He tried to sleep it off, wait it out. See if maybe if he just rested his aching head everything would go back to normal. He would be a man again; he would walk on two legs and piss standing up. It never worked, though. A weird feeling that surprised himself, however, was his near-joy that it hadn't. A rising fear grew in him that he would fall asleep and awake in his world. A world of earth soiled by the blood and tears of the innocent- a world sullied by the unholy.

Everything here was beautiful. It looked here as it did in his world- before such evil had overtook it. When he was just a little boy, not yet a knight sworn to fight without end. He caught moment's rest without guilt under trees and in spots that looked comfortable. He grew used to the feeling of 'I'm done. Lets stop here.' Without the fear of something terrible over his shoulder. Stopping to smell beautiful flowers or appreciate the view.

But it wasn't his.

Strangely, he felt out of place. As though he, as a product of his torn world, was wrong for trespassing into this one. Perhaps this was heaven, a place he surely did not belong, and he was taking the place of someone who truly did. A feeling of guilt pulled at his broken heart, one that twisted his sense of self into a tattered image. Not a man. Not a wolf. Not anything. Belonging nowhere.

He approached the woods with curiosity. If he was to plan his exodus from this place, he would like to appreciate it in whatever time he had left in it. His eyes gazing at the trees in idle wonder at their beauty- the blue of the sky illuminating the branches as they grew bare for the oncoming winter.

Skill: --- (1/5)

She followed the river, allowing it to cut her path with its branching streams and rivulets. The songweaver chose whichever path her heart seemed set on, having no destination in mind. Dew collected on the grass and dampened her paws, chilling her digits as the cold morning air breathed across them.

Siobhan left the moonlit lake to her back in her travels, using the cloak of night to shroud her as she satiated her rumbling curiosity. The pass she had been enveloped in became densely wooded the further east she traveled, transforming into the remains of a kingdom long dead. Bits and pieces of things she recognized from her human world cropped up here and there – fractured portions of stoneware and baubles that were no longer any use to anyone. Even if she possessed the means, she could not return the pieces to their former glory.

At one time, this land must have prospered – but Siobhan knew the cost of prosperity was not always as golden and glitzy as it seemed.

She stooped to nose at a stack of broken cobble work when the wind delivered evidence of another. The siren froze, ears on swivel as hazel eyes swept her surroundings for visual sign of the other soul wandering the sovereign graveyard.

He almost blended with the dense woodland in the dawn light – his brown hide betrayed only by the snatches of snow white breaking his otherwise camouflaged form. Siobhan watched him for a few long moments, inwardly determining the virtues of continuing her venture before he noticed her.

Almost begrudgingly, Siobhan slipped from her vantage point on quiet paws, stepping lightly as she arced around him so that she approached from neither side nor his back. She recognized she was too far from Raum to call for help from here, so she was wise enough to not set herself up for agitation.

A pity, isn’t it? she cast her voice to the stranger as she revealed herself from the woodwork, tone velveteen but pocked with a subtle sorrow. Winter arrives all too soon.

In all his one-eyed gazing did he fail to notice the sound of footsteps around him, completely entranced by the beauty of a world untouched by foul hands.

When her voice rang out, it appeared to startle him. First by the jolt of his body and the quick turn of his head. Then, the expression on his half-face was revealed to be one mixed with an unsteady confusion. Did he begin to fear the soft voice of a woman more than the growls of demons?

It took him a moment to process what she said, a slight shake of his melon to reawaken the stoic knight he was meant to be. All this rose-smelling was beginning to have an affect on his normal sense of readiness and fearlessness.

His mouth opened, though words would hesitate on his lips. Delayed in how he would overthink every second.
No.. n- no.. it’s quite lovely, actually. The ramblings of a tired man, surely. Every winter he had ever experienced had been cold, long, lonely, and barren. His mother had no food to feed his mouth nor thick blankets to warm his little frame. As he grew, they never became easier. So why now was winter suddenly a thing of beauty to him?

He surprised ever himself with his answer, causing him to shift uncomfortably under his own weight as he turned to face the stranger head on.
Well, I mean… Whitlock would attempt to explain himself but, the words could not be found unto him. Such a strange and indescribable feeling did haunt him.

Skill: --- (1/5)

It appeared she surprised him - she seemed to be catching many wolves off-guard these days. Was she getting better at using this lupine form of hers, or was everyone more distracted? Siobhan pressed forward, tail swaying slowly at her heels - her posture unimposing and nonthreatening.

Lovely? she echoed, arching a brow at the thought. Was the winter beautiful, what with its skeletons and frozen kiss? The siren mulled it over in her mind with a hum. She was no stranger to all of the seasons, least of all winter - her coven's rituals and celebrations did not stop just because winter sank its fangs into the earth. No, there was plenty to do by fireside. If she focused, she could smell embers and burning wood, the heady mixture of incense. There was revelry, life to be found between winter's barren ribs.

I suppose there is something to be said for the beauty of the world in repose, Siobhan conceded as her steps paused, leaving her within conversational distance of the one-eyed man. A hazel gaze looked him over, her mind working away at what his visage told her.

Bits and bobs of foliage were dotted through his fur, suggesting he either did not care to keep up appearances or did not know how. She could not miss the scar sprawled across his face, however, and a vacant socket where a sage-toned eye should have been.

Without knowing how he received it, a part of her became guarded, but none of that was reflected outwardly. Her expression remained curious, a layer of doubt suggesting she had little to fear from this man whose words were halting and manner uncertain.

His green tracked her eyes as she spoke, trying to glean intention for her interaction. Trying to see if her pupils would flick to the left or right, indicating perhaps some kind of ambush. He got lost in the color of them, the way they were ignited by the colors of the morning.

Whitlock would turn his face, however, when he saw her eyes linger onto his tarnished face.
Partially a hint of embarrassment- he no longer had a helmet or a mask to shield the world from it. He felt naked, exposed, with it out in the open air.
Yet it was also a protective sentiment that guided his head away from her. Many a woman or child had ran away at the site of his battle scarred face. They imagined him just as the monsters he slayed, even if he was there to defend them. He did not want her to fear him or run away. It was so pleasant to speak with anyone for quite this long.

The winter may appear harsh, He began, trying to push focus off of his appearance. But it is also delicate, like snowflakes and icicles. The man looked away down at the ground and away from the woman, slightly bashful at his lack of beautiful wordsmithing. Not much conversation was to be had with dead men and demons- so he was quite out of practice.

What way would you prefer it to be? He asked, his ear flicking to face her and intently hear her response.

Skill: Seer (1/5)

There was no malice or malintent within her approach - Siobhan was not of mind to attack so openly. While she was certain her actionable teeth could rend flesh from bone as they were created to do, she lacked the motivation to do so... at least inside this moment. The earthen-made wolf across from her had not elicited a call for violence.

She noted he moved his face away from her, shielding the half of him that was marred. It hadn't offended her and it would take much more than a ragged mug to chase her away, but she knew how it was to hide one's wounds.

Fresh or scarred, it was instinct to hide the parts of oneself from the encroaching eyes of others. Everyone had them - those marks of misfortune; some wore them while others internalized them, bearing them on their heart and soul. Siobhan was the latter, with few having ever seen beyond the surface where she exuded calm.

With the exception of Raum, perhaps there was no one who had been afforded a window into what plagued her and left her sense of trust as brittle as the frozen branches overhead. She could still feel the prying hands from the cave of horrors, fingers digging deep into white and cocoa fur to pull away whatever parts of her they pleased - as though she remained a commodity to be consumed and exhausted.

You don't have to turn away, Siobhan murmured, though did not apologize for her prying gaze. She was a creature of watchfulness, gauging her environment and those who inhabited it. The siren paid heed to the world in a way she thought the man before her mirrored - a detail she noted favorably. We all have ugly sides to us. Some of them are just well below the surface.

She realized her words could be construed as calloused, but they were spoken with no contempt or barbs - least of all disgust. Regardless, she felt keenly that her utterance bore truth.

Every living thing was a creation of duality, both beauty and beast. Just like the wintery scene around them.

The world doesn't speak so much during the winter, she began, a certain reverence etched into her voice. It grows quiet, dormant.

There were times, moments, instances where the silence was preferable, but Siobhan found solace in the subtle signs the universe afforded her when it was awake.

I prefer the spring and summer, when energy buzzes all around us, Siobhan offered. Within the freezing land, she ached for the warmth of spring - when the sizzle of life itself would flood her veins. But that doesn't mean winter is without its virtues.

A sun could only shine for so long before it burnt itself out, the pressure and strain too great. There was space in the sky for the moon, too.

An appreciative smile crept up his maw only slightly, though he was still untrusting on how much validity was in her words. It's happened before, 'I won't be afraid' they would say, 'i just want to see the face of my savior' they would continue. Yet every time his helmet was pulled off his head, terror would fill their bodies.
She had already seen it, though, and Whitlock never tended to be irrational. His head would turn slightly back toward her, the hesitancy to turn back and face her was created entirely by himself.

Are you a poet? He couldn't help but ask, listening to her words speak so beautifully and eloquently about the seasons. Such things were only reserved for scholars and nobles, people who had the time to read books and write stories. He wondered if she were wealthy or was simply raised very isolated. His mind wandered into visions of princesses in towers, guarded by dragons. Fairytales he would enjoy as a child.
He never could remember how they ended.

Sorry- The man corrected himself and looked down at the ground once more to gather himself before looking back up at her. I forget myself. You just speak so beautifully. He admitted, giving her a bow of his head.

Are you from around here..? He wondered aloud. Surely someone like this was from here, perhaps a native to these lands? It would make sense, to him at least, that he was the only one out of place. She seemed so calm and peaceful on the outside- something he misinterpreted as a product of (what looked like) a calm and peaceful land such as this.