Thicket of Secrets we may only have tonight

<b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;"> The midnight nomad had been so lost in trying to make his way to the Mountain of Dire by sundown that he hadn’t even realized where he had stopped to take a drink. There he was, a large black shadow taking a long stop in a Glade full of beautiful flowers that seemed to soften up his entire demeanor. Once he had noticed it, the single thought of where he was made his stomach churn and flip around—this didn’t feel right but he wasn’t childish enough to just walk away from it when he needed to rest up. Flowers just didn’t give Ink a whole lot of joy like it might a woman and thus he found no interest in admiring their beauty.

Inkheart was a void of emotion at all times and hid his thoughts almost every second of the day from those who might be curious. The ink-drowned loner rarely even spoke words long enough to hold a decent conversation or even to let the other stay there for longer than a few minutes. His greatest flaw was his inability to continue a conversation enough for someone to stick around long enough—he was a mystery, no one could ever pinpoint what it was that made him a loner but he hadn’t really been given a reason to talk.

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Of course, with all of the beautiful scenery encompassed the place she had stumbled upon, she had to get lost in one of the thickest thickets she had come across. The stark ivory of her pelt did little to camouflage her with her surroundings, but that was the least of her worries as a brazen branch swung back and swatted her harshly across the eye. The ruction stirred a low growl to seep past her tainted lips, and the arctic hybrid quickly pressed forward, finally emerging in a rather pretty glade.

Cursing at the fact there was now a cut on her brow – the ivory dove could feel the burn as she moved – she knew there would be a small trickle of blood smoothing down her brow. It wasn’t the flowers that gained her initial interest however, but the sudden black figure that was amidst them. Startled; the she-wolf managed to withhold a gasp, though her muzzle shot down protectively to her throat at the sudden appearance of the stranger. How strange that she had been so wrapped up in the dense thicket that she had not even scented him. She spoke nothing -- Lífdís was a creature who did not appreciate surprises.

<b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;"> The water was delightfully refreshing once he bent his neck down to take a drink though he couldn’t help but feel like his testosterone level was depleting itself. Flowers were a heavy weakness upon the ink-drenched monster and thus didn’t feel any better just standing amongst them. How he had come to be in this place of wretched color was beyond him but, sooner or later it’d be a whole lot better and he’d been on his way to the Mountain. That was one place where he couldn’t even remember the last place he slept—which was a good thing since he never slept in the same place twice. Being somewhere for the second time was bland and boring, not wanting to make a routine of his life more than it already was.
Once again, whoever was in charge of social conversations on Earth thought it would be absolutely fantastic if they threw another wolf their way. It was a female—yet again—but this time it looked like she had a cut just over her eye and he lowered his head with an absent expression. <b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;">“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled in a gruff tone of voice as he pointed his paw at her eye not even bothering to think that she might have already realized that there was blood beginning to trail down her brow. It didn’t look particularly painful but he wasn’t a medic that could help her in that situation besides telling her to put some water on it to clean it up. However, even Inkheart wasn’t that hospitable.

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In the few moments she had to react to his sudden appearance (or her own, depending on who’s side one looked at) the warrior took in the small details that would hinder her should they fight. He was a large male, and while she was as well considering her heritage, her figure was slender and graceful, while his much thicker. Should a fight brew between them, the she-wolf could wisely cosndier flight as a decent option.. though knew her pride would have none of it. An unblemished body from any male, Lífdís knew she would deliver any blows he decided to give her.

However, such thoughts of any impending fight were quickly brought to a hault by a few simple and uninspiring words. She was bleeding. Blinking her fiery eyes, the she-wolf drew her muzzle up slightly, noting only now that perhaps this male was not as feisty as those she had been told of. Relief would have flooded her instantly, though her muscles remained tense. “So it seems,” she drawled lightly, her paws beginning to side-step a light dance to the side. Her eyes fell upon the water he stood by before shooting back to him. “Do you mind if I clean myself up? The thicket was a little unfriendly.” While she doubted he had any ownership to said small pool of water, she wasn’t about to stomp on his toes to get to it.

<b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;"> The bleeding she-wolf lifted up her muzzle just barely in order to watch him before scooting herself over to the side of the Glade. It seemed odd that was side-stepping as not to get in his way because, well, he would not have given her the benefit to choose whether she stayed there or not, he would have simply pushed his way there. However, he wasn’t the one that was stupid enough to get hit in the head and bleed so he wasn’t the one begging to get to the water’s surface to clean himself up. Though, Inkheart wouldn’t want to be looking like that in front of a young, strong man like himself and thus saw her urgency and moved over for her.
From there, he seated himself a few feet away from her (carefully to avoid sitting on the flowers in case they might weaken him more) while his eyes momentarily curved around her figure before they delightfully moved towards the water, the flowers and the thicket not too far away. He would have stared at her for a longer period of time but he didn’t think that would make her too happy or that she’d be flattered by the relentless staring.

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The dark male moved out of her way – more so out of obligated politeness than anything it seemed, but she only gave him a light nod of courtesy. With that done, the she-wolf glanced down to the pool of water, disregarding the stranger for the moment and looking at the potential mess that was her face. Relieved to see the scratch above her brow was only minor, and that the blood was beginning to dry, the she-wolf dipped her paw to the water lightly, then brought her face down to smooth the small cut against her now wet ankle. Staring down to the pool of water, the pale girl noted the blood was gone, and while the cut burned slightly, she barely noticed it now.

With a light shake of her pelt, the lone wolf bent her muzzle down to lap at the water, quenching the thirst she had attained while trying to find her way through that damned awful mess of thick branches. Once finished, she cast a nonchalant glance behind her slender shoulder, noting the black wolf was still there. “You’re still here,” she remarked flatly, suddenly realizing that he must have been settling there for a rest and she had intruded on his privacy. Tough. “By chance, do you know about the inhabitants of this land? Any packs to note?”

<b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;"> Curiously he watched her clean herself and wash off the blood that had been dripping down her brow, Inkheart couldn’t help but wonder if she was just a passing wolf or if she actually stayed places like he did. Of course, he had never spent a night in Flower Glade but he didn’t really want to for fear that the flower elves might abduct him. Fiery orange eyes watched the woman turn back to him with a look that was something between surprised and maybe even a little agitated, but Ink didn’t care. The inky nomad was close to snapping at her and saying that he had been there first, drinking to quench his own thirst but decided that he didn’t have the energy to raise his voice and get angry. The woman was lucky, he figured.
<b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;">“There’s Swift River by the Sacred Grove and another by the Mountain of Dire,” he informed her in a thick, informative tone of voice, <b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;">“Indru is the leader of Swift River and I don’t know the other one.” To be honest, he didn’t really put himself into other packs businesses because he had never once thought about joining them. In truth, he knew that he wouldn’t do well amongst their ranks because his idea of a pack wasn’t theirs.

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It was rather distressing to realize he had been watching her the entire time, and now more than ever did her self esteem begin to falter. Really, what tool crashed in to a branch and cut their eye? Still, her tail curled softly against her haunch for only a second in quiet contemplation, and her muscles relaxed greatly. More than likely she would never see him again, so this first impression seemed to matter little. After all, how many wolves had she come across and had never seen again? Countless.

Both silver-tipped ears preened forward to the information he gave her, and the slender she-wolf curled her muzzle down lightly in gratitude. His words were brief, but to the point, which was something she could appreciate. Settling down to her haunches, the arctic she-wolf regarded her companion momentarily. “Lífdís Eyjólfur,” she quietly introduced, her tongue rolling with the gentle purr that accompanied her vocals when using her birth language. “Do you plan on joining any of these packs?” It was truly none of her business, and she almost expected him to tell her so.. but either way, it was conversation.

<b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;"> To Inkheart, the fact that she had smashed herself right into a branch didn’t even begin to bug him or make him think less of her. He was a somewhat equal kind of guy and as long as she wasn’t telling him to rub his stomach over the ground and kiss her chin like she was to be respected. Ink considered himself to be quite the catch and better than her but he normally didn’t showcase that when he didn’t need to—once the time came to show that he was the bigger man, he was her ‘equal’ as much as it bugged him to think.
The silver-coated wolf had a mouthful of a name that Inkheart failed to repeat simply because it would definitely take too much time and energy out of his social conversation-going. <b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;">“I don’t plan on it,” he offered stoically before his eyes rested primarily on the water just to the left of his social companion, <b style="font-size:12px; font-family:georgia;">“the packs here don’t suit my taste.” And Inkheart didn’t think that either of them ever would thanks to the common idea that he was better at doing things by himself, for himself and having other do things for him if he didn’t want to. However, the thought sometimes crossed his mind of starting his own little pack here in Wildwood but he hadn’t the slightest clue of who would join his pack.

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His eyes settled upon the water – a fact that was perfectly fine with the ivory girl, for his bright eyes upon her were more nerve-wracking than anything else. While the stranger before her seemed rather aloof, he could also be unpredictable. One thing she did note was that he failed to introduce himself in turn, and it was either a sign that he was too full of himself to bother, or he was simply much too disinterested in the conversation; something that she could sympathize with, for it seemed she was the only one asking questions.

His words were not surprising – already her companion was leaving her with a sour taste in her mouth. He was apparently too good for the local packs as well, which only stirred her interest to what they were like. “And what does suit your taste?” Humor laced her tone, already foreseeing the exact words he would say. He wanted to lead a pack.. to not bend over for anyone. Her own features turned stoical – masking the amusement that slowly came to her. Boys were all the same.