward to look at her once more. “I’m Rifter,” he introduced, not without another grin, despite his current task. With mock pensiveness, he lifted his muzzle once more, giving it a gentle shake in her direction. “I want to offer you some of this, but I don’t know if that makes me come off as an asshole—giving a lovely girl such as yourself a gritty meal.”

(This post was last modified: Oct 16, 2018, 12:00 PM by Rifter.)