crater on the moon

As far as dreams go, this was a tolerable one, Igor concluded, though he wouldn't voice such a sentiment aloud. Nightmares were, generally speaking, a wasteful expenditure of mental energy he rather not bother with. He’d experienced them, of course, but never with the dramatic flair others seemed prone to. Igor kept his thoughts focused and he wasn’t known to giving in to the fanciful notions of his mind. Igor’s life before Philos, by most metrics, was… manageable. He was not one to indulge in such sentiments of what could have been. He'd known a life of relative peace, of course, before the circumstances that landed him in Philos. Yet, even now, with his fur ruffled from sleep, the gentle lapping of the river against his paws was a welcome serenity, a quiet moment he was in no rush to relinquish or disturb. A subtle sigh, a mere puff of breath against the cool morning air, was the only outward sign of his contentment.

for @Nanuktaaq <3

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In one moment, she had settled to sleep.

But in the next, she woke. In a dream, perhaps?

This place was not the highlands. It was not home. There was no Kirain. No Vawraek.

And yet, there was peace.

When her eyes has fully taken the expanse of land in, she stretched with a small purring hum. The silence was not eerie, but welcoming. She was alone— or... maybe not?

Looking beyond, a figure cast a shadow that beckoned her. Was it normal to see others this vividly in a dream?

Rising tentatively, she neared, head canted with curiosity. But she feared to speak, that it might spook whoever this was and turn friend to foe. If they even were a potential friend to begin with...

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Igor's ears were attuned to the subtlest sounds and picked up the soft crunch of dry brush crunching beneath her paws long before her scent wafted towards him, a gentle caress on the warm, balmy air. He didn't stir, his cool gaze fixed on the swirling water around his paws, the flashing of fish drawing his attention as he waited for her to announce herself. But the silence stretched, and he sensed her eyes upon him, weighing and measuring. It was a familiar feeling, one he'd grown accustomed to over the years. Many found his imposing physique and stoic mannerisms daunting, and he'd learned to move with a deliberate slowness to reassure those who might misjudge him.

As he lied there, his massive frame relaxed, his eyes narrowed slightly, taking in the faint outline of a snow-white coat from the peripheral of his vision. He knew he cut an intimidating figure, but he made no effort to alter his posture, his movements measured and precise. The stillness was a shield, one he'd honed over time, and he was content to let it speak for him. Silence was just as valuable as words.

When he finally turned to face her, his head rotated with a slow, deliberate movement, his eyes locking onto hers with a piercing intensity. “Greetings, objazd, — dream dweller” he rumbled, his deep voice low and smooth, like the gentle lapping of waves on a summer shore. His shoulders relaxed, a subtle gesture, as he attempted to convey a sense of openness, of approachability, without compromising his stoic reserve. His features, chiseled and unyielding, remained impassive, a mask that hid his thoughts and emotions, leaving her to wonder and guess at what lay beneath the surface.

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He spoke! She, now startled, froze.

His voice was rich, deep. It was a heavy rumble through her body, making her shiver in only the best way.

Ears perking, she took a few steps nearer, dipping her chin in soft greeting. “Hello,” she then offered, her voice quite the opposite from his own. Airy, sweet; but not sickly so. Confident, while not overbearing.

“May I ask how you believe to have come here?” Or did he even know? Perhaps he was in the same predicament as her.

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The sound of his voice startled her, the very fact that he could speak seemed to catch her off guard. His brow furrowed slightly as he studied her, the silence stretching as he attempted to decipher her nature. Was she some ethereal being, a minor deity who came to observe the habitat of his own mind? But her reaction was too… normal, too human. He shook his massive head, a barely perceptible movement, dismissing the fanciful notion. He was once a chieftain, not a dreamer of gods. That title went to other, far more capable people other than him. But was this a dream within a dream? He’d had such things before when he would be put in a trance by the kňažka — priestess of his pack. Regardless, in the end it mattered very little on how he ended up here. He was here now and was content to see where this dream led him.

With a low rumble that barely disturbed the air, he finally spoke, his voice gravelly and devoid of any inflection. “I retired to sleep within the territory of my pack, and somehow arrived in this place. It seems a logical conclusion to assume this is another level of dream.” He paused, his steel grey eyes holding hers for a moment longer before asking, in a tone that brooked no nonsense, “and what is your presence doing here?”

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