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for Sverke !!

skill: n/a

honeyed sunlight oozes from between the trees, dappling the lands in a golden glow. the silence is heavy, so thick you could slice into it; the only break being the occasional bluster of wind. the bed of wildflowers beneath isidora's resting body sways like the sea carrying her to shore.

she doesn't stir. her breath pounds from her nostrils in a soft, slow rhythm. her limbs are tangled together, and her tail is tucked over her feet.

above her, two hawks circle.

she's vulnerable like this, blissfully unaware of her surroundings — but for now, the forest thrums with pleasant energy.

The boy was a navy smear against the green, violet and gold-kissed hues that dappled the forest from tree-crown to petal. His pulse roared in his ears, a mimicry of the tides that had lulled him to sleep many a night on the isle of his home. The fawn who was leading him on this chase through an otherwise idyllic, peaceful grove was no newborn - too late in the year for it - but still smaller than she would be fully grown. If she wanted to reach adulthood, she should not have run when Sverke's head had emerged from the bushes he'd squirmed under for a nap, fur mussed but eyes clear and keen.

The urge to hunt, to chase, was an impulse he was prone to indulging. The meal would serve them well, although Sverke had put no particular thought into that.

The world narrowed to a single point - his breath hot on the heels of the fawn, the sound of her hooves thumping against the earth, his breath heaving in his lungs - The fawn veered sharply amidst a flower-carpeted clearing, the mass of wildflowers broken only by a statuesque shadow, seen just out of the corner of his eye. Sverke's pawsteps stuttered, a hoof connected with his chest, and then the fawn was gone, the thump-thump of her footsteps fading into the distance.

A two-toned gaze darted around the clearing until it could land on the girl, the peaceful and sleepy atmosphere of the scene broken by the boy's rumpled blue fur and lolling tongue. He took a breath, confidence anything but impeded by the failed hunt and stranger's attention on him, and tilted his chin up with a cockiness only a god imbued with the ichor of youth could possess. Uh - 'Sup.

skill: n/a

the earth rolls like thunder beneath her. isidora's eyes snap open to the thud thud thud sound of not one, but two sets of footsteps: one wolven, one not. adrenaline floods her body and she hurtles to her feet, exclaiming something unintelligible and preparing herself for an ambush —

only to be met with... a boy.

a boy, about her age, standing tall and proud before her. he's breathing hard, and the creator of the other footprints is nowhere to be found. he must've just been chasing prey. isidora lowers her bristled hackles, staring at him with wide, confused eyes.

sup? who does he think he is? and, now that she thinks about it, where the hell are they?

maybe he knows something she doesn't.

i was sleeping, she shakes dirt and flower petals out of her pelt. you seem like you might need some help with your stealth, hermano.

The girl is the eclipsed opposite of the last strange girl lost in solitude Sverke had encountered: shadowy depths to her fur, dashed through with markings in fawn and fox-red. Her eyes landed on the north-born prince, suspect and alarmed, and Sverke let the plume of his tail arc over his back and flop side to side lazily in a show of friendly intent. He ignored the snipe about her sleeping - what did he care? - and scoffed as she mentioned his stealth.

I almost had it. The boy snarked back, with an insulted wrinkle of his muzzle. I suppose you think you'd have better luck? He narrowed his gaze at her, more than likely considering some absurd 'game' to instigate in the idle glimmer within his two-toned gaze.