Bloody Good Time

For @Åshe

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A few days had passed since his awakening in these lands. The man was lucky to find a path from the island to the mainland and spotted snowy mountains, moors and crossed rivers to find himself in a forest of ruby leaves.

It was a strange place in comparison to the other greenery he had seen - for this one wasn’t green at all! He didn't know if this was unusual or not, but according to his recent travels; it was very strange. The smell was no different than any other, a change of soil, a change of plants, but nothing out of the general ordinary here.

Visually it was stunning; and he stuck out like a sore thumb. A white mass moving through the dark forest with thick red canopies.

Moving to scratch an itch on the side of his shoulder, he used the trunk of a tree to do so and out of his scarred maw was a low groan. Pleased with the satisfaction of scratching a long itchy side.

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Åse moved like a phantom through the red woodland. What she had been searching for she had found an abundance of— Coneflowers and Buckwheat. She held a bouquet of them in her jaws, bite delicate enough so they didn't snap in half on her journey.

She had always wanted to be prepared for the worst. Stjörnuáti wouldn't ask her to go this far— hell, she was sure that he didn't want her to have to trek this far at all. But that wasn't her concern. What her concern was laid within what the pack had, and didn't have. What it had was members, but not the supplies to care for them.

It would be a duty she'd take on proudly.

Until she got a masculine whiff of mint her head turned, and feet stopped. From the distance she could see the white wolf sticking out sorely. Poor thing. He looked large— large enough to take his own, but her curiosity overwhelmed her. He had no stench of a pack. A loner. Rogue.

"Aluu," she'd call, her native Iñupiaq tongue left a soft greeting for him to take as she revealed her tall stature from the brush.

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He smelled her first. A feminine odour laced with the scent of pack. The brute ignored this individual for now, not wanting to stick his nose into someone else's business, nor did he want to stir up unwanted attention from a potentially threatening pack. He was quite pleased as a wanderer. Lonely and bored for sure, but better than fleeing from a pack who didn't appreciate someone skulking around even if it was harmless.

Some packs were strange after all. An itchy claw for war and even itchier when it came to making examples out of loners.

It was the low greeting that stopped him from enjoying his good itch. An ear picked itself up first to be swiftly followed by his marred up gaze. A dip of his head, shallow but visible, a welcoming gesture despite the harsh expression carved into his features. “Greetings.” He didn't apologize for being here around a pack wolf, these were neutral lands after all. 

“Are you looking for something?”

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The brute of a man turned around to face her. Scars littered his face, one convenitently making an 'x' shape over his muzzle, tempting his eye with a gash. One of his ears looked like they had been torn apart, too. A warrior, perhaps? It only intrigued Åse further as she took a step closer to seal the feet of their proximity. 

"Herbs...err, how do you say...med- medichinal? Herbs for wounds."Åse's common tongue had never been its strongest. There were words from her own language that she simply never knew— why would she ever risk helping an outsider? More or less talk to one? She supposed that things were changing, weren't they?

"My name is Åse." She would introduce herself to him with a light dip of her head. His scent was fresh. Clean. Mint? "You?"

 

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As far as he was concerned his face was relaxed as ever. To someone looking right into his face however, would see the most hideous resting bitch face they could find. Creases between his brows and lips held tight which to him was oddly comfortable... Some day they would give him wrinkles if they already hadn't. It was hard to tell when they just seemed to be a part of his features these days.

Patiently he waited for her to find the words. Common tongue wasn't her first language it seemed, nor did it strike him as Thuum, so patience was a virtue he had to practice. While she struggled with words he studied her features. Feminine. Clean. A shadow in colours. A stark contrast to his scars and pale canvas. 

Herbs, he understood that and nodded. Searching his memory for anything he had come across in these woods, one thing in particular struck out to him most. “Come, I might know where to find some.” Leaving little room for pleasantries he turned in the direction perpendicular to them toward the mountains. It wasn't his duty to fulfill, he knew that... and yet he still enjoyed the task regardless.

“Aarkron.” Nor did he forget to introduce himself. He was a gentleman after all. Rough around the edges but he knew his manners. At least to a certain extent that didn't involve facial expressions. “On my way into these woods I saw Goatweed. May be useful for you.” 

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The man the color of snow barely gave her any room to object to his findings. Åse had no issue. She carried on quickly behind him, finding an easy pace. Her steps were elegant, and light as she took in the landscape of the crimson forest. Beautiful. 

Then, he introduced himself. Åse's ears twitched forward. Aarkron.

"Ahhrkron."She would attempt to test out his name on her tongue. It sounded even more foreign and, perhaps, distasteful. She tried her best, and she hoped that it wouldn't be the worst thing that he'd ever heard.

He mentioned an herb that she didn't know the meaning of in common tongue. She would need to smell it for herself to know exactly what it's properties were. In the meantime, there was little conversation to be had. Åse was never big on conversing. What she was doing here, with this Aarkron was a big enough step as is.

But she needed to stock there reserves. She would simply nod her head and follow him.

When they did stumble across a patch of herbs, Åse wasted no time letting her nose fall against the leaves and petals, inhaling them with fervor. She'd grumble to herself, finding a patch of weeds to be distasteful. Stay away, she wanted to say. But she thinks she knew what he mentioned. This smelled sweeter.

"This one—" She nudge with her nose. "One you speak of?"

 

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up to you if its the right one!

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It was endearing how she tried to pronounce his name. He offered a gruff hum of approval along with a gentle nod. “A-ah Khrón, a little more emphasis at the end and you could sound like home.” She tried and he'd assist without giving her a false sense of victory. All good things come with some work and this was no different, nor would he expect any different treatment should he try another's tongue as well least he sound foolish pretending to master what he hadn't.

After that they remained in relative silence. He too found comfort in the tranquil. His lumbering heavy steps contrasted with her own lithe grace, he could swear it was only him making any sound as they travelled through the woods. The only caution taken was to avoid any snapping twigs beneath his weight or crunching leaves to avoid drawing too much attention to them with an echo or two.

Not long of a walk there was the herbs he had in mind - meanwhile the woman wandered to a different bunch. One he supposed smelled sweeter and more enticing than the stink of the goatweed that naturally chased others away from the idea of eating it. Luckily for them, it wasn't for eating. With a shake of his head he went back to the weeds she had rejected, and with gentle, scarred lips he pulled a few leaves and placed them in a small bundle. “Au-Ser-” it was his turn now to try and pronounce hers, butchering it embarrassingly in his own way but did his best. “The leaves are placed on open wounds to help heal.” Rolling his tongue not long after the explanation, he tried to spit out any of the plant's toxins before swallowing. “Can eat in low doses, not a lot, poison.”

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The brutish man aided her in a pronunciation. She'd repeat his name on her tongue once more, then again. The last time she attempted, she felt that she was successful enough. Enough, she guessed. 

When he shook his head at the herb, she frowned, confused. The language barrier between them served a large differentiation of plants and other herbal remedies. He stepped away from her, looking elsewhere for the herb he sought. She watched him carefully, head held high, then low, as she observed what he was doing.

Then her name came from his lips. A huff of air left her mouth in amusement at his butchered pronunciation. It would be good enough for now. She answered his beckoning command, trotting over, looking at the small bundle that he had picked.

Without hesitation, her nose dipped down to smell the bundle, and her face writhed in disgust. She gave a soft snort of a growl, her teeth baring. She knew this herb. In the past she has worked with it, unfavorable of its scent, but appreciative of its properties.

"Bad smell." She'd mumble, unamused and keeping her head away from the plant. "I use before. Helps lots." She'd get over herself and approach it again. "Poison? Mean...mean sick, yes?"

She cleared her throat. "I got sick before." She'd comment. "Not good."

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His expression didn't change as she moved from the sweeter herbs to the ones that eventually contorted her face in disgust. He bit down on his own teeth not wanting to crack a smile, but even he had to admit that it was amusing to watch anyone take their first whiff of goatweed. But this wasn't her first apparently, and an ear cocked forward curious.

He may have helped her find some kind of herb, but it was nothing new. Useful, but that was about it. Perhaps she had her own tricks to teach him later on if willing.

"Poison? Mean...mean sick, yes?" He nodded slowly. Eyes falling from her perfectly feminine face to the flowers that would pale in comparison. “Yes.” A simple answer. Picking a few flowers far too gentle for someone who lumbered around the woods like a bull in a china shop - he chewed the small portion of yellow flowers and swallowed, proving that in small doses, even he felt comfortable to eat the stinky plant.

A long silence followed as he picked his words. Their language barrier was problematic, but not troublesome... he just had to take his time. It helps with depression... great sadness. But take only a little. For a beautiful plant, it smelled awful... and yet was both medicinal and toxic. But in the proper paws, it was irreplaceable.

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By the nod of his head and utter of affirmation, Åshe's translation had been confirmed. She went quiet then, along with him, picking at the stalks that he managed to miss with his teeth. She made no more fuss about the smell, knowing a great deal of what it means to have them ready.

She looked at him then, shocked, as he was taking bites of the plants. She thought he was grinding them up, maybe, for some use that she wasn't aware of. She was unexpected of the plant to be swallowed with a singular gulp.

When he spoke again, she listened. Her ears perked, wondering about the meaning of a few of his words. Depression? But then he clarified, thankfully. Great sadness. Åshe's expression turned concerned, but not overly so. The tension in her brow lifted and she looked toward Aakron.

She looked at the herbs, then to him. "Great sadness?" She would wonder, voice quiet, tender. "Why are you sad?"

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She moved for what he suspected was to gather some to bring back to the pack that perfumed her coat. She would be expected home eventually and with their brief time together surely they would be able to smell him too... this brought up the question if they should part ways when the time came - or if he should walk her back to the borders of her home and ensure a safe return.

Last he needed was his scent to be all over an injured packmate and have a pack at his heels due to some incident he wasn't involved in. But did he really want to make that a new habit of his? Did it matter? It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

The look on her face was chalked up to uncertainty of watching someone eat a potentially toxic plant. He thought nothing of it, brushing it off as just a demonstration of trust that she too could eat or prescribe to someone in need. That this wasn't some kind of long-term ploy to get her to poison a pack with the promise of a loner that it was safe in small doses.

After all, that's what he would think if he were her with a pack to care for.

Instead it was he who would be surprised, jaw loosening at her question but not quite hanging.

It didn't come to him that it would be interpreted that way; but now that it was out in the open. “Aren't we all in some way?” Picking a few stems rich with flowers and leaves, all useful for whatever needs may come her way. “Anything else? I can help you carry them home.” A change of subject was an order.

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Around the bundle of herbs, Åshe would attempt to make her words as clear as possible. "I guess so." She had never really thought about it. Culturally, sadness would be shared amongst the people's. Åshe had consistently surrounded others in her life that benefited her—

but she remembered a time where she felt utterly alone, and that was where she felt a great sadness.

Her expression changed, a neutral satisfaction blossoming. A grateful sigh left her throat. Aakron had been a generous, thoughtful man— in her eyes, for now, anyways. With a nod of her head, she looked to the large bundle of herbs at her feet. Mix matched varieties of all sorts. "It is not far from here."

She took as much of the herbs as she could, leaving him about half of the amount left. She began to exit the red forest, looking over her shoulder at him once more, a beckoning nod of her head that said follow. If he did, she would take him all the way up to Morðfjall borders.

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