Arbol Rosado chronically cautious

March 19th; Early afternoon; Clear Sky; 19.31 ° F, -7.05 ° C.

Spring had arrived. The air was crisper on the nose; the afternoons grew warmer as the days advanced. Snow still blanketed the ground. Yet, everywhere the morning sun touched, patches of green emerged. At the cusp of adulthood - at a whole 22 months - Oleander could feel the change of the season in every fiber of his being. Everything about the Lore seemed to beg and beckon for new beginnings.

When given the first opportunity, the young Valle sprung at the chance to indulge himself. A quick getaway ought to do it. So, north he went. Just to clear his head... and his nose. Which had been twitching a bit more than Oleander was comfortable with.

He went as far as his legs could carry him. By the time the sun was overhead, he had found himself surrounded by an onslaught of pale pink. The perfume of fresh cherry blossoms was still faint in the bite of the cold but tickled even so. Oleander snorted as he stopped in his tracks, tendrils of his breath lifting from his nose.

A few more steps found him in the sudden emergence of a giant. Grandiose in height and boughs compared to the rest of the orchard around it. For a time, he was a prisoner to newfound awe, something he had not felt since he was a cub. The empress forest of the Backwater was lovely in its own right, but he had never seen a tree with so many flowers at once. Standing tall with one paw lifted in wonder, the wolf stood in the presence of Arbol Rosado's lone monarch.

Mar's eyes were kept on those far-off peaks, becoming gradually closer and more distinct against the grays and blues of the sky with each day's travel. Still, there were some things that a detour could be afforded for, and the umbrella of pink in the distance along with the fragrance wafting from it's direction were together one of them. She slowed briefly when that same spring breeze made her aware of the presence of a male, but quickly regained herself and approached with confidence regardless.

Marigold was not a wolf that liked to allow fear into her decisions. He was taller, but looked to be younger. Still, none of this was to say that she would act recklessly or otherwise let her guard down. Even whelps could do harm if given ample opportunity...

"Hello."

Occasionally, a pink petal would fall to the ground, torn off by the scurrying of unseen squirrel feet... or plucked by birds, now that he could actually hear the twittering overhead without a creek to drown it out. Either way, there seemed to be a magic to this place that Oleander could not help but behold.

He set his paw down, treetop-captive eyes seeking a glimpse of actual magic. A nosy raven scolded him from a nearby tree, but it was the voice of another that took him aback. His head whipped around, honing in on a flaxen lupine figure. Too tall to be Mama. Too pale in the face to be Mama Vana.

"Hello," he echoed back. Nothing in his stance told of his nervousness, but he did pause to size her up. Strangers had always made him nervous. As an upcoming adult of a pack, he supposed this was an opportunity to test his diplomatic skills. Small talk, if anything. "Pretty out 'ere isn't it?"

they say pray it away, i swear,
OLEANDER VALLE
that I'll never be a saint, no way

He was tall, like Auburn, and he seemed friendly enough. Still she watched him with those hematite-cut eyes of hers, as assertive as a spare could afford to be in the presence of a wolf that smelled of pack. Pretty, he called it, and her gaze left his features briefly then to regard the tree and its color-crowned branches a measure of fondness.

"It is," she agreed, her voice soft in its delivery but not without its edge. Curt, prim, single-minded. There were many polite ways to refer to Marigold's demeanor. Mercury eyes were upon him once more.

"Do you live nearby? Are you familiar with the mountains?"