The thing about Auster was that there were things you couldn't just get. There were things on his continent that he couldn't reach, that he couldn't take because they weren't there. A mental list for the healer as he made his way across the ground, nose low, eyes sharp. He's sharp. Poser is sharp as a tack today, but he's a little high. He's always a little high, today is his base level plus a little bit. Plus a little bit more. Poser doesn't mind, because it leaves him feeling lovely. He always feels lovely, feels fantastic, feels... alive. He feels so alive today. Today more so than most days, and he had to figure out exactly what was going through his own head. So he was looking for something that would bind his bum foot back together. He wasn't necessarily dripping blood (anymore), but he'd banged it hard on an end table earlier today. It hurt. He hurt. He was going to find one of those white willow trees, moving across the ground with something beautiful in his eyes. Poser is powerful and gorgeous today, hiding the limp over that mangled forefoot. He would be okay eventually, but it needed to be wrapped. Graceful and a little deadly, the creature finds his way to one of those stately trees. Firefly Lake, he'd seen it once before, and he was aware there was a tree here. There had to be a few, the moist banks. The wet soil was so rich here, and Poser loved it. He moves, head high, searching for one of those golden trees. Exploring. Searching. Lovely. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name

The air is damp today, as early morning mist finally begins to subside in lieu of the afternoon sun. Pharos is still lingering the forest, as nature will provide. His belly is full with the remains of a hare the wolf brought down last night, and although he is not downright hungry, the urge to kill remains. Thus, he is found foraging through the underbrush and trunks of towering trees in pursuit of a rodent or two.

His gait, methodical but discordant, pushes him onward. Angular features smug, there is the taste of someone's stale blood on the wind. But he neither seeks to discover it, or devour, and thus he does not follow. In fact, from the direction the wind blows, there are parts of his mind that wager this wolf brings the party to him. Arrogantly, the dark one settles; his hulking figure relaxed among the dark green foliage. Despite this, the iron born cannot help but hold some amount of disdain for those that occupy territories such as this. A forest, in all its magnificence, is not and could never be, his home. Busying himself by gnawing on a root at his paws, the creature awaits his company. Milky white teeth pierce the bark of the object, a slow grating echo originating from the action. He is patient now, arrogant, and smug. A moth to flame... They are sure to meet.

Killing is dirty work. Not that Poser refuses it, he'd just... rather not. Something about the creature turns up his nose about it, he'd rather not be dripping with someone else's blood. Not again. Fuck, not again. It washed off easy enough but the smell. There was always a smell, a damned spot that he couldn't get out. Sinking in, permeating, making him fucking sick with it. Always fucking sick-- such is Poser. Such is the way that he processes things. Poser is slow about it, thinking things through clearly. He was clear and he was... well. He was trying. He was usually trying, but today is different. There's something in his head that ticks like the mechanism on a clock, as he's looking. Only the slightest scent of blood hangs around his foot, the pain no longer searing. What he does need is white willow bark, he'd squish it up and make a poultice. Wrapping with cattails, he'd be able to let it set for a reasonable amount of time. There's someone else here, but Poser chances ignoring him. He's still searching for his tree, searching for that which would make him feel better. His white whale or something like that. Poser is relaxed, the shadow in the incomplete light around him. He's gorgeous. There's a careful game of chess as the gorgeous creature moves across the ground, seeing which one can wait longer. The Russian man has herbs to collect, and is still readily in search of his willow bark. There's something flashy about the way he moves, the certain agile tick to the way he exists. That was all that mattered. Biding his time, Poser was going to let the game continue. It takes two to play. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name

Unfettered by avoidance, Pharos does not rise from his position. He is no more inclined to chase after the scent of one meager wolf than he is to start flying. The gradual sway of the breeze keeps him comfort now, the presence forgotten.

Slow-blinking eyes do not lose their luster in the midst of his lounging. Sharp, honed, pupils continuously scan the foliage and outcrops of various herbs and debris. Meanwhile, a grimace that befits his countenance forms that of a thin line upon the wolf's face. He does not mind the silence, then, and finds his ears picking up on the subtle nuances of the forest.

Maintaining his station, rows of saw-tooth canines continue to shred the bark from the root he had begun to maim. One part apathy one part boredom fuels his actions, those he does little to alleviate the emotions. Toes flexing, the broad curve of his claws dig into the ground in an unceremonious display of his own ability.

There's something beautiful about the way Poser moves. His head is high and his eyes are sharp. Head tossing as he moves. Easily. There's something effortless and easy about being Poser. He wouldn't give it up. He wouldn't be anyone else. What he really wants, though, is the bark from that fucking tree. Bending easily in the hips, high tuck up making his movements positively effortless. Jesus, everything about the shadow is effortless. He wouldn't dare look like anything else. Wouldn't make himself into something he wasn't for the sake of catching someone's eye. The reason? He already did that. The adonis finally moves to the tree beneath which the stranger sits. This, you see, is the tree that he's been longing for. It makes him think. How was he going to approach this one. How delicate did he need to be in order to not look desperate. In order to not look like he'd been playing an immense and delicate game with this stranger. Everything about Poser is careful on days like this. Gotta try harder. Gotta be more. Things like this mean he has something to keep him entertained, if for a little bit. "Are you aware of the healing properties of the bark you're shredding?" Carefully, Poser drags his nose down the side of the tree. He was asking, not being arrogant about it. It was simply an inquiry. He was just... curious. Curious if the other creature was aware. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name

"No, but it's not like I require its healing properties at the moment."

Grisly voice drolls, a normally monotonous voice chiseled and succinct. To punctuate his sentence, yellow eyes that had not previously risen from the root, seek Poser. Pharos is not stricken by his appearance, nor enthralled. He remains unaffected by their presence, if only in body.

The close proximity, however, is duly noted. An inky lip draws upwards to reveal a sliver of milky white teeth before the iron born abandons his post at the root. Powerful paws heave his mass upwards effortlessly as he begins to assess the opposition's posture.

"What's your name?"

The larger male asks, uninterested in playing games. Nostrils flaring, he catalogs the scent of the other wolf before continuing.

Poser looks softly at the man, the one with the yellow eyes and the droll voice. He is far more elegant than this creature, and the show of teeth is noted but he doesn't give a fuck. Poser is used to it. He had three fucks a day, reserved to give should he need to. This wasn't worth one of them. He had too many internal arguments for that. Too many struggles within himself. Poser sets his paws on the tree, rising to his full height. There's something immense and long about the dog as he does, a tall creature. A long, tall creature. Tail wagging as he does, scraping at the bark with his sharp teeth. A poultice. Then again, he's chew some of the bark up and smear it on his paws, then lay down for a bit. If he needed to go anywhere, he'd wrap it in cat tails and move on. "Poser. Yours?" Satisfied with the bark he'd collected, the creature sits at the other side of the tree to chew it into a paste. Tasted like garbage, but his foot would feel better. Such is the dream, at least. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name