Living On The Wind
01-12-2020, 05:10 PM
The big male's response was mild an amiable; a good start by all accounts. Thistle felt herself relax, growing more comfortable by the second. There didn't appear to be much danger here, at least at first glance. He seemed to be a charmer to boot, and a grin split Thistle's features. She curbed it before it grew too wide, stifling it to a demure smile before it grew into a smirk. He was older than she was comfortable with, being barely beyond a yearling herself, but a bit of harmless flirting had never done her wrong before. Well. Almost never. But those were outliers in the data that shouldn't be counted, and nothing more. "Just as I'm glad to find such a gentleman, as opposed to the alternative. They've been active in this area as of late so it certainly doesn't hurt to be cautious." She was tempted to send him a wink but... no, he reallywas a bit too old for that, even for her. She suspected a delicate little thing would likely suit her better in this circumstance. She turned her attention then to the female. Younger than the male if she had to guess, but it was hard for her to be certain. Older than herself though, as most wolves she'd stumbled across were. And she needed help which broke the script in an aggravating way, but Thistle maintained her politely interested expression. The request was an easy one at least as she had heard of no packs at all, least of all one as garishly named as Legion. "I'm sorry," Thistle began, a quiet murmur accented with a sigh. "I haven't seen another soul for a fortnight at least, and no packs beyond that since coming to these lands. It's fairly remote up here for all that I know." She shrugged, a subtle shift of her shoulders and nothing more. In all honesty Thistle had expected more contact than she'd received here, at least since the eruption. Northern lands were renowned for being inhospitable regardless of where you wound up, and perhaps that was the root of it, but this region seemed to be the least affected of them all by the volcanic bedlam that had ensued months prior. Either the frightened masses has been killed off... well, en masse, or they'd all skittered off to somewhere fair and clean where the prey ran slowly and the water was always clear and free of ash. Thistle's morals claimed that the latter was what she ought to be hoping for, but that jealous seed deep within her wondered why she should care in the first place. "Are they your kin?" She asked, so as not to let an uncomfortable lull drag into the conversation. "If you give me your name and I do happen to stumble across one of their members I'd be happy to pass it along that you are seeking them out." What a monstrous proposition that there might be more spectacularly plumaged wolves running amuck. If they looked even an ounce like this female, Thistle figured she'd be able to identify them at a distance. It must be a rag tag band, she reasoned, because otherwise word of them would surely spread like wildfire. Right? Or perhaps this realm was far stranger than she'd ever imagined. "Speech" |