( tie my hands ) p.

[Lexaa !?]

A T I L L A

The day's new break was refreshing. It had been many moons since she had been able to retreat to a real night's sleep. The Valley was a very comforting area for her, and she enjoyed it greatly. Atilla hadn't yet found refuge in a den deep in the forest, but had simply lazed beneath a large pine that towered over many, though couldn't completely strip the forest floor from the sun rays.

Atilla had taken her lithe body from the depths of the foliage, and took long strides to search the area. She wasn't too concerned of getting in trouble or anything for scoping, knowing that Gavin was so far a greatly understanding creature from what she had seen of him. At first, she knew, many would assume that Atilla would not be suited for the family-oriented standards that the Haden Valley pack stuck to; but what Atilla also knew that she needed something to hold close, to protect and savor as her own. A family of her own. Though she did not know any of these wolves well, but felt that she did currently require some stability in her life no matter the consequences. It had just been this one thing that had particularly attracted her attention, a pack that withheld exceptional values and love for one another. Something her mind needed

A place to rest.

It had not taken her very long to venture far across the land, her agile limbs moving swiftly beneath her light anatomy. She had finally ventured into the more blunt area of the Sitka Bend. A soft sigh escaped from her narrow jowls, of more relief than sorrow or pain. The traveling had well worn her thin and she had adored finding somewhere completely safe to rest. Many battles had been in her past, whether they be from mid-day or from her dead sleep, it had tortured her and left her on a whim where she hadn't ever been able to sleep soundly while traveling. It was only to prove that the wild had grown to be more than most would imagine, the world had gone into a war, it had seemed. Yet, when Atilla had entered the large expanse of human remains, a slight blanket of peace had seemed to settle about the terrain. She never knew that such thing could exist.

Atilla turned her head to face in the right direction, giving her left amber eye full view of the bend. She examined the montones of unseen vibrance and color. It had beauty despite her inability to see the flaring greens, shocking yellows, and bright blues, all streaming about the vast expanse of Earth. She continued forth in a slower, more calm pace, quickly trotting herself across the streamline to meet at the tip of the peninsula that lay in the certain of the bend, splitting the river into a distinct fork. Her slightly emaciated anatomy stood gracefully, facing into the south-bound wind. Atilla stood still, lost in a seemingly unbreakable trance with the surrounding world.

[{chay}.«]

ooc; done

She had seemed relatively predisposed to introversion upon their initial meeting, which, in all actuality, Gavin had no contention to. He himself was not the most forthcoming of creatures and often found more solace retiring in his great stone den, losing himself to his thoughts, than he did solving social issues or attempting to have his members assimilate in with wolves that had been little more than rogues moments before he had led them past the boundaries. Much to his surprise, he did seem to find himself in a group of rather intuitive lupines, and tensions flared whenever there was lurking distrust toward another permeating from their behemoth leader's very pores. It was partially because of this that he had considered himself wealthily fortunate to, more recently at least, stumble upon prospective constituents when he was traversing by his lonesome. Traveling unaccompanied, it seemed, led to first impressions that were markedly superior to those that he was forced to experience whilst gathering a large assembly in one setting, as he had done in Haden Valley's inceptive synod- though it had almost instantaneously became rather clear that it would be quite a foolish to attempt to participate in such a taxing activity again. The males were one thing- Gavin could handle unruly yearlings (his towering bulk was traditionally enough to impede any disturbances)- but the females were another thing altogether. For although he was, it seemed, considered to be rather handsome, he had never courted nor attempted to court any fae. This was not to say that they were not to his liking- in all actuality, all of them were attractive in one way or another- but he simply was a neophyte to the art of wooing a potential lover. He had already discovered, however, that it was a detrimental endeavor. It seemed that every time he gave a lick of attention to one she-wolf, every other seemed exceptionally critical of the situation and only added to the silent quarrel that he was chary of acknowledging. The given nomenclature of the hierarchy as something that, once he had matured to his naturally bearish size, Gavin had never had a problem with, but as a rule (well, a rule from a brute's side of things) females preferred verbal squabbles over physical ones.

Cerulean eyes scanned the distance that lay spread before him, a smile curling his maw as he gazed with visible pride over his packlands. As he caught himself standing there for a long moment, a mental reprimand was given and he shook his great head, clearing the web of thoughts from his mind and continuing on. He was here for a reason, of course; it was very rare that his actions were meaningless, as he put a rather grave amount of thought into what decisions he executed and the result happened to be an Alpha that was often regarded as slow-moving. As of now, however; it could not be more of the opposite: his newest member had struck off on her own, and in all truth there was no reason why he would not he responded by setting off after her. He had given her some time, for he did want to respect the possibility that she simply valued occasional detachment, but he quickly realized that she was not going to return in what he believed was an ample period of time, and so here he was: not so close that his presence would be noticeable, but not so far that he was relying solely on his olfactory sensory system to track her. The two of them were traveling in a diaphanous sheen of fog, miniature clouds hanging tiredly, deviating from their typical position in the firmament. At the same time, it was morning, and the Alpha relished the gentle quiet of the dawn, silent except for the gentle rushes of waterfowl settling on the bend's surface and his own massive paws leaving depression sin the dew-soaked sod. The fur all around his tawny limbs was streaked with wet strips; the tip of his tail, hanging placidly between his hocks for the time being, was covered in a thin layer of liquid, the little droplets beading on the individual hairs. Perhaps it was for that reason that he had not yet called out to her, or perhaps it was simply because he was dreadfully inquisitive as to what had struck her fancy so. Yet as he saw her halt, he did not, and continued on, approaching her with a light tread so as not to disturb the sveltely built fae until he chose to do so.

She had been standing in relative quiet, seemingly transfixed by the picturesque landscape, when he did call out, though it was soft, and laced with something reminiscent of worry. “Atilla?” he spoke, baritone voice rumbling sonorously from his chest. He padded forward until he flanked her, and turned his large head so that he could glance down at her with a gentle smile. Physically speaking, they were unreservedly different: she was nearly gaunt, her ribs grating against her rather appealing pelt and giving tale to the hardships that she had obviously suffered, whilst he was easily twice her weight, if not more, and beneath his pelt well-made muscles obviously churned with virulence- if one were to be taking height into consideration, he had at least a dozen inches or so on her, give or take. He had no abnormal markings to his name (bar his pale cyan eyes, courtesy of his dam); she had twin scars ravaging an eye but would have otherwise been flawless, it seemed. Still, one's differences were not supposed to cause rifts: they were to be embraced. He was only hoping that he could tackle the charisma differences next. It was a very sad event to Gavin that he felt like a stranger posing as an overseer to a group that he should have been at least roughly familiar with, and so he was doing his bst now to cure this ill. “The mornings here are lovely, aren't they?”

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