From the slight chill which hung in the air arose a kind of beast like no other. A man of non-questionable stature, stiff of limb from the hours spent dozing between hunts. A bachelor gentle on the eyes, broad and looming in his figure. A man of honor and discipline, though something illusive slunk just behind the golden peaks of his iris'... A romantic, then? But one just out of reach for all. His expression was worn plainly, politely. Soft auds stood alert atop his cranium as the earth underneath seemed to rumble with the movement of the herd (one he'd been tracking for some time now). The days alone had begun to blend together, one sun rose and another set and still he roamed regardless. His voice was something he hadn't heard in moons, something rough and cold with disuse. The alabaster visage of a figure came to his mind, then; though faded just as quickly when the setting sun struck his eyelids in such a way which forced them open. Or...he just refused to dawdle on the past. Monaghan knew not of what had happened to him - his brother - but whatever did cast a shadow so long and furious, the nights had become starless.

The stretch which rattled his bones was slow, meticulous in its grasp on aching muscles. Monaghan had been trailing the herd to pick off any scraps feasible, though it had become harder as the wolves had temporarily rooted in this forested nook. The male knew not to encroach on their temporary hunting grounds, and so he bade himself to the border - however difficult it was to find prey. Rising as the sun fell to the world's knees, Monaghan shook out his downy coat and turned to watch as the sun fell. The grassland stretched around him for hundreds of feet, (The Elk's Crown some ways off of course), and a single leaning willow tree loomed over him at a falling angle.

All around the sky was draining of color, the warmth of day subsiding to that of quieting hours of dusk. The chill in the air was bitter, a distinct reminder of the harsh winter that had finally thawed the land.

A young wolf would march onwards, her steps deliberate and focused. She was sharadoii, a caribou hunter with a deep chocolate coloring and ivory white accents highlighting her sleek and agile form. The long march had urged her to leave her natal band after her puberty rites, the opportunity to assimilate herself in a new band with completely new wolves sparked an undeniable excitement in the female, a flutter and twist in her stomach with eager anticipation. The lack of a comfortable, warm wetu was one thing she would dearly miss of her home.

Her blackened nose would deeply inhale the chilly air, pausing in her movement to regain the scent she had been dutifully tracking for so long. Each day, she would grow closer to her quarry. The notable tracks of caribou engraved into he earth, droppings, the occasional hunted carcass and dead bodies of the weak and elderly. There was no mistaking it - a band traveled with this herd. Their own markings were undeniable - their pungent markings along the way of the march clearly stating their coming through.

She was close.

The young wolf's attention would soon be drawn to a different scent, one much more fresh and different than the one she had already been tracking. With a furrowed brow, she would lower herself into a stalking motion much like a sleek panther on the hunt - trailing forward until her obsidian gaze would settle on the resting form of a large male. His coat was borderline ivory with handsome melding of different shades of grey and brown. Old scars would display themselves across his form - a clear indication the male was no stranger to that of combat.

Taking a moment to weigh her decisions; She would utterly find herself braving the introduction. The dark female would allow herself to reveal her form, lifting herself and hesitantly moving forward to close the distance.

"Do you track the caribou herds as well?" She would bluntly state, quirking an curious brow.

Wanderer.

Lost.

Forgotten.

His was a name that meant nothing. Dreams that had fallen from the leaves of the tree of his life, brown, brittle, scattered to the wind, to the four directions.

Who even was he? What was he doing here? He'd followed a girl, chosen to stay, found happiness in being lost, but she had brought him back, and discontent followed.

There were no borders, only caribou, and while he wished to wander alone with his thoughts, Aivar found two interlopers; one light, one dark. He didn't care a whit, and maybe he should have.

The wolf's stormcloud form peeled from the long, deeper shadows of the trees in fading light. He moved with one hind leg drawn up, limping as if wounded, but there was no fresh wound. His eyes burned like coals. There was no warmth to be found there, no welcome. The scent of the caribou hunters had faded in his time away, but it was there again. For now.

His eyes traced over the two.

“Hungry?” He asked, his words distinctly common, distinctly not like that of the caribou hunters.

The wind tousled soft tufts of pale fur in its loving caress, raking through Monaghan's pelt like fine fescue. His mind had fallen silent in its ruminating, body still as he basked in the fading warmth of the day. Heavy scarring littered broad shoulders, with a stray wrapping the curve of his maw. A story untold, and yet on plain display for all to see. The wolf knew eventually it would all come to light, but that was just the way of the land...what had happened to him. His family. Muradoii often raided other faction bands, took captives and killed the ones they didn't want prospering. Though when Monaghan seemed to focus too strictly on that night, gnashing teeth and tearing flesh...the wails of despair cut short as their lives were taken from them...his mind would react in turn. A cage of thorns had wrapped itself around his heart of hearts, protectant and yet self inflicting in some peculiar way. Their faces had begun fading from his memory, and what remained was only some wavering mass of grey and black. Scents lost to the tome of time, voices no longer carrying the winds.

The vise which gripped his mind loosened then, as paw steps adjacent drew his wandering thoughts back to the realm of the living.

A mask of neutrality crept along the male's handsome features as his ears pinned to his skull with her approach, but the male did not turn his head to observe her just yet.

A dark mixture of oak and earth, the she-wolf stepped lightly into the tree's offered shade. Curiosity glinted in her dark gaze as she moved closer, though it was not lost on Monaghan how she kept a particular distance from him. Perhaps the contrast in their sizes - and status as strangers - had bade her caution. Or perhaps it was the marks which tore through his exposed flank that she had allowed a spare glance just now. Their eyes met then, in a silent dance.

'Do you track the caribou herds as well?'

Golden iris' dragged away from those dark pools as the question fell on a slight wind. It'd been too long since he last remembered speaking to another. Time was a convent which worshipped Death, and Ice Raven was watching.

I do. Simple, curt words. Kind and yet his voice crackled like flaking rust. The wind tugged once again at the downy plume of his scruff, and with it came a new scent - something of a dry wind. Pine bark?

And before the two newly introduced pair could speak again, a third bird appeared on the branch. A male wolf of dark countenance, though the pale beast was drawn immediately to the stranger's dusky eyes. The setting sun cast hues of blood-orange and rose across the stretching sky like a painter along a canvas, streaks traced randomly through thin clouds.

A brief silence ensued his question, as the three strangers appeared to chew on the word offered like an olive branch of sorts. Hungry?

Yes, perhaps he was. And though words failed him under the thick fog which encapsulated his mind, the male turned away from the crying sun, away from the thorns which tortured his captive heart, and the three birds took flight from their branch to seek something present, and simple. Dinner.

---

Her steady gaze was focused on the male, his word causing an ever so slight pleased smile to grace her feminine features.

Before another word could slip past the either of them, a steady breeze brushed through bringing on it's tail a new scent - another wolf, one that smelled of dusty pine.

Her head would be quick to swivel in search of the origin of the scent, caution finding her form as her gaze now found itself settled on that of a tall and slender wolf. His stride held a noticeable limp to it, yet no wound could be seen to her. An old wound, or a clever ruse?

There was a distinct lack of warmth or welcoming mirth in this male's eyes, his sudden question cutting through the tense atmosphere like butter. With him closer now, the faint scent of caribou and other wolves found itself tightly wrapped around the dark figure that now joined them. There would be a momentarily pause, the female soaking in the words thoughtfully with a gentle hum.

By now the evening light had dimmed to a brilliant sunset fervently painting the scene; Seamlessly blended swathes of fiery oranges and dusky blush.

"Let us dine together."

---

---

was going to bring Meleys since she is lead but realized this is dated the day she had her pups. Eep

Their scents were on the wind, moving through the trees and Yaalk'ali followed. One feminine. One masculine. He felt he might have known the scent of the man, however vague. Perhaps he had been a loner feasting off the remains of kills left by the caribou hunters, which they left willingly so to them, as a showing of strength. It was the young female's (of course, knowing him) which would capture his attention most.

Drawing along the scent path, in time Aivar's own danced among them. Yaalk’ali paused, nose crinkled but after a moment decided to press on anyway.

Hungry. The single word of the lame wolf perked Yaalk'ali's ears. Once, when Aivar had been trailing the Saatsine for quite some time, he had offered to hunt with a woman known as Elisabet. A woman which because of his ideas of hunting the Saatsine herd without permission to do so, got her run off and marked as enemy while Aivar? Marked as slave. As it were, he had not learned his lesson. A lack of lesson which Yaalk'ali would make certain to report to Cen.

When he arrives, he does not offer Aivar his attention, savor a silent sneer before addressing the two which were not known. They were still at a distance from the herd. Still had not crossed any known lines among the caribou hunters. To them, Yaalk'ali greets with Cheshire grin. You've drawn near the Lanzadoii. He speaks in this tongue. He would know their worth by their words. We are Saatsine. My brother Cen here is Chieftan. I am Yaalk'ali.

Skill: Orator

Before any can make a single step in the direction of promised dinner, a figure slinks through the long grass. A slender fellow of similar hue to the falling sky. Monaghan's observing gaze trails the tweaked lines of the newcomers features, and somewhere in the details he finds an unsavory tickle along his spine. Something akin to disdain swelled in the pale masculine's chest. He did not like this man.

And as if his own thoughts were spoken aloud, a lilted tongue which brought many memories flooding back sang a testing song. But the tune was too sharp, accents falling off of words in odd places. Monaghan's ears twitched in realization as he placed the man's origin, maw parting to reveal his own knowing secrets...

Yaalk'ali - A slight bow of the neck, then, from the alabaster beast. - I am Monaghan. Thank Kigun for the health of the herd, as myself and- He motioned towards Citali with a bump of his nose, -this miss have tracked and trailed behind. A sliver of a stubborn gem remained nested within the broad curve of Monaghan's shoulders. He would not be pushed from his rightful place beyond the packlines, and knew well the guiding laws which drove the Saatsine. Flaring questioning nostrils, the bachelor only held those yellowish eyes with his own in a silent testing of boundaries as only the wind accompanied his words.

Yaalk'ali had asserted himself at a high position: the brother of Saatsine's own Chieftan. Though what this meant for the band of strangers, he could not be certain. How often did the pack allow those trailing behind the herd to join? Of course that depended on Cen's word, or the word of the approaching band themselves. Monaghan's calculating iris' rested instead behind the rusty male, blurring his outline to settle instead on the tree line. Dinner was still in question.

Aivar growled softly, lips curling. He seemed to have been misunderstood. He did not invite anyone to hunt. Amber eyes turned to the approach of the slinky, fox-red wolf, Yaalk'ali. Let him deal with these strangers. Aivar didn't care.

Aivar turned away, slowly, watching, hackles prickling along his spine to disappear once more into the shadows of the trees.

---

exit so I don't hold anything up

soo sorry for the delay / short post!!

---

Her brows couldn't help but furrow in confusion, gaze swapping back and forth between the individuals before her - a stern growl from Aivar before his departure and the introduction of a completely new, daunting male. Had she misunderstood what they meant?

She would huff out gently in embarrassment, ears pinning down as she'd allow her gaze to meekly examine the orange male before her, his coat akin to that of a sly fox. His build was slender - though his very presence felt as though it caused the ends of her hairs to stand on guard.

As Monaghan spoke she would nod along her head in agreement, "Greetings. I am Citlali of the Great Stag band." Her head would dip in respect and greeting, a pleasant smile gracing her features. "We pardon any intrusion, but it is like he says." She would further confirm, chest beating loudly in it's cavity out of sheer nervousness. The Saastine. It seems they have truly drawn near and found them.

She would deeply inhale, hoping to find her courage to push out a question past her lips. "I seek to find a place amongst you, to follow in your march."

---

The large paled wolf spoke with pleasantries and a bow of neck, though a silence lingered there between two pairs of yellow eyes. An unspoken tension perhaps between a falsehood of friendliness as one of their deities is mentioned and the other's eyes cast beyond Yaalk'ali to the herd. Aivar's snarling and slip from the scene is scarcely noticed. Attentiveness to the large man is pulled from the fox easily at the voice of the young woman.

Great Stag? His ears perked to hear it, as though quite impressed. Though certainly not, as he did not expect much of a Sharadoii's capability to follow them in their march. A Sharadoii wishes to march with Lanzadoii? You will be tested harder than the others. Are you prepared for this? He smiles and it is only from his years of practice that it would seem sincere. Whatever would a Lanzadoii want with the weak resolve of valley hunters? He would have asked of the man's former band but found he did not care.