Journeying north, there had been a turn mistaken for left but had been a right. Passing through steep cliffs and ashy mountainsides, there was little solace in the way of comfortable scenery. Scraggly trees and bare shrubs gave way to an opening just past a forest. Up ahead, out in the open, tall structures made of ancient stone stood tall. Some large pillars had fallen, now covered in a frozen blanket of snow. Winter was here and had made its presence known. A light dusting now swirled around as large flakes covered the tracks left behind. Worn and tired, the blood matting his coat had finally dried. Hoping to find a place to rest and possibly explore, the merle-coated male sighed with relief. Having wanted to make it back to the thick forests of the north, he, unfortunately, had no idea that he had made it east. As his yellow eyes took in the surroundings, he paused for a moment. Scents had died off now that he was far from pack lands. With the cold chill of winter having settled in, the prey was sparse but enough to keep him going. Maybe he could start a fire here or find somewhere to sleep. Wandering farther into the ruins, he noticed that pieces of broken debris laid scattered about. Above him, the sun hung high in the sky, providing snippets of warmth whenever the clouds would part. Curious about what he could find underneath the fresh blanket of powder, the long-legged male took to digging carefully at the foot of a fallen pillar. Beneath, not far down, remnants of pottery and other odd things broke through. Pulling pieces up, he lay them by his side to look at when he was done. Interested now, Gilgamesh continued his search while the snowfall was light. SPEECH

It was a hop, skip, and a jump over the rapids to begin the short excursion north. Winter was still gentle, hadn't dug its heels in quite yet, so the water still moved along at a clip in the river bed. Fable shook off the worry that hounded her as she left the sounds of rushing water behind. Theory had been grumbling about a threat brewing in the north, but it had never quite materialized. Begrudgingly, the alpha had given her permission to venture further north - but only just so. Not too far. Not until the "threat" had subsided. Young and confident, Fable had ventured out without much of a second thought. Abaven was an easy-going pack and Theory was a kindhearted leader. Tragedy had not touched her yet in her lifetime.

The Stone Steppes crept into view. She'd heard it was a good place to scavenge for raw materials from other pack members. Fable ate up their advice, ravenous for knowledge. As she closed in on the rocks, she had the strangest thought that the huge fallen stones looked like slumbering beasts. Ignoring the oddness of it that sent goosebumps racing up her legs and her hackles rising, Fable trudged along. Bits an bobs glimmered amidst the snow but nothing quite like she was looking for. The young chef was hoping to find pieces of a vessel to rejoin as one, or if she had great luck, to find an intact bowl to take him. There were several meats she'd discovered that gained new flavors and textures if she could roast them for long periods, especially submerged in liquids... but it was difficult to complete the arduous task of trial and error when most of what she used was borrowed. Her thoughts were meandering back towards home with the stewed pheasant she'd made a few days ago, so she was dreaming of tender bird meat by the time she nearly stepped on top of Gilgamesh. "Oh!" She murmured, ducking backwards. They stood poised beside the mass of the stone as the sun began to set, dragging long shadows across them. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there - I was thinking about soup," Fable added cheekily. She noticed the pieces of pottery he had laid before him, as if to inspect. "Are you looking for those sorts of things as well?"

Carefully laid beside him, Gil's collection began to grow into a small pile. Even if the pieces were rusty or broken, he put them aside. What couldn't be salvaged, he could just put back. While he had little knowledge of what to actually do with what he was looking for, he assumed he'd figure it out eventually. Lost in thought, interested only toward the pieces that he dug up, the sound of someone else didn't reach his ears. Before he knew it, her scent was upon him and her cheeky tone covered the space between them. Instantly, his ears fell flat and a snarl rippled along his lips. Bringing his head up to eye the tall and heavier set female, he paused his aggression when she apologized. Tilting his head a bit to the side, he looked down to the pile. Who spent time thinking about soup anyway? His soured thoughts rolled through his mind as he watched her curiously. Taking a moment to answer her question, he stepped protectively over his findings. He wasn't about to allow someone to just take what he had spent minutes digging up. While they weren't precious things to be guarding, they were still his nonetheless. "Old debris?" The two words hung heavy in the air as his voice rumbled in his throat. Slightly confused at her question, he wondered what she meant. He had no real purpose for any of it yet. "If you have a way to turn this into something useful, then I suppose," his words were slow, careful almost as his tail swished slowly at his ankles. Lowering his hackles as he noticed how young she was and that she was covered in a pack sort of scent, he stepped back and away from the pottery scraps on the snow.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Fable's grin splintered as he snarled. She couldn't stop herself from stepping back and lowering herself just a fraction closer to the ground. Reflexively, her ears flattened back against her skull in submission, pressed down so firmly it felt like someone was stepping on her head with both front paws. Never had she elicited such a reaction in her life. Fable had been chided, sure. Disciplined? Maybe once or twice, but she was a rule-follower. A doer of "the right thing," whatever that happened to be at the time. Clearly, "the right thing" had actually been to not stop and talk to this man at all. It dawned on her that she'd barely spent any time with an adult male that wasn't part of her family - none, actually, came to mind. Were all men this persnickety?

His hackles lowered as he deemed her not a threat - or, perhaps, as a non-entity. Nothing at all to concern himself with. A trickle of air escaped her as she tried to withhold a great gasp of relief. Fable shifted back and forth on her front paws, wishing she was better at hiding her unease. He'd rattled her. "Well, I..." Part of her just wanted to turn and run. But he'd backed off, hadn't he? "I'd observed others use wet clay. To seal the cracks. And bond it with heat," she croaked. "So, I can't turn them into something useful immediately... but they are useful. In their own way." Fable's eyes roved over the pieces he had assembled. At least there must be more where that came from, if he'd had enough success. "I'm Fable, by the way. From Abaven." And my aunt is the alpha and she'll rip your tail off if you hurt me! She wanted to shout petulantly, but didn't. Being a yearling meant being old enough to be responsible for her own choices. It meant not relying on the grace of powerful relatives, much as she wished she could. On the slope of a fallen rock just out of view, a piebald raven shifted from foot to foot. The youngster hadn't noticed that Theory had quietly sent out her raven, Alouette, to trail her at a distance and fetch her if something went wrong; all told, Fable wasn't quite as alone as she would have liked to believe.

Her reaction gave him a sort of satisfaction. Knowing that he could easily strike fear into someone's heart made his own small heart grow just one size. As she lowered into a submissive position, his expression turned from confusion to dull as he fought back a smile. Seeing that she would one day be a towering wolf in size, he was surprised at how easily she was ready to turn over and show softness. Releasing a huff from his tight lips, only one ear flicked upward as she began to respond. Her hesitant words made him glance down to peer at the pottery that lay between them. "Unless you can create fire, we might be in a predicament," he offered in a gruff tone, one paw reaching out to turn a piece over. While the snow that blanketed around them would prove useful for creating a wet clay, there would be no way for either of them to form it together. Holding back on any more words, Gil preferred to steer from small talk unless it held important information. His eyes glanced over her once more as she introduced herself. Nodding curtly, he rolled his shoulders and turned to begin digging in the snow once more. "Gilgamesh," was all he added since it was more than obvious that he belonged to no one but himself. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a flurry of wings settle onto a nearby rock. Paying no mind to the shifting raven, he glanced once more to the youngster. "Well, might as well make yourself useful," he rumbled before turning back in an attempt to find either a whole piece of pottery or at least something that was salvageable.

His attitude was... different. Fable had become so accustomed to Abaven's welcoming nature that Gilgamesh completely dumbfounded her. Even though she might argue otherwise, the yearling was exceptionally sheltered. However, she'd come out here with a goal - her very own stewing bowl - and if nothing else, Fable was a completionist. Once she got his name, she nodded once, deft and short. Unless you can create fire... Taking this as a personal challenge, Fable set her jaw and began to hunt in the still-dry nooks and crannies near the fallen stones. Spotting something glinting beneath the shadow of the stone, she scrabbled at the hard earth until it gave up its prize. A sharp shard of steel speckled with ancient rust revealed itself. Grabbing it carefully in her mouth to avoid cutting the edges of her lips, Fable struck it against the time-smoothed rock. Nothing happened.

Fable moved her tongue around it to get a better grip. Pain bit her suddenly and the taste of blood hit the back of her throat. Coughing, she struck the metal against the rock again. Droplets of blood scattered across the stone, but so did sparks. "I'm always useful," she said, a bit snippily, once she'd safely deposited the shard of metal on the ground. Without additional commentary (a rarity for her), Fable began to dig a trench by the stone to contain what would soon be their fire. "Now we just need some dead grass to catch it and then enough fodder for the fire to truly burn." Dirt from up from underneath her dutiful paws as she went, although she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He didn't seem like a fellow you'd like to turn your back to for long. I guess I'm learning all sorts of lessons, she thought bitterly.

He was surprised at her response as she dug around and found a piece of metal. At first, Gil paid no mind as he was equally entranced with his own findings. When the clang of metal against rock echoed around them, he looked up with a piece of broken pottery in his mouth. The second time she struck the rock, sparks flung outward and he reluctantly shot her a pleased expression. So, she was useful after all. He wouldn't mind warming his fur around a fire anyway so he quickly dropped the pottery he had been holding to find something to feed to the fire. Coming back after a few minutes with what little dry sticks he could find in the barren area, he tossed them gingerly toward the hole she'd dug. Wanting to keep his distance, he went back to the pile of pottery he'd found. Looking at his findings curiously, he could see that possibly they had enough to put together a bowl or two. Grabbing a few colorful pieces and another few bigger pieces, he glanced back over to Fable. "Pick what you'd like," he offered, eyeing the fire he was sure she'd have built by now. Accepting that she would be able to teach him how to mold the bowl together, he held his selection in between his teeth. Standing on one side of her trench by the stone, he helped dig a smooth spot to lay their masterpieces. Once they'd use the snow to help wet the clay, they'd surely need a dry spot to lay it by the fire. Looking back to Fable again, he swung his tail softly in a show of peace. As long as she'd help, he'd be nice. "Ready for next step?" Gil asked with the pottery still lodged carefully in his jaws.

Once she'd dug the pit to a sufficient depth, Fable nosed his sticks into the depression until they clattered to the bottom. There were some dry, scrubby grasses deep beneath the shadow of the fallen rocks. Dry moss clung to the fissures inside the rocks as well. Figuring the most the better, she scooped what she could into the pit. Once she'd impressed him (or she'd like to think she did), Fable felt as if they were on more even footing. Fable carefully picked up the shard of metal and scattered sparks over the pit until the grasses and mosses caught. It took careful fretting and coaxing until the blaze finally roared. Tending a fire could time-consuming. Luckily, her experience in cooking food came in handy. In no time at all until she had the fire crackling away merrily, well-fed and still hungry for more.

"Don't mind if I do. Thank you," she murmured, peering at the pieces that had been assembled. Fable compared a few of them at a time until she settled on a large bowl with a chunk missing - a little less than a third. A nearby piece fit into the missing spot well enough - both edges were timeworn and smooth, allowing to fit together easily once some wet clay was applied. The piece would hang over the free edge when she was done, jutting out unevenly, but the bowl itself would be perfectly intact. That was all she cared about. "Yes, now we just need to plug up the uneven edges with some clay. Should be some underneath the rocks, below the surface." She laid her pottery selections a few feet from the fire and turned her attentions towards a fallen monolith. Fable turned over the cold topsoil, revealing some pungent and heavy clay beneath. Now it was time to get messy! "Scoop some out and re-wet it with the snow until it forms a thick slurry, then we can re-fashion the pots."

Swiftly, the fire grew to live beside them and the warmth instantly faded away the frost that clung to his fur. Breathing in deeply for the first time in weeks, he was almost glad that the girl had been brought to him today. Watching as she selected her pieces from the pile, he carefully set his pieces down as she motioned over to the large rocks nearby. Right, of course, they'd need to gather the wet clay. Lack of sleep really must be getting to him. Following the girl over to toppled monolith, he helped dig out the thick muck of dirt and mud. Just beneath the surface, a thick scent permeated the air and his nose wrinkled. How did anyone enjoy doing this every day? Quickly scooping out his portions, he nodded quietly as she explained their next steps. Hobbling back over to his selection of three broken pieces with one paw full of mud, he sat carefully so that the clay wouldn't fall from his grip. Placing it carefully into the snow, he rolled and mushed it down a few times until it was pliable and wet enough to handle. Glancing only a few times to Fable, a tiny hint of a smile tickled at the corner of his lips. So maybe it was a little fun. In his other paw, as he sat back on his haunches, he pulled his three broken bowl pieces closer to him. In eyes, they were about equally a third of some sort of bowl shape. As long as it ended up being some semblance of a bowl, he didn't really care. As careful as a wolf could with no thumbs, Gil pressed and smoothed the clay over until the cracks were filled and he was left with a wide, shallow bowl. More of an odd-shaped tray, but no one was going to tell him otherwise.

Fable caught his sneaky grin and returned it in kind. Keeping busy always seemed to ease any kind of tension. No one could stay grumpy if they were paws deep in wet clay! She scooped a generous amount of wet clay and worked it in the snow until it was pliable but not wet. Fable lined the edges of the missing piece of her pot and slid the shard home into place. It hung precariously. Sticking her tongue out just a little bit as she focused, Fable shored up the sides with new clay until it was safely in place. "Alright... now we need to place them directly into the flames. That part can be, uh, tricky," she laughed. She was no expert, only having done it once or twice. Fable carefully picked up her assembled pot and placed it nearby the fire, then set about looking for a long, sturdy stick. Once she found a suitable candidate underneath a thin blanket of snow, she grabbed it in her mouth and used the far end to nudge her pot carefully into the fire. Flames licked at the stick, smoking and hissing where it burnt the snow and moisture away. Her pot rolled into the flames safely, her clay having held the piece in place. "Aha!" She cheered, then settled by the fire across from Gilgamesh. "Your turn. And then we wait!"

He paid no mind to the girl as he finished his piece until she had finished hers and directed his attention toward the fire. Looking at the flickering flames, he sat puzzled for a moment. Watching Fable pick up a stick and scoot into the heat, he nodded. The loud hissing and splattering of water were loud and surprising. Looking down at his bowl, Gil knew he had to be careful in this next part. Reaching over to pick up the stick that Fable had used, he placed it firmly in his jaws. Lightly jostling his makeshift bowl, he scooted it through the snow until it too could roll neatly into her fire. Flames began to hiss again as the water evaporated. Entranced by their work, he smiled. It was something new and Gil was glad that it was turning out successful. Bringing his chin up so that he could see the grin on Fable's face, he nodded again. "Do you do this often?" He asked to be polite while they waited for their masterpieces to be finished.