The further she delved into this new land, the less she recalled. She knew the lands she traversed to have been unknown to her previous - and unfamiliar still - but she struggled to remember where she had been. Although her paws had crossed many a terrain since she washed up to Boreas's western shore, she remembered none of it. Each moment seemed like it was the beginning of her consciousness until the next bled in to replace it - but now something changed.

The woman, dressed in blush tones, navigated by dawn's bashful light, pale illumination tracing its fingers along the edges of all within its purview as it slowly chased away the crisp chill of night. The brisk quality of the air troubled the wolf not as she wandered aimlessly, her nose tipped skyward as she admired the shifting tones. A switch somewhere internal had been flipped and she felt different; as her paws crawled to a dumbfounded halt, she dropped her gaze from the sky to observe the land through owlish moonlit eyes. Tall grass reached toward the heavens, brittle and dry as the world chased winter's embrace. It spread high above her head, almost dwarfing her, and she was certain it would swallow her whole if she allowed it to.

It was not a fear of being lost that stopped her - should it even be possible for her to be 'lost' when she was without any perceived home or destination - but rather the newness of the moment. She remembered. Not much, but she held onto the last hour or so, which was more than she could claim previously. Most of the time, she would try to recall what she had just done only to feel fogginess spread through the space of her mind, obscuring details that should have been on the tip of her tongue with ease. As it was, the woman readily held onto little more than her name - Fiadh - and a series of impulses and instincts she could attribute to nothing concrete. Fiadh could feel the warmth of family but none of their faces nor their names; it was odd, the small woman thought, to have felt - been - so loved but have no memory of it, as though it were a work of fiction she fed her heart simply to sate it. But it was more than that, she just knew it. She had lived it.

Creeping forward, the sylphish woman wedged into the long grass, leaving it to whisper against her skin as she snaked her way through its breadth. What wonders awaited her, she did not know - but she welcomed them all the same. She would remember them this time.

"Common" & "Irish"

News of his sister had reached him, enough to leave him stricken and nervous at first. Even when he regained control, bit it back down, Dread had a hard time putting words to it. Stomach in knots, the anxieties that he'd beaten back over so much time rearing their ugly heads once more. If he was Kite, where would he have gone? Running off into the woods on three legs... leave it to her, to cause a scene like that. Not like he hadn't done the same. Fuck, man. Where would she have gone, if she was going to run off like that?

Mentally, he crosses off the places that harbored family. Valta, the Hallows-- she'd want to be far away from blood. Shit, maybe that meant Dread was the last one that should be looking for her, but the young man thinks himself a special case. Besides, it wasn't like he was just searching. Dread would tell himself that he was on assignment, that he was doing something important or constructive or... okay, any other lie he could tell himself. He's always been this way.

First light gave way to a shifting dawn, and Dread moved in Ashen's direction. With any luck, he'd make it and be on his way home before the day got too warm. Coming from the east with the morning sun, Dread eats the ground with each long step. Work hard play hard, the Raider lifestyle really was good for him. It's somewhere between here and there, that he catches her scent. Lope slowing to a jog, and then a walk, as the girl comes into view at a distance. Slip of a thing, wouldn't want to scare her off without cause.

Then, the way she moves, is what strikes him. Dread's brow lifted for a moment, not wanting to close in too closely. Was she lost, or moving as if through a dream? Fuck it, it would be more rude to stand and stare, trying to figure it out. "Are you alright?" At least if she was lost, he could probably give directions. Dread's tone was conversational, light as he could manage. Light as it ever was, a glimmer in the boy's eye. Maybe it's just the early morning sunlight.

She struggled to parse ambient scents from new ones as she placed aside life-preserving functions in her desire to explore. Featherlight steps sent her in delightful circles within the long grasses, strumming a song formed by the sound of rushing foliage loud in her ears - but it was a symphony she did not wish to quiet. The grass's relenting stalks sometimes tickling her and elicited a giggle from her chords, but otherwise she heard nothing but her own steps and the beating of her heart. How fun it was, the woman thought, though never did she consider her presence and lack of regard for subtly to be a lightning rod for local threats.

In fact, it was not until the other's voice rang out that she took pause, one paw suspended midmotion just above the ground as her head twisted to observe the speaker from over her shoulder. She could spy him, just barely, between slanted blades of grass and she hesitated scarcely a moment more before she moved to close distance between them and bring her into a more polite distance where they could speak with ease. "Hello," she greeted him at first, speaking the words in her mother tongue before belatedly realizing the man had spoken common and quickly followed up in the same language. "Right as rain," she assured him with an amiable smile, the flow of her lilting Irish accent remaining even as she shifted to common.

Fiadh studied him for a moment against the pale dawn light, gaze flowing easily from his blue eyes then the paler markings of his coat in contrast to the more prevalent slate shades He was the first wolf she'd seen, as best she could remember - which was to say he was the first one she'd seen in an hour, but she thought he looked like dark waters, the white shifts like captured moonlight upon rippling crests. Although his countenance was rather serious, her appraisal and general demeanor staved away any reasons why she should be cautious with a stranger. He was good, she decided for no other reason than it was her default for others and he hadn't shown her any animosity in the two seconds they'd been acquainted. In the tenderheart's court of law, it was very much friend until proven otherwise.

"I was enjoying th' grass," she added on brightly by way of explanation, as though everyone penciled in 'running through grass' on their itinerary on a regular basis.

"Common" & "Irish"