Sandy fur pulled in the breeze, shifting constantly against the gangly boy to which it belonged. He was lost. Lost! How ever would he find his way back now? He had never seen this wood before. The trees were unfamiliar and every scent was a new one. Times like these Torrian longed for his mother, but perhaps this was best. She had been overbearing, natural he supposed for she had lost his two siblings to the power of birth. She had not spoken of them but Torrian thought of them often. Would they have played? As a pup he had lived in a small pack with a pair of twins. He would lay beside his mother who was too cautious to allow him to join, and watch them bowl each other over and nip at exposed targets. It looked fun, their rough play. He was a flower, his mother said. He was fragile and his bones would not survive the impact of another pup's body. And so there he sat by his mother's side, his head lowered and ears flattened dejectedly against his skull. They left that pack not so long after they had been accepted and Torrian had never glimpsed another pup after that.

He walked slowly, his head lowered as if against a strong headwind. His tail hung between his legs and he stared at the ground as though it was the only thing he could see. Midday had long passed and the night was battling the day, the clashes of orange and blue painted the sky above him, but Torrian had no patience for the sky. He had heard of a herb that he might find among these bushes that eased stomach ache and he hoped to find it before darkness blanketed his vision.

A vivid sunset raged above a long-legged figure who moved, fluid yet cautious, between the young trees. Irelyn had spent near a week wandering, following meandering rivers and fleeting scents across the lands. She was yet to find a place to settle, to carve out her own place and take root. The honeyed female was adaptable and she knew pack life would suit her when she finally found the right place – but it had to be the right place, the right packmates and the right time. For now, Ire was killing time by exploring. The sight of the developing forest had excited her, for where there was new life there was the possibility of useful herbs, and her stock of herbs gathered during her travels so far was constantly at risk of running out. The willowy creature tilted her head up, muzzle pointing heavenward as cool green eyes took in the riot of colour happening above her. Soon the sky would be drained of its brightness, the evening stolen away by thick night, and Irelyn wanted to find somewhere to sleep before the switch took place. Her paws were placed with a little less care than usual owing to her fatigue – and she didn't sense the wispy male until the two were separated only by a few stands of young trees and bushes. Letting her eyes adjust to the dimming light and the demand of analysing another wolf's appearance, Irelyn spoke softly: “Good evening.”

stock: Dawnthieves

His eyes stayed on the ground, searching for the elusive plant. He knew he would recognize it when he saw it, but try as he might he was unable to bring it to mind, as such he placed a heavy responsibility on his nose to find the herb. The herb should have smelled sharp and fresh, the cool feeling in the nasal cavities was what Torrian was searching for. Just as he found a trace of the scent a soft voice sounded behind him.

He did not react immediately. Instead every move was slow and calculated. The first part of him to move was his right ear. It swiveled upwards and out, followed by his nose. His eyes stayed glued to the ground until the last moment when he lifted his turquoise orbs to look at the bone-white face and blinked once. His lips moved in a silent word and he took a slow step back, his legs now crossed demurely between him and the femme. "Oh. 'tis." He replied in barely a murmur, his head lifting to take in the fiery sky. "Dark soon." He muttered, his flat gaze returning to the femme. Her eyes were a soft misted green, quite similar to the herb he often collected to alleviate his anxiety. He stared unashamedly, blinking quite rarely, his lips pursed together.

It was difficult to tell if the male had heard her at first, and Irelyn briefly considered retreating into the sunset – but as she peered into the half light she thought she saw the flick and swivel of an ear. The golden female waited, using the time to separate the male's outline from their darkening surroundings.

He was thin, with legs which looked even more spindly than Irelyn's own long limbs, and from what she could discern in the dying light, his base coat was a sandy brown. He could have been made from sand itself, the way he was built – a wispy sandcastle who might be washed away by the next tide. Had he not moved, Ire might have believed him to be crafted from a million grains. The breeze sighed through Irelyn's pelt, and her eyes narrowed to try and catch any tiny grains flying away from the whole, but the male stood solidly still.

Pea green eyes caught turquoise ones for a moment before Irelyn shifted her gaze downward. Her lips twitched lightly in a half smile which was as fleeting as the golden hour. “Yes. Hoping to find somewhere to sleep before that happens,” she responded with another glance to the sky. “Were you – um – looking for something, too?” Most wolves were searching for something, something to aid them or complete them.

The female's forepaws shuffled against the earth; she could feel those bright eyes on her, staring, although she couldn't fathom why.