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.