Birds of a feather

It had been days since he had spoken to the girl dressed in the white silken gown and perfumed with the sweet scent of flowers. The words she had spoken to him plagued his mind, "I think this world changes as it wishes". Did that mean it was alive? More than the trees, the blades of grass, the elk that pounded the ground, and the birds that soared in the sky, but the earth itself was alive with a sort of magic? The very ground could rearrange as it saw fit? Beck lifted his front paw and peered beneath it dubiously as if there were untold secrets hiding beneath, ones that had the potential of spilling out. He couldn't quite believe it, or if he did, he couldn't believe how he were to end up in a place such as this.

No matter how hard he tried to remember, the further away from the truth he had felt. He could remember the place he was before he had awoken in that meadow, it was winter and the forest was cloaked in an alabaster robe of snow. Every tree and every shrub was weighed down beneath the frosty precipitation. He remembered shivering. Shivering like he had never been so cold in his life, and no matter the way in which his body quaked, he felt as if he had been frozen down into his bones. And now, the dirt below his paws was warm and fragrant with the musk of life, born anew.

He was tempted to scoff, to disbelieve, swindled around in a dream realm by a ghost. He pursed his lips, which was it, dream or afterlife? Attempting to physically dislodge the thoughts, he shook his head, fearing he may go mad should he keep pondering such a thing. The tree-line began to break apart, slender stems of young saplings parting to reveal a placid lake nestled carefully within the forest. River rocks squelched and gurgled beneath his weight, his mammoth body rounding the shore until he neared the waters edge and lowered his head.

It was clear and crisp upon his tongue, imbued with the subtle taste of ice. It was real, it had to be.

@Merel
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During her brief time in this new world, Merel had picked up every scent except one. One whose absence both frightened and relieved her.

There were no hunters-of-hunters here. No long-fingered apes armed with fire, stalking her in the grass. No monsters with ice-cold skin that could not be broken by wolf-teeth. In this world, she was no longer prey. For all the landscape’s strangeness, that felt right. There were also no sprawling heaps of refuse and carrion for her to pick through. When she was hungry, she hunted. The challenge was tiring–but the meat tasted clean and pure. Untainted. If Men had ever corrupted this landscape, they had not done so for many seasons.

Thus, it was with confidence that Merel strode through the fragrant woods. Confidence, and carefulness–for she was stalking a squirrel. Occupied with the pine cone in its claws, it didn’t notice the dark-furred wolf approaching. Though plump and unwary, it was not the most filling prey. Still, Merel was used to making do with less. She crushed it in her jaws before it knew what was happening.

Merel licked her lips clean, and proceeded towards the lake to wash the last of the prickly fur from her mouth. But as she did so, she breathed in a new scent. Another wolf. A male. She paused, tilting her head. He hadn’t noticed her yet: she could still slip away. Still, the squirrel’s fur was annoying–and she felt braver now. He looked large and heavy. It would be easy to escape him–if she needed to.

Merel trotted down to the lakeshore, head and tail held high. She kept a healthy distance between herself and the stranger, but she was not afraid. He cut a handsome figure; he evidently knew how to take care of himself. Though, to be fair, this was a land of plenty.

“Good evening,” Merel greeted him. “I hope I haven’t trespassed on your woods?”

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The multitude of thoughts swirling around in his head was not quite loud enough for the newly blossomed aroma to go unnoticed. A perfume that now danced acutely close. The scent was uniquely feminine and held the remnants of blood, yet beyond that, something about it struck him as odd. Metal? The oddity dissipated upon the wind in an instant, taking with it his belief that it had existed at all. There was no rustiness, no chromatic metal smell, only the sweet nodes of a girl-- and the meal she had just clearly devoured. His nose twitched, the skin along his muzzle pulling tight as he drank it in while the faint sounds of stones reverberated from behind him.

Her tender footfalls echoed in the tightness of the clearing, drawing Beck's attention over his shoulder and a confident smirk to mount his lips. Opposite colored lenses quickly trailed her as she danced forward, thoroughly appreciating the medley of browns that dappled her fur before she would come to parallel him. Beck's eyes rested on the charming splotch of beige she bore atop her forehead, a kiss from an angel, he'd muse, before his gaze eventually lowered to hers. Velvety masculine baritones rumbled from deep within his pipes, chasing the casual dip of his head. “Not in the slightest.” He didn't correct her, for it may part the gates into a conversation he didn't wish to have. One of the whys and hows on his presence there, something he fervently wished to put to bed. At least, for now. 

Whether it be she intended to pay him little mind or was perhaps dull of sight, the man didn't care, for he was not at the mercy of her scrutiny as he had been others. It was something he appreciated, and the lack thereof burning eyes caused a release in tension he hadn't realized he toted. Unwinding gradually, his spine began to loosen and the expression that hung on his face lifted more naturally. She wasn't bothered by his size, the unusual colored gems that reflected back at her, nor the scars that littered half of his dark face; The permanent reminders he bore of a childhood stolen advertised for all, plump and ripened like a fruit too tempting not to taste. Though she hadn't partaken. No, her tongue remained dry and his spirits would soar.

Beck's chest swelled, a mirthful chuckle harbored within yet only his voice would proclaim the amusement. “You've got a little...” He gestured to her muzzle, her chest, her cheeks, just about everywhere blood had been splattered. She truly took some unfortunate creature at its surprise and the evidence was written across her appealing face. “...something there.” A single brow quirked atop his forehead and the smirk he wore only grew.

@Merel
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Indeed, Merel did not mind the other wolf’s looks. She had seen many different faces in her life, after all. Some had been perfect and beautiful—except for the cruelty in their eyes.

This stranger’s face was not perfect. His eyes were gentle and full of light. He had the face of a survivor, not a monster.

Merel tilted her head, answering his smirk with her own enigmatic smile. She waved her tail slowly—far from an excited wag, but evidently friendly.

“Do I?” Merel hummed, as if she were perfectly unaware of the blood spattered all over her. “My apologies; it seems I’ve made a bit of a mess.” Even if she’d had any concerns—well, she’d certainly made it clear she could protect herself.

She laughed and stepped deeper into the lake, letting the cool, fresh water splash over her chest. As she shook the last dregs of blood from her fur, she looked over at him.

“You’re a finer sight than I,” she said. “What’s your name?”

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