eyes innocent and wild

Orso " style="width:300px; height:auto;" alt="" />

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Her growling stomach pushed her into attempting to hunt. a necessity born from the limitations of foraging. Roots and fruits had sustained her for a time, but they could only provide so much nourishment. Unfortunately for Bunny, she now occupied the body of a wolf, which meant her nutritional needs had shifted dramatically. She was primarily carnivorous now and that meant she needed fresh meat, a stark contrast to her human diet. The thought of killing another animal didn’t scare her, it was just catching the darn things that she was struggling with. Bunny was clumsy and at times she managed to trip over air— an embarrassing fact, but her reality nonetheless. It made her feel more like a goofy puppy than the fierce predator she was embodying.

Fortunately, her keen senses picked up the tantalizing scent of a rabbit. Having followed it is what led her to this exact situation now; chasing after the fast little critter and trying to catch it. However, Bunny’s experience or lack thereof resulted in the rodent getting the best of her and hiding into a burrow where she could no longer reach it. Exhausted and exasperated, she collapsed onto her hindquarters and shot an irritated glare at the hole in the ground. “Ah, cheese and sprinkles!” she muttered under her breath, her frustration spilling over in the form of a huff as she sat there and tried regaining her breath.

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Orso didn't like to hunt.

Fun fact, Orso didn't like to do much of anything if it didn't involve illicit subjects, a little risk, and a whole lotta lovin'. 

Unfortunately, he had the horrid luck of being drug from between the two warm bodies and thrust into a place he didn't quite recognize. Not that it really mattered where he was at the end of the day, as he'd been wandering for well on a year, but it was the simple premise that seemed to cling to him like an unwelcome burr. Elderberry wine had brought him to some strange places with a pounding head, but he'd woken up not only in a strange land but without a pounding head.

No. Hadn't been the elderberry wine. He couldn't remember pissing anyone off enough that they'd take the time to cart him off to some foreign land. So...

So, Orso was stuck. He was stuck with a twitching nose and pricked ears as he tracked his quarry. Drawing in a deep, slow breath, his eyes fell closed and he focused. He could almost hear Hierax grumbling in his ear. He could practically feel old man Sirius' hot breath on the back of his neck as he hovered under yet another observation.

His eyes opened slowly, falling back to the faint, yet unmistakable tracks within the soft grass beneath his paws. Hoofprints, no doubt. The grass had yielded to tall, lanky ungulates as they traversed and grazed without a care in the world. One scent, however, was what drew him here.

Orso couldn't risk taking on an adult alone.

But?

But a sick adult was a different story. Underlying the bulk scent of his prey was a vile, sickeningly sweet smell. Even from where he stood, head half lowered, he wanted to gag. There was one among... among three- no, four, that was ill. How ill? He wasn't sure, but he was sure that he was closing in on them. 

He was-

The sound of crashing through the bracken made his entire body grow rigid. Orso was torn from a time long past, the figures of Sirius and Hierax ripped away as swiftly as the hope that had glimmered within him. If he'd heard the commotion, so had any, any deer nearby. 

With gritted teeth, he bit back a groan. Straightening, he exhaled a long, slow breath and dipped down into a deep stretch to alleviate the tension. There was no use being angry. No, he brushed the anger aside, allowing the simmering irritability to be smothered by an ever-present curiosity. 

Only when he fully collected himself did he head for the sound. 

For a tall wolf, his balletic movements sent him travelling across the turf like a wraith. Silent, he strained to see further. Orso easily found the source of all the ruckus. A smile, calm and easygoing, wove upon his muzzle as he drew near and began to slow. 

"No luck, little Miss?" His grin grew ever so slightly. 

Little Miss, in fact, was not all that little. Draped in a swath of pretty creams and pallid shades of a pinkening sky, she was more than easy on the eyes. She was cute. Soft. Pillowy. She reminded him of- 

Orso spoke past his own thoughts, adding simply, "Perhaps if you glare at the hole a little harder, the poor hare will creep out and offer an apology?" He pulled himself entirely free of the shadows, pausing a respectful distance away. "Divines know the sun would shine a tad brighter if you were smiling instead of glowering."
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No amount of glaring at the gaping hole in the ground could assuage the rising frustration swelling within Bunny, a tide of irritation cresting and crashing like waves lapping rhythmically at the shore. With a particularly deep inhalation through her nose, she released an airy huff, half in exasperation, half in resignation. Just as the frustration began to settle, she caught a distinct scent on the breeze—one she didn’t recognize—before a voice suddenly brushed against the shell of her ear, sending a jolt through her. Her heart rate quickened, a startled flutter erupting in her chest as she turned to face her unexpected company, taking him in with renewed curiosity and apprehension.

He was tall, a feature she often favored, yet standing next to him, she felt an odd sense of normalcy; their heights seemed to balance out, lending him an air of average appeal that, amusingly, she rarely encountered. With a glance, Bunny noted his coloring, a striking palette of dark earthy tones intertwined with a soft cream underbelly—a combination both timeless and visually pleasing, as if he belonged to the very landscape around them.

At his words, she couldn’t suppress the giggle from escaping her lips, her pale green eyes brightening with girlish delight as she fought against the creeping warmth of a blush beneath her fur. “Or maybe,” she quipped, her voice teasing, “if I glare long and hard enough, it’ll write me a heartfelt letter of regret—complete with an emotional haiku lamenting its misguided choices in hole-dwelling!” The latter part of her sentence was directed pointedly at the hole that housed her elusive meal, sharp yet laced with playfulness and amusement. Deep down, she knew she couldn’t really fault the rabbit for its instinctive urge to flee—who wouldn’t want to escape the clutches of a hungry predator like her?

An unladylike snort of laughter escaped her at his compliment, unexpected as she flushed in mild mortification. Her ears instinctively laid back against her skull, and she blinked in surprise, her soft pastel eyes widening at the flattery. “Um—well, you flatter me, sir,” she managed to stammer, a flustered smile creeping onto her face as she navigated the unfamiliar territory of being complimented. “I’m sure, the– uh, sun finds your smile just a-as, um, pleasing!” Goodness, let the ground swallow her whole.

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A girlish giggle tickled his ears, bringing them swinging forward just as the corners of his mouth tipped further upwards. The teasing lilt to her voice convinced him that she didn't regard him as a threat. 

Wonderful. One less concern. 

He hardly wanted to spend the next hour convincing a stranger that he wasn't out to form some meaningless tit-for-tat over land, or food, or whatever frivolous things wolves fought over these days. With boundless questions bouncing about within his own head, he hardly had time to care who lived where and why she did that or why he felt he was better than the other guy... To him, the ease with which the woman played off of his jest was delightfully refreshing.

Orso approached the woman with an air of calm confidence, as if they were simply long lost friends instead of two strangers on the middle of who-knows-where. His hazel eyes flashed from the damsel to the hole, his eyes hardening as he playfully joined her in her glaring. He paused only when he stood beside her, his attention still on the hole. 

"Tsk..." Orso shook his regal head, clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "Still wouldn't be enough of an apology, if you ask me. An ode would be more fitting should the rabbit truly feel sorrow." Gaze snapping from the hole to the stranger, he flashed a playful smile. His brow rose at her gentle stumbling, and the rather adorable attempt to return a complement.

The curve of his lips was friendly, almost patient in nature. "Ah. Between you and me, the sun isn't as fond of my smile." He huffed a laugh, adding smoothly, "She seems to favor the beautiful." Easing down onto his haunches, he huffed out a low exhale. 

Pressing past his wayward compliments, he mused, "You must forgive me... I've forgotten my manners. My name is Orso." The man's patient smile remained, though he couldn't hide the keen glint ever-present in his gaze. He, as always, left out his surname. Not that it would matter in these strange lands, anyways.
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“An ode would undoubtedly be the most pleasing thing to hear,” she mused, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “But in truth, I think we give the poor critter a bit too much credit. It is, after all, merely a hare.” She turned to look back at him just as he came to stand beside her, his presence suddenly igniting a flutter in her heart. If she could sweat in the conventional sense, she would be positively drenched right now. Instead, it felt as if her paws were clammy, a sure sign of her nerves, thanks to his abrupt and intense closeness. Bunny didn’t often venture out, and it was evident in the way awkwardness washed over her—especially in the presence of those of the opposite gender of her own.

To her relief, he didn’t laugh at her clumsy stumbling. Instead, he treated the moment as if nothing had happened, continuing as though everything was perfectly normal. She appreciated this immensely; drawing attention to her awkwardness would have only intensified her embarrassment, causing her thoughts to spiral and her face to tingle with heat.

“Nonsense—!” she began to huff out, indignation blooming on her pleasant features on his behalf. But as his next words spilled forth, the indignation fizzled, leaving confusion in its wake. Bunny didn’t see herself as beautiful; in fact, she would describe herself as… comely at best. There was no way to sugarcoat it—she was overweight and didn’t possess the tall, lean grace that captivated the boys at school, who often chased after the slender girls like lusting hounds. For as long as she could remember, Penthesileia had carried her weight with her, and being a wolf hadn't altered that perception. The unexpected compliment made her internal struggle intensify—a mix of discomfort twisted within her chest, tightening her stomach and leaving her feeling heavy. Rather than let it all bubble over, though, she forced a smile that was perhaps a bit too brittle at the edges, choosing to play along with him. “Well, who doesn’t appreciate a little beauty in the world?” she teased. “Stare at it long enough with genuine appreciation, and it might just become breathtaking.”

“No, no—!” she rushed to clarify, her words tumbling out in a flurry. “Please, forgive my own shortcomings as well then.” She waved off his apologies with a flick of her paw, allowing a more genuine, pleased grin to surface, shy yet warm in appearance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Orso. I’m Penthesileia, though most just call me Bunny.” Her name rolled off her tongue with practiced ease as she offered a shallow dip of her head in greeting, hoping to mask the unease that lingered just beneath the surface and dwelled darkly within her thoughts.

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A fool. A drunkard. A heathen. 

Orso had heard it all. He'd accepted each new creative title with a lopsided grin and a dip of his head. All of those clever little nicknames certainly fit him. He bore each as a badge of honor, in fact, but that didn't negate his studious observations. Wit and tact aside, he saw much more than he let on, heard much more than he should, and adjusted his behaviors to fit the moment.

Little Miss humored him and, for that, he was grateful. He made a point not to stare at her. Orso would admire for a moment, the softness of her colors and the curvature of her figure. She was more substantial than most women he'd had the pleasure of coming across, but that meant there was simply more to love. More to tend to. The pleasures of flesh were boundless, and a plush canine was certainly more pleasant to snuggle up against than a bag of bones and sharp teeth.

Either way, her bittersweet smile told him all he needed to know.

Lay off.

Whatever insecurities she had, he was now walking a fine line. Orso merely smiled his patient, friendly smile. "Penthesileia?" His brow rose as he echoed the title, tasting its flavor upon his tongue as it rumbled out of his throat like distant thunder. Bunny, so she said. What a horrifically simple name for a woman who bore a title with such depth of meaning. Absentmindedly he mused, "Βαρύ όνομα. Το φοράς καλά." (Heavy name. You wear it well.) The words flowed from his jaws like honey. 

His tutors would certainly be shocked to hear him utter one of the many languages they'd attempted to drill into him. It had been easy to deter them with feigned incompetence. They'd finally left him alone after months of supposedly wasted effort. "An interesting name, certainly. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep calling you Little Miss... I find it suits you." His voice was pleasant and smooth as he rose to his paws. 

"I was just tracking a herd of deer." He gestured with his snout back towards the trail he'd been following. "I assume they've run off a bit further, but if we're lucky, we may find ourselves some dinner." When his hazel eyes returned to her, there was a glimmer of a challenge within their lively depths. "Care to join me on a little hunt?"
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Internally, Bunny was pleased the man could so effortlessly speak her true name. Rarely does she come across someone who could pronounce it right, let alone not trip over the worlding. For a while, when she was young, she couldn’t say her name fully. She took to calling herself Bunny instead. She wasn’t sure why, her grandmother and mother couldn’t tell her either except that she was very adamant that Bunny be her nickname.

What she did know was that despite liking to go by Bunny, she loved her name. It was a heavy cross to bare, Orso was correct about that, but she thought it fit her and much like he said as well, she believed she wore it well. Without missing a beat she replied, “Το βάρος μιας βασίλισσας απαιτεί ισχυρούς ώμους. — A queen's weight requires a strong shoulders” Sage green eyes glittered like gemstones. It was not often she got to speak such a language with another let alone they know what her name means. “Ακόμη και παρά τα βαριά θλίψεις, — Even despite it's heavy sorrows.” she added softly in a more subdued tone.

She minded very little for his continued use of Little Miss even if she didn’t fully understand why he was so predisposed to such a name. She wasn’t exactly little and they were of the same height, but she wouldn’t stop him. It wasn’t like it was offensive to her or anything.

“I’ll warn you now that I’m not the best hunter,” she said with a touch of humility, her lips curving into a wry smile. “In fact, I might be more of a hindrance than a help, but if you’ll have me, I’m eager to contribute.”

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Orso was rather pleased to hear the melodic flow of Bunny's immediate reply. All of those lessons he sat through hadn't been for nothing after all. Not that his tutors would've ever known. He'd always been adept at playing the fool. His attention never wavered as her tone fell. 

In response, he nodded his head in steady agreement. "Το στέμμα δεν είναι ποτέ ελαφρύ." (The crown is never light.) Orso hardly praised the divines in any meaningful way. He'd curse them from time to time, of course, just for the hell of it. If the divines did truly exist, however, he would thank them for guiding his paws away from such weighty responsibilities.

His younger brother was certainly more cut out for bearing the burden of the title of King.

Orso was best at indulging in the fleeting pleasures of life.

Her warning was met with a low, throaty chuckle. Orso couldn't deny, her smile bordered on infectious. Still, he'd always been able to find a reason to grin, even if such an expression got him in trouble. "I appreciate the warning." With a slight flick of his elegant tail, he beckoned for her to follow him. "Having an extra set of eyes never hurts, even if a wolf is cursed with stumbling paws." 

Orso was quick to find the trail again, his nose working away as he guided them. In a low voice, he mused, "Doe is what we're after." His hazel eyes flitted up as he paused and peered ahead of them. "One of the herd is sick, but with two of us we could try for the largest if you're feeling lucky."

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“Δεν υποτίθεται ότι διαφορετικά δεν θα θυμάστε το καθήκον που έχετε για τους ανθρώπους σας. — it's not supposed to otherwise you wouldn't remember the duty you have towards your people.” Bunny had never known the weight of a crown, never had to bear the burdens of ruling. She was, as it were, a commoner, content with the hand life dealt her. It wasn't always easy, mind you, but it was a life she chose, a life she embraced with all her heart. Politics, the petty squabbles of men, held little sway over her. However, her books, her endless reading, especially those historical tomes, all sang a similar tune: ruling was never meant to be a walk in the park. The crown, that symbol of power, was never intended to be light and airy; it was meant to be heavy, weighed down by the countless duties that demanded a steady hand and an even steadier head to carry them out.

Soft coral pink ears twitched at his low, rumbling laughter and a barely concealed smile tugged at her lips as her sage green eyes lightened with enjoyment. “It would be most imprudent of me, you see, not to offer you a bit of a word of caution, wouldn't it?” she teased lightly, and was ever so pleasantly surprised when he took her up on her offer. “I can at least tell which paw is my left and right one, but don’t be surprised if we fail. I’ll try and refrain from telling you ‘I told you so’.” She giggled, a paw moving to cover her muzzle almost bashfully before she hurried to follow him.

She listened attentively, taking the time to smell the trail he was leading them on. “Let us not test our luck, Sir, and be content with the sick doe. Culling the herd, I would imagine, will lead to prosperity for the rest.” Or at least, that was the notion presented in the many books and historical documents she had consumed. A delicate balance, the very cornerstone of nature itself. “How do you tell which one is sick?” She asked, a touch of genuine curiosity in her voice, all the while praying he wouldn’t notice just how completely and utterly hopeless she was. Goodness, the last thing she needed was him thinking her a bit odd for not knowing how to tell the scents apart. She was, by all accounts, old enough to know such things. It mattered little that she was, well, a human before, didn’t it? One couldn't be expected to know everything at every moment.

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