Larkcall Lowlands we'll be the lionhearted

For @Cyril, but if @Piety wants to come borking she def can

Risaela loved the Lowlands. She didn't think that any place could be better - with these rolling hills and wonderful wolves and plenty of wide open spaces. It felt like freedom and a breath of fresh air and liberation, all at the same time. The Lowlands had been her solace after Kisla passed, and still were to this day. There were hardly any horrible memories over in the fields, and if she was particularly lucky, she would run into a friend.

Which wasn't necessarily what she had planned on doing that day. She had, of course, recently met back up with Cyril, and it had been one of the much more pleasant encounters that the two young wolves had had. She didn't know of the tragedy that had befallen the Monadnock wolves only a day ago, nor did she think to pay attention to her surroundings. As such, she hardly noticed when it started to snow - the little white flakes drifting down and dappling her silver coat with white. It was only when one hit right on her muzzle, between her eyes, that she realized it was actually snowing in earnest, and not just the patchy stuff on the ground.

Silver eyes widened in wonder when she looked up, watching the little ice crystals drift down from the gray clouds above. It almost felt like it should be possible just to reach up and grab them, but they disappeared almost as soon as her paw would make contact - melting into just the slightest bit of water.

It was beautifully poetic, in a sense.

is it ok if this is set as they're leaving? basically he's heading south toward windsong fjord area

They were leaving this wretched place behind and that was all that mattered. Piety had announced she was departing from the lowlands and the ebony Kael was ready to follow. The tundra had been a place of fond memories and up until—well, you know—he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. The monadnock had been a place of refuge, the perfect vantage point. He had spent countless nights watching the stars with Everly at his side, and countless days observing the tundra below with his parents flanking him. But there would be no more monadnock—the rock had fallen with his father. There was nothing left for the Kael family—not in the north.

As they headed south Cyril separated from the group, his gangly legs dragging him away from his grieving mother. She did not chase him—not yet. The boy needed some time alone. Some time to blame himself for what had happened. He ignored the snow falling from the sky as it littered his dark fur, melting between the layers. His yellow gaze was fixated on the ground, his ears tucked against his skull as he marched toward the trees.

That's fine! I'm sorry I'm neglecting our other thread rn

Spotting Cyril had become a happy occasion for the little Tainn-Baranski. She had come to like those sunshine eyes, and even that bit of snark. He wasn't her favorite person - she had many of those and wouldn't reserve the slot for any one individual, of course - but he was one of her friends. And seeing a friend was a wonderful occasion.

Except when it wasn't.

Risaela noticed about halfway into her rush toward the ink-black young wolf that something was very wrong. The way he was walking, the posture of his body, his head held low... all of that was certainly something Ris had seen before. She had even carried that same gait herself after Kisla's death. And so, she decided to approach him much more carefully this time. Keeping her body low, she padded over to where she would be in his field of vision, her silver eyes pooling with concern and empathy.

"What h-happened?" she asked, her ears flicking backward worriedly. "You d-don't have to tell me, not if you don't wa-wanna." And he didn't, either, because if anyone knew what it felt like to not want to talk, it was Risaela.

A familiar scent tugged at his nose but he did not lift his gaze, or his head. He kept walking, his pace slow and dragged out, but not because he wanted the silver-eyed girl to catch up to him. Cyril didn’t have the energy to speed up, nor did he care if the girl joined him. He wasn’t in the mood for talking—he didn’t know if that would ever change. He’d already had an altercation with Oksana, leaving a bad last impression on the river girl. And he was about to do the same with Bug.

Like her age-mate, the tawny girl questioned him—poking her nose where it didn’t belong. He snorted in response, his brows narrowed into a thin line as his grimace deepened. The blood had begun to fade on his fur, cleaned away from the falling snow, but it still clumped in some parts. Dark, sticky and reeking of death. He averted his path, circling around the tawny girl, a low rumble of disapproval filling in his chest. Go away. He did not have time for twenty-one questions.

Oh.

Oh.

It was the blood that tipped her off. The old blood on his fur, with the sorrow emanating from his very core, brought tears to her own eyes. Her entire body drooped when she realized he must have lost someone very close to him, and he was reacting the exact way that she had when Kisla had been taken away from her.

She realized he wanted to be alone, but she also knew that that was not what was best for him. She, too, had wanted to be by herself, but then Lachesis had come and helped her clean off, and the Rye wolves had done the rest.

But instead of trying to get him to stop, the silver girl just padded beside him - a wolf length away, because she didn't want to crowd him. "Re-remember when I started acting we-weird?" she asked, but didn't wait for a response. He didn't want to talk, so she would do it for him. "My mom d-died. There was a big m-monster - a cat - that bit the back of her neck." She cleared her throat so that she could continue. "I wa-watched. S-sometimes I get bad dreams... because I don't think I can fo-forget what it looked like. I had her blood all over m-me."

Like Oksana, the silver-eyed girl didn’t leave. She padded at his side, keeping her distance as he trudged on, his yellow orbs fixated on the trees in the distance. Where his mother, Cheedo and little Adeltra were going. Where he was going, eventually. Her voice made his ears twitch and his shoulders tense up. Why did everyone insist on talking so much? Cyril wanted nothing to do with it—or with the lowlands. His pace quickened, his brows falling into a tight line. She mentioned one of their former meetings, when she had been quiet. Weird. He snorted in response, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end. My mom died. He did not react to the statement—not physically, anyway. It made sense. The sullen shadow had known something horrible had happened to her. I watched. His nostrils flared, a low rumble filling his chest. What did she want him to say, to do? Break down and cry? Coddle her? Have her coddle him? The growl inside his throat grew louder, his expression growing more stern; frustrated.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead the smudge kept walking, his steps heavy with grief. At least she wasn’t being as persistent as her age-mate, Oksana. Who wanted to talk and clean him up. The thought alone almost made his eyes roll out of his skull.

There is a family of deer nearby. Hunt Opportunity

Risaela took a deep breath through her nose when Cyril didn't respond. She hadn't expected him to. The young wolf flinched a bit at the growl, but wasn't quite deterred from simply being there. She couldn't stand it when other wolves were feeling so horrible, and she guessed by his reaction that she had definitely hit the proverbial nail on the head with her assumption. And she hadn't been looking for him to cry, to feel bad for her, or to coddle or be coddled. Just to know that he wasn't alone in this.

"I don't know wh-where you're going," she continued softly, matching pace with him but only glancing over every now and again. "B-but I don't know if you're g-gonna come back... could I w-walk with you until we get there? I promise t-to leave you alone after we get where you want to g-go," she murmured, lowering her head. "I'll st-stop talking, too. I just w-wanted you to know that, wh-whatever happened, there are other wolves who under-understand. You're not all by yourself." Because she knew that talking was annoying to many wolves - including Cyril from time to time, she decided to just stop there and instead continue to pad beside him, head low as she waited to see if she would get chased away or if her presence would be tolerated for long enough to make sure Cyril was safe.

The silver-eyed girl maintained her pace, her expression soft with sympathy. Part of him was relieved that he was not the only cub to watch their parent be brutally murdered before their eyes, but it still didn't make him feel better. Nor did it compel him to talk. His molars grinded together, his expression only growing darker. But he did not push her away—not like he had done to Oksana. Despite her annoying habits, the tawny youth was the only cub he had encountered more than once, even if he had picked on her during most of their encounters. He did not consider her a friend by any means, but they were civil. And, today, despite the words dripping off her tongue like a steady rainfall, they were almost comforting.

He snorted at her words but did not dismiss the girl. This would most likely be the last time they saw each other, unless Cyril decided to return to the north in the future (which he sincerely doubted). He might as well let her follow him to the edge of the forest, where Piety and co. would be waiting for him. At the thought entered his mind he motioned, lazily, toward the tree line to indicate where he was going. He would not stop her from accompanying her—not this time.

Risaela was thankful that he didn't seem to mind her presence - just this time - but she couldn't help but sense the finality in the air. Like this would be the last she would see of the dark-furred boy for a very long time, if ever again. She hoped that wouldn't be the case, as she had grown to be quite fond of the grumpy young man over the months they had spontaneously run into one another, and had hoped to eventually wear him down into something akin to friendship.

Maybe they were close enough now, anyway.

They reached the trees all too soon, and the smell of other wolves was starting to fill Ris' nose. This was probably where she was supposed to leave him. So, the little silver girl padded forward a few steps and brazenly brushed her nose against his cheek - so featherlight that it would be near impossible to feel it at all.

"I hope y-you'll be okay, Cyril," she told him, tail low but wagging slowly. "D-don't forget about me, okay?" For some reason, that seemed an important thing to say here. But that was all the child could think of, and she stepped back, throat tightening a bit with emotion. She was sad that he was leaving, yes, but she was also sad for whatever it was the other young wolf had gone through. She hoped he could find solace wherever he was heading.