Timeless

The sun spotted the floor of the forest, mottling the fallen leaves and mire that lay in the path. The days were warm, the afternoons resembling the summer months but as the sun fell the cold began to seep through. In the evening frost would cover the dying grasses and push Flicka to shelter but right now...right now it was beautiful. A cascade of warm air rushed over her fur, enticing the female headlong toward the shore.

How long had she been here now?

Days? Weeks? She couldn’t tell. Time had a weird way of working in this world she found herself in, sometimes the sun appeared to last for hours and other times it was as if she lived in perpetual darkness. Time had no meaning here, that is what it seemed to her at least. She’d yet to remember anything of her past, save for the siblings she shared the womb with and nothing she did could jog the reveries of old. It wasn’t often that creatures received a second chance at life but either Flicka was very lucky or very luckless. She supposed that determination would come with time.

Dark pads brought the female closer to the edge of the water. She could already taste the chilly insipid along her lips, a general excitement began at her shoulders, fueling her speed.

This place was mysteriously beautiful. The firs reached high into the sky and yet they still seemed so small in comparison to the mountains in the distance. Colossal beings that reached their peaks well into the clouds. The sky above was clear and even still the alps were invisible, hidden beyond the prospects of her vision. Closer than the crests though were the cascades of the weir beyond, falling water that created a crescendo of noise. From where she stood it wasn’t overbearing but any closer and the sound would begin to become deafening. Waterfalls were not her favorite thing, they often drowned out her thoughts but here she could still focus.

Flicka reached down her head and lapped up the cold liquid. It soothed the aridness inside her throat, quenched the arising thirst she’d felt since she arrived in this biome. The warmth of the sun was still upon her back, the deep charcoals and chocolates of her coat drawing the rays and thus Flicka stepped into the cool. She waded until the water was just at her belly before stopping, allowing the lake water to seep into her coat and cool her flesh.

It didn’t occur to her that she may not be alone.

Her senses were dull in the wake of her enjoyment.

Flicka closed her eyes against the sunlight, granting the warmth to bleed against her cheeks. It was a brief moment of clarity that was short-lived. She could feel eyes on the back of her head, a prickle of awareness that leapt in the form of goosebumps along her flesh.

“Is someone there?” She asked the lakeside, no tenor defied her, it was a simple inquiry that fell from cautious lips.

@Tate
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He happened to glance at the stranger, but that's all it took for her awareness to pique. He blinked as she opened her eyes, looking around and asking. "Yes, hello" he chirped, stepping backward and pivoting. Tate had been on his way after having a drink himself, only looking at the young woman for a brief moment as she approached the water herself. He also had been a bit away from her, not right on top.

So it stood to reason she couldn't see him, but... couldn't she smell him? "I was just having a drink" he said as he swung his body to face her, a good distance between them. Then I'll be on my way. It was what he wanted to say, but felt it was a bit rude. If she didn't want to talk, he didn't mind. Part of being a vagabond was two strangers meeting and then parting, never meeting up again. He had accepted this long ago. "sorry if I disturbed you."

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It stood to reason that she wasn’t the only one here, there were probably a thousand other creatures in this area at this very moment but Flicka only spied this one. During her diversion with the water against her skin, the sun atop her muzzle, she’d not sensed him. Her distracted nature would, one day, be the death of her. Warm amber eyes turned to face him, ripples of water expanding from her form as she turned.

She glimpsed him, half bathed in the light of the afternoon sun. He didn’t seem menacing, his posture mostly relaxed. Flicka couldn’t tell for sure but she seemed like he wasn’t a threat to her and thus she relaxed her shoulders, smiling in the wake of his presence. Her motley-coloured head tilted to the side, chuckling in the wake of his last sentence. His presence appeared fleeting, as if he’d rather turn and run a million miles away than submit to small-talk with the likes of her. This make Flicka chuckle to herself.

“No, no. You aren’t disturbing me at all.” The femme trotted a few steps forward, the water still along the base of her breast, droplets of the stuff draining back into the lake.

drip.drip.drip. It was practically the only sound besides the falling irrigate in the background of their union.

“It’s such a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the water is refreshing...” She paused a moment to closed her lids and stare up at the sky, absorbing the rays that fell across her back.

“I’m Flicka.” The introduction fell from her lips as if in after-thought, her eyes opening to square him in her sights again. There was no part of her that was imposing, only receiving and tranquil, if a little awkward. It had been a long time since Flicka had the opportunity to speak to another wolf, and even more so since she held a conversation.
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He allowed her to speak, listening as he always did. Once she introduced herself, he wagged his tail slowly but in a friendly gesture. "Tate" his turn to say his name "just wait until winter arrives; you'll be missing days like this." He sighed quietly, grey eyes drifting across the location to take in the sights.

It was a nice day, but he preferred summer over winter. With it encroaching on autumn, it felt almost foreboding. Flicka seemed calm, calmer than most others who had just arrived. Though he couldn't be sure; he only suspected she was new. Didn't seem weighed down by the world; or was that just her personality? Others seemed to be... wary or even hollowed.

In a sense, Flicka was more upbeat and calm.

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They were perched ten feet away from each other, him on the sands and her in the lake. It seemed a respectful distance given that neither of them knew one another. That changed the moment he said his name. Her tassel raised at her backside, tilting first to the left and then to the right. She challenged herself to move forward again, this time leaving the chilly waters behind and electing for the stable ground along the shore. Mire stuck to her paws and as she walked past Tate and onto the sand, her coat dripped to the ground below; marking it in darker colours. He spoke of winter as she lengthened the distance between them, waiting until she was far enough away to as not to pelt him with droplets, and shook out her fur. When she turned to face him again, she was smiling.

“I don’t hate the cold.” She offered, thinking about the frost ridden months that were to come. It didn’t bode well for a wolf, given that prey was in scarce supply and shelter was much often more of a requirement. Flicka couldn’t just lay in the snowbanks and take a nap in the winter, no, that was risky business in the harsh colds. Even still it would be severe to say she hated the season, only that it made things more challenging.

“I don’t love it either though. Fall has to be my favourite. Something about it...it reminds me of my home.” Flicka paused along her words, realizing that the season did remind her of something but of what that exact thing was, she couldn’t be sure. Where was her home? How could Autumn play such a role in her life when she barely remembered her past? It made little sense.

A few beats of silence wherein Flicka composed herself passed before she shook her head and refocused her attentions onto Tate.

“I do suppose then I will be missing days like this.” She added, cautioning herself closer to the male and leaning back upon her dark haunches. The plume of her tail wrapped around her legs; warm hued eyes positioned on her new acquaintance.

“Tell me about yourself, Tate.” It wasn’t an inquiry but an invitation. If Flicka couldn’t remember her own past than she‘d opt for the manifestation of someone else’s. That would make up for all that she had lost...right?
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ooc; archivist skill
 

His ears piqued forward at her words, trying to wait and listen. She spoke a lot, more than the wolves he had met thus far that's for sure. "Your home?" he prompts quietly, asking after it. She seems to fall silent, reminiscing before directing the question back at him. He blinked once, wondering where to even begin. Maybe she didn't remember her home. That was fine.

"Hmm" he mused, shifting his weight a bit "I was part of a noble bloodline" Tate began "but I was always too soft for politics and power grabs. I was never really interested in it, and my father — more than once — voiced his 'concerns' over it." he grinned somewhat, half smirk and half fond smile. He really didn't care in the end, because he was presented with an opportunity now. To do things his way.

To live for himself. "I was eventually passed over as family heir nearing the end of my boyhood" He shrugged "I suspect my brother will do a better job. I'm more interested in recreational skills. Music, 'book keeping', stories and artistic pursuits." Tate knew he'd be happier here — it was just a matter of time finding a place for himself. If he couldn't find a wolf pack he liked, he'd be a strict vagabond. No big deal.

"Basically, I'm just doing what I never felt I could. I'm not special in that regard; plenty of folks here have been given a second chance."

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The background of the forest aided the silence between them. It hung like a blanket over each individual until Tate spoke, shattering the illusion. She watched him as he expressed, shrugging his shoulders calmly. He spoke of his bloodline, his brother and his journey here. Flicka listened intently, tilting her head at certain intervals, allowing his parted words to seep into her ears. He seemed an interesting character to her. Much more interesting than she assumed her life had been, could she even remember what that was. Maybe it didn’t matter that much but the rumination of her past bothered her. Where had she come from? Or, more importantly, what had she left behind?

“You seem like a good story teller.” She commented when he was done, smiling in the wake of her revelations. Not everyone could weave a good story, it took talent. Perhaps something she wasn’t well versed in. It wasn’t until he mentioned second chances that her ears perked; eyes suddenly wide with interest.

Is that what this was? A second chance? Had Flicka died in her past life and been given a second chance here? Nothing made sense to her any more and something about all the interactions she’d had thus far seemed...ethereal. Was this even real?

“Yes...” The syllable fell from her lips. The sound was nearly lost to the breeze.

“A second chance.” She repeated it, tasted the words inside her own mouth. It took Flicka a moment to recollect herself and refocus on Tate.

“I suppose we should be grateful then.” She beamed, this time her lips parted and her tongue lolled to the side. She stood to placate the energy that coursed through her veins. A new, revitalized vigour.

“It’s been so nice meeting you here, Tate. It feels like fate. You’ve given me something to think upon and I appreciate that.” She bowed her head to him and when she rose it again, she appeared reflective. "I don’t remember when I’ve come from or what I’ve left behind.” It was an admission of sorts, a statement that made the female feel quite lost. The memories were there somewhere. She could feel them in there but she didn’t have access to them.
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