Aurielle Adravendi

She’d been watching the small herd of mule deer for a few days, now. Rut season was coming, now that Autumn had arrived. Hunting was part of the many things her father had been teaching her in, from how to keep a large prey animal moving with no rest or time to each or drink. How close to stay to push the animal without making it take off in a sprint. She knew that by the end of the Rut, bucks would be worn out, many injured. But her eyes weren’t watching the bucks, currently. Instead, they were on the does. There was an old doe she’d noticed who seemed to be ill. Longer observation any chance she got, showed her that the source of the illness was an infection in the doe’s side, from a pair of claws… A failed attempt at a kill from one of the cats? She knew for sure, though, that she’d need an experienced partner in taking her down. Her father was a possibility. But he was busy on patrol. So, she cast her mind about for who else might be helpful. Mask. The name floated up to the surface. Her father had meant to promote the male for his multiple attempts at getting a pack hunt running. She’d never met him face to face, but she knew his scent from the various meals and bones he’d left for her and her brother. She could call him, but it would be better, she decided, to get some practice in tracking done and seek him out herself. So, she leapt from the boulder she’d been sitting on and began casting about. By now, she knew the deer’s patterns of movement, and they’d be there for a while. She had time, if she found the male quickly. The shimmering white yearling lowered her nose, breathing in and searching as she padded carefully through the plains, discarding old traces, pausing when she found newer ones, long enough to judge their ages and following the newer ones until she found a trace Mask had left that was fresher than any of the ones she’d found. She fell alongside the trail, eyes casting about for tracks as well as watching her step. Why not get some practice in stalking, as well? The wind was blowing in her direction, at least, making the plains grasses sway hypnotically around her. She picked her way carefully, avoiding stepping on old grass that had dried out, finding the softest places to set her paws, all in the interest of making as little noise as she could. Her head had lifted as the scent grew stronger, and as she caught a strong, fresh whiff on the air, she knew she was close. She slowed to a complete stop, peering ahead for the slim male. Ah! There was a dark form ahead, visible through the grasses. She hadn’t caught any scents of prey with his trail, so, hopefully, she wasn’t about to interrupt his own hunting trip. Aurielle took a silent breath and slipped forward, stepping out of the tall grasses and approaching the male with a soft-voiced greeting of, “Excuse me… Mask?” Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think

Most of Mask's life had been spent as Enrico, consigliere of i Fratelli Rossi. He'd worked his way up from associate to soldati to capodecina before he'd achieved that rank, and one simply did not get that far without having a natural talent for survival and an aptitude for observation. He then spent quite some time as Enrico, pentito, on the run for his life from a man equally well versed in their work, knowing that at any moment any former member of his cosca could come upon him and would be required by honor to seek his life. His time as Mask, hunter for the relatively peaceful, quiet Celestial, had made up such a small portion of his total lifespan as to be nearly negligible.

So when his patrol (very different from the rest of the pack's, as it involved observing the movements and numbers and types of prey animals within the pack lands rather than guarding the borders) was interrupted by a subtle pawstep and the rustle of dying grasses being moved aside, his attention was immediately caught.

His breathing did not quicken, his steps didn't pause, and he didn't betray his knowledge by turning to look. Instead he kept his movements nonchalant, circling around the prey sign - old hoof prints from a muledeer buck that had passed this way - that he was clearly studying with casual interest. His circling just so happened to bring him to face the soft sounds of approach, but he kept his head down and used only his peripheral vision to watch for his stalker.

He was well within pack lands, so it was most likely simply one of his packmates... but if so, why the attempt at secrecy? Why not approach him openly? It could be that they were hunting and just coincidence that they happened to be following the path he'd taken, but he had not survived as long as he had by believing in coincidence. It was most likely a Celestial wolf... but it could also be an intruder.

There was a pause in the pawsteps while the stalker was still hidden, and it was all Mask could do to not tense up. Had the stalker discovered that they'd been had? Or was he about to be attacked?

When the grasses parted though, it was not to reveal a leaping wolf with vengeful fangs, but rather a very distinctive yearling with a polite hail. He lifted his head from the track with a strange mixture of relief and... disappointment? Maybe part of him missed the old days, when a stalker really was a life-or-death situation, missed the adrenaline and the challenge of that life. Was he growing tired of a life as a tame hunter in someone else's pack, with no one to lead even if he did gain rank? "Buongiorno, principessa," he greeted, inclining his head in polite acknowledgement of her rank. "What might I be doing for you?"

Aurielle Adravendi

The Future dipped her head to the hunter as he greeted her, while she formulated her response in her mind. His greeting, spoken in a different language, had slightly derailed her previous intentions of asking him to be her hunting partner – in her first ever true hunt for something larger than a small prey animal, no less – as curiosity bubbled to the surface. However, there would be time, she hoped, after the deer was brought down and the pack was fed. So, she gave him a light grin and tipped her head back the way she’d come from. “I was hoping you’d do me the honor of helping me take down my first mule deer?” There was the faintest hint of that hope in her tone, and it came out as more of a question than a statement. She added, by way of explanation, “I’ve been watching the deer for a few days, and I’ve spotted an older doe. She’s sick and wounded, so I figured she may be a good meal for the pack to dine on.” And then her curiosity refused to be suppressed much longer and she asked, “Your language… could you… maybe teach me how to speak it?” Ah, that youthful hope that lifted her ears and left a spark in her eye. The eagerness to learn something new was always there under the surface. Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think

He bowed his head in an elegant, gentlemanly manner. "I would be most glad to assist your hunt, principessa, and most honored. It sounds a most excellent choice of first prey." In his time in the cosca, he'd come to see that there tended to be three types of young wolves seeking admittance - those who chose to make their kill as difficult as possible to show off, those who made it as easy as possible out of cowardice or laziness, and those middle-of-the-road ones who chose difficult prey but were smart enough to make sure they planned things so the odds were in their favor. Some soldati and consigliere preferred the first type, but his preference had always been for those middle ground associates. They were often more practical and level headed than those who were showboating or so desperate to impress that they bit off more than they could handle. He thoroughly approved of ambition, but ambition tempered by intellect and a certain degree of caution, not blindly throwing oneself into the abyss.

Perhaps if he hadn't been so blinded when he'd thrown himself into the abyss, he would not have broken omerta.

The alpha's daughter seemed to be choosing that middle path. Choosing to have her first real hunt be held with just the two of them rather than a pack-wide hunt was ambitious. The fewer the hunters, the more dangerous a hunt for bigger game could be. Picking a target that was already weakened was practical. If she hadn't been female, and hadn't been so terribly memorable in appearance, he might once have considered her as a potential associate. Though perhaps if she were as righteous as most of the pack, she would not have considered being invited to the cosca as a compliment anyway.

"It would please me to teach you my language," he added as he gestured for her to lead the way. It was, after all, her hunt. He was only there as her backup. He would as the experienced hunter step in to take over if it became dangerous, but until then - whether for success or for failure - the yearling would be the lead here. "I do not get to speak properly with others not knowing my language. I do not know any other..." he paused, mentally deleting 'men of honor' and replacing it with "... any others who speak italiano here." He would never be able to hope to speak with another man of honor again, knowing that the conversation would inevitably end in the death of one or the other of them.

Aurielle Adravendi

The yearling gave Mask a bright smile as he accepted her offer, both to help her hunt, and to teach her his tongue. As he gestured, she turned and padded lightly back the way she’d come, though her path was more straightforward, rather than following his scent trail. Her voice was softly spoken as she answered him, choosing to walk mostly beside him, if slightly in the lead. “My family speaks the Old Tongue. But my father, and my grandmother, from what I’m told, as well as my great grandmother, all put much emphasis on learning many languages. I like to learn about them.” Her eyes scanned the plains ahead as she sought out the forms of the deer. They were where she expected them to be, and she nodded to herself before she smiled sidelong at Mask, asking, “What is the italiano word for Deer? In the Old Tongue, deer is ‘Fianna’.” Her tone had lowered to just above a murmur as she tested the wind, finding it to be blowing in their direction. Good. Though, she imagined the deer here were probably semi-used to the scent of wolves here. She could see the older doe, noticeable in the way her head drooped and she moved with great care and pain. Not only that, but she could smell the difference in scent. Old, infected and ill. Her eyes turned to Mask again, though her ears remained tilted toward the deer, keeping tabs on their hoof beats as she asked softly, “What would your tactics be, here? It may be my first hunt, but I’m always willing to learn more. My thoughts were to perhaps cut her off from the herd and drive her at a forced march. She shouldn’t be too hard to exhaust.” Her tone was speculative as she glanced back to the deer. But she waited for his response, willing to take in any wisdom he may have for her. Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think