The Wellspring alone {m}

This place seemed nice. Or at least, it would probably be nice during the warmer months. Right now, in the midst of the cold season and all covered in snow and ice, nothing was very pleasant. Coming down from those mountains though, even this frozen lake he stood along the shore of was a welcome reprieve from the mountains. It’d taken far too much damn effort to traverse, climb, and power through that portion of his trek.

And for his reward, he was left cold, tired, hungry, and alone. The uncertainty that came with being alone was new, though his decision to leave everything and everyone he’d ever known behind was not one he regretted. He had water, at least, and the different paths splitting off from this main lake gave him options.

And even if he didn’t survive this winter, it still was still better than being back home.  

The mere thought of it left an unsavory taste in his mouth, something that prompted him to lap up more of the frigid water before he continued sauntering along the frozen shore. Arty would far prefer to die a free man, following his own heart and desires, than to have remained tethered to duties and bound to rituals he had never wanted to be part of. Somebody else could deal with that stuff.

(This post was last modified: Jan 17, 2023, 05:17 PM by Artyom.)

Fuck all the noise of a broken hea-- compass. Being a ghost of the willows wasn't doing him any favors, and that star he was telling himself he wasn't looking for wasn't going to come back. You've been left, that's over and done with, case closed. Move on.

Yet he can't bring himself to go back to those mountains. So... he'll just have to find some other mountains, right? East or west, east or west, east or west... East's bad. West it is.

He's traveled along for a few days, skirting the foothills to avoid some bad weather before coming around to a scene that is, quite honestly, dazzling. The mountains cradle a huge lake, streams pouring from its heart and into the distant horizons.

It's beautiful. It's less intimate.

It also comes with wolves.

This one is a male, though. A bit smaller than Malien, warmer, browner. Malien sniffs and plods along, heading along on a course that is a mild sort of intercept. Closer, closer.. "Hey there," he calls out after a while, ears flicking forward and tail giving a friendly sway.

In spite of how dire things looked, the wanderer couldn’t quite bring himself to truly worry about any of it. One day at a time was the mantra he’d repeated to himself often enough, and for now, that was how he lived. There was no use worrying about things one couldn’t control. But, as fate would have it, one thing Arty’d hoped to find before too long was about to be offered.

Company. Who knew for how long, but even if it was only for a day, he’d take it. He too altered his course as it appeared the other had done to meet him, eyes examining the stranger as they grew closer.

Older. Maybe a little bigger? Mostly silver or light grey. Attractive, in a rugged sort of way. Not the most attractive Arty’d ever had the pleasure of meeting but, after days of wandering alone, he wasn’t about to protest.

”Good day,” he returned the greeting with a wry smile and nod, tail waving as he moved closer, within a few body lengths. A polite distance, but not to get too close, until he had a better feel for the situation.

Those .. eyes .. are certainly something. Pale blue, like the sky of an early summer morning, or perhaps the cold of a winter's eve: in faces usually adorned with browns or golds, hazel or grays tinged with yellow, seeing such blue eyes is somewhat unnerving. He thinks for a hot second. What color had her eyes been? Honey? Argh. Doesn't matter.

Not blue, at least. Unnerving, yeah, but also.. kinda pretty, don'tcha think? That warm coat, russet overtones, creamy cheeks, and those pale, pale eyes.

Gosh, Mally. You met one pretty wolf and suddenly everyone has to be pretty.

He thinks about Woya instead. Yep. That works. Weird mood neutralized. Thank you for your continued services.

He should go bother Apple again, but he's not very keen on the trek.

The other wolf seems friendly enough, and that suits Malien just fine. He's not in the mood to have his brain mangled in an intricate dance of let's try to outwit each other and he's definitely not spoiling for a fight either. "You from around these parts?" he asks, tongue lolling out as he sniffs the air. Doesn't smell like it, at least, but who knows. Better safe than sorry.

Even though he hadn’t met anyone that seemed to harbor malicious intent since he’d left his home - not yet, anyway, he’d been taught never to assume. And as much as Arty had wanted to escape that place, some of the lessons and mantras his parents had tried to impart were still there.

Mainly, right now, that was courtesy; and good manners. So as much as a part of him wanted to get close and indulge in another’s company after days of hard wandering alone, that might give the wrong impression and/or cause a negative reaction. Those were things he definitely did not need.

Thankfully the stranger appeared to share this mindset. So far the older guy seemed chill, which suited him just fine too. And he asked one simple follow-up question.

”No. Been wandering for days, and just got here.. wherever here is,” he answered, giving a quick glance at the mountains and frozen landscape. While another might’ve asked the question in return, he didn’t care to. He wasn’t seeking aid or directions - he’d figure all of that out in time. ”Names Artyom. Or Arty, Art. Whatever y’like to use. I don’t care,” he added on with another brief grin and loose shrug.

Names and titles had never meant much to him, and he’d probably have been fine without one, except that they did make things easier. Certainly more practical and courteous than going around and addressing everyone with a ’hey, you!’ - or something like that.

-- lmao i can see how thinking of Woya would be a bit of a mood killer - if u read this sorry Cade –

 

I love me some Woya <3 <3

Part of him wants to say: good. It's easier this way. There's nothing but the future ahead of them, where only the sky is the limit. Malien's not even sure what he wants, but this way every door is open. And, there's no one to tell him to get off their fkn doorstep.

"You're in Relic Lore," he volunteers bluntly, before turning to look the way he had come. ".. at least, I'm pretty sure we're still in it." How could you know, anyway? And who decided? Did everyone have to agree on it? If Malien refused, would this just stop being the Lore?

Probably not.

But oooh... ooh Arty don't tell him to use whatever he'd like to use! A sly smile slowly blossoms on his dark lips. "Yom," he hums, head coming up higher, a teasing glint in his golden eyes as he tests the limits. "Yom-Yom." His tail sways behind him, a peace offering should Arty find out the hard way he does care about his nicknames.

"I'm Malien."

Though he hadn’t asked, he received a response about their whereabouts anyway. Indicating perhaps this man did have some familiarity with the area, as pointless as it was. One wolf could call a place something, but how would anyone else ever know when that wolf died or left? Relic Lore, the other man called it, prompting an immediate frown to work its way across Arty’s countenance. ”Relic Lore?” he scoffed, ”that sounds kinda lame. We could come up with something better, probably.”

A statement he was more convinced could be true by the next series of events. The sly grin that worked its way across the stranger's face, and the teasing shine in his eyes suggested something devious. He went on to propose a nick-name Arty’d never heard before. Yom-Yom.

He blinked once, and then nodded, one corner of his mouth pulling back upward in a lopsided grin as if to suggest - well played. ”Original. Yom-Yom, just for you,” he returned good-naturedly, with a wink and a full smile, this time.

The stranger was then a stranger no more after that, offering his title. ”Malien,” Artyom spoke, testing the name. How utterly divine, that was. More so, when the other had said it. ”I feel like it’d be some kind of sin for me to attempt to abridge that.” A roundabout way of offering a compliment.

Arty wasn’t sure he’d ever met someone that’d so effortlessly - and possibly unintentionally - managed to make themselves seem even more attractive by only speaking a name. But here they were.

Kinda lame? Ooh... Yes, please. More of that! Now, he's quite sure that that is indeed the name of this place (wherever it begins and wherever it ends), but considering his main source for this information is, well, Woya... "I'm sure we could," he agrees, purring internally at this odd stroke of fortune. And maybe we will. Sky's the limit, after all.

Malien is pleasantly surprised at the reaction to his rather unorthodox take on a nickname. He had expected, well.. a sneer, maybe? Being told he is disrespectful? That it is a really dumb and childish nickname? (And honestly, it is: it's a bit of a mouthful, he just told it for jokes.) "Aww, thank you," he says at the mention of only for you. Malien likes things being only for him. He's not possessive per se, he just.. yeah. He thinks he's special, so he enjoys being treated that way - yet, of course, his response is presented in the spirit of the jests.

But just because it's glossed over as banter doesn't mean it doesn't hold a kernel of truth.

Hearing his name said back to him...

He's not sure what to make of it. His mind is a wasteland, there's a fallen star; it took part of the sky with it when it fell, and even though he has tried to put it firmly behind him it just won't leave him alone. Between that and the weird spark of potential hanging along his fanciful imaginations in these mountains he just feels - adrift. Lost, or out of control?

"Pft," he says, trying to keep an involuntary grin of sorts from spreading, but the corner of his mouth twitches. "You have my permission to sin. As long as I know it's for me, I'll listen." There's something earnest in his gaze as he says it, ears sweeping forward, but.. it's just one of those half-lies he drops with too much ease. Malien only listens if he wants to.

Malien agreed to the idea of coming up with a better name for this place than Relic Lore. Honestly, who in their right mind had even thought of that? ”Yeah. I mean.. who would come across all of this,” he spoke, gesturing with his nose and ears to all of the wonderful, beautiful views around. And there was still likely so much more he hadn’t seen.

”And the first thing they think of is Relic Lore?” He finished with another derogatory snort. And then there were all of the weirdos that chose to keep calling it that. Malien could answer the question if he wanted, but the way it was spoken didn’t necessarily indicate one was sought.

A thanks was the next thing offered, for the nickname. The wry grin remained at that, though Arty chose not to speak and to instead saunter forth and very faintly brush past the other to get a better look at the terrain beyond. Something else his company could interpret however he wished.

Arty chose to wander only a few steps further before turning back. You have my permission to sin, Malien granted, his ears turning forth as though he actually sought some kind of response.

While the statement earned a soft chuckle, Arty offered his company another loose shrug. ”I’m not sure I’d wanna shorten it. Malien is.. it’s nice as it is.” Much more than that, but when one’s mind was wandering elsewhere, it became a little harder to think about these sorts of things. ”Mally, Mal? Ali?” He decided to offer, the last one a bit teasingly. Maybe one of them would stick.

(This post was last modified: Jan 16, 2023, 03:24 PM by Artyom.)

All of this--

But Malien is more interested in watching Artyom's expression as he says it. His pale eyes are far, far more captivating.

He chuckles, offering a shrug. What kind of name is Relic Lore anyway? What does it even mean? Malien isn't sure, and he isn't sure he cares, either. Unwilling to be caught out in his uncharacteristically soft-eyed study of Arty's face he turns his head away. The other isn't wrong. This place deserves a prettier, more majestic name. But what?

He's not given any chance to ponder it. Artyom begins to move forward, passing so close by a somewhat nonplussed Malien that they brushed together. Fur, the faint solidity of a body... Malien blinks, shivering slightly from the unexpected touch. What..?

And again, that roundabout way of complimenting his name. His ears flit back, then forward, as his soul twists and contorts into a question mark. ??? Is there something going on here?

Against his better judgement (why would he seek a situation making him feel uncertain, out of control? and yet he's hooked) he follows the other wolf, coming up beside him again. "Ali," he chuckles. He'd not heard that one before, either. "Ali and Yom-Yom on their grand adventures. What a pair..."