[The Bronze Wood] The Hunters Meet. (Miharu)

[Sturlin]

Timestamp: 13th of Spring, 510 AV

Both his awakening and his breakfast were early on this morning. He had spent a good portion of the previous day resting and spending time with his companions. The sun was just beginning to dawn on the woods, and Sturlin was now slipping a feed bag onto Francis the horse and brushing his luxurious chestnut coat. Lounging indolently nearby was Mr. Pickles, lord of the campsite.

While this area was still clearly the wild it was beginning to change. Firstly it was not more than two days travel into the woods, one if you pushed from dawn to dusk. Secondly the hunter had lived here for nearly twelve days now and had begun to put some touches of comfort on his sheltered glen. His tent was pitched here, as was his neatly constructed fire pit, and all those possessions of only minor value were casually resting here and there around the camp.

Due to his scavenging of only dead wood for use in his fire the area had also been cleared entirely of small twigs and branches. If it did not look tidy it at least did not look cluttered. Those areas that still bore concealing leaves and brambles more likely than not served to conceal snares or traps that the hunter had left out for smaller game in the area. With a stream of fresh water not an hour's walk away game in the area was far from scarce.

Still, while he left his mark on the land around him he was a man of the woods. As he set aside the brush he stroked Francis' muzzle affectionately and seated himself by the fire he had used to cook breakfast. It was dug deep, and stones surrounded it protectively. Once comfortable he unpacked his short bow and began inspecting it for any flaws or damage caused in recent days. One could never be too careful in regards to the tending of life-saving tools.

With one ear cocked to the side for any sound nearby, he began to inspect the string of the bow. Turning it over carefully in his scarred left hand he began to hum softly. His deep baritone voice carried the soothing melody of a child's lullaby through the canopy of the trees and into the morning sky. In spite of everything that had come before he could not shake the feeling that this was going to be a wonderful spring.

[Miharu Mindi]

Miharu had spent a night in the city of Syliras, though she hadn't really slept well. The bed at the Traveler's Inn had been an intense luxury, and she'd relaxed into it with a sigh of contentment. But the noise of the city soon intruded - the sounds, the smells, the constant bustle of too many people. And so she'd lain awake, tossing and turning and jerking at every loud noise that sounded outside her rented room.

And so, though she had nearly a week before the ship she'd chartered would leave for Alvadas, she repacked her possessions, picked up her re-soled boots from the leather shop, and headed back out into the woods.

As soon as she was far enough away, she'd turned off the road and unlaced her new boots, tying them to the outside of her pack beside her old pair, and yanked off the toga that wound up and over one shoulder to stuff it through the flap of the bag. A moment later she was running through the woods, happy and free, the strap of her pack caught between her teeth and the cool Spring breeze ruffling the spiky black fur that crawled down her spine. That evening was spent sleeping beneath the trees and the stars, nose tucked underneath her tail, and she didn't wake up once.

The next morning she hunted, stalking a herd of deer and taking down one of the older does who would likely not bear a fawn in the coming months. A fairly easy thing, for so close to the city the deer were accustomed to hiding from the scent of humans and the sound of two feet plodding through the brush. When she'd licked the last of the blood from her muzzle, she quickly shifted and drew her new skinning knife from her pack. It was sharper than her old one and took a moment to get used to, but it worked beautifully, separating skin from muscle as smoothly as skimming cream, and in less than half a bell she had the skin folded neatly in a compartment of her pack.

She wiped the knife clean and began the task of butchering enough meat to get her through the next few days, when she suddenly jerked her head up and peered around, muscles frozen.

It was faint, very faint, but easy to hear now that the birds had quieted after the hunt. It sounded like... a voice? Humming? Her father had done that, and she blinked in surprise at the memory. Well. It was far enough away that whoever it was likely hadn't been able to hear her hunting, but as she stared down at the skinless corpse of the doe, she sighed a little.

She spent the next bell tediously butchering the deer, taking the best cuts from the shoulder and rump, and wrapped them in a length of muslin that she kept for such purposes. It was more than twenty pounds, would weigh her pack down tremendously, but she might be able to get this new person to help her dry it. Unless he was unscrupulous, in which case she would just kill him and dry it at his fire anyway.

She shifted back to her wolf's form and tore at the carcass, digging out the sweetbreads and gulping them down in a few quick bites. Blood was easier to clean from fur, and she spent another moment or two licking at it until she was satisfied. Then she gripped her pack in her teeth once more and began slinking towards the campsite on nearly silent paws.

Quiet as a mouse, she approached it from downwind, golden eyes inspecting it carefully as she watched the denizens of the camp. A man, a horse, and a little pink cat. Well. If she'd seen anything weirder than that, she couldn't remember it.

She slunk back into the woods and shifted again, feeling hunger gnaw at her belly even with the snack she'd had, and wrapped the toga around her once more. Dirty-blonde hair hung in tangled curls across her shoulders and down to her elbows, still fairly clean from her bath in the city the day before. Her feet were almost as silent now as paws had been, and she crept up on the camp again.

But her stealth simply wasn't as good in human form, and eventually a snap of a twig gave her away. She instantly froze, hands open and palm-down in front of her where she stood just inside the ring of trees, no more than two steps from the edge of Sturlin's clearing and just behind his left shoulder. Just a girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen, with a heavy pack on her shoulders and no weapon in sight - and huge golden eyes, too big for her face, making her look somehow younger than the rest of her body indicated.

[Sturlin]

At the snap of the twig Mr. Pickles leaped to his feet and scampered into the open tent. Francis nickered softly. Sturlin gripped his uncle's bow in his powerful arms and strung it with one neat stroke of his hand, pulling his arrows closer and readying one just in case. In spite of his preparation for trouble he did not lift the bow and aim it, nor did he stand. He remained sitting next to his fire and his eyes scanned the newcomer warily.

In contrast to her he appeared much older than his true years, owing to the hideous scarring on the left side of his face which left his eyelid drooping. His neatly shaved head also made it difficult for him to appear youthful. Moving his left hand carefully to grip the bow, it appeared to twitch for a moment. Keen eyes would note that it moved more stiffly than it should due to scarring similar to his face. He was wearing his leather breeches, boots, and open vest (which showed lighter but similar scarring all down the left side of his torso).

The humming had stopped the moment the twig had snapped, but now his deep voice filled the silence with carefully measured words. “What are you doing here, little bird?” He tilted his head in a catlike fashion of inspection as he ran his eyes over her once before locking them on her own. She did not appear to be a warrior, which put him on edge rather than comforting him. Still he made no threatening movements and his voice was decidedly neutral.

[Miharu Mindi]

Little bird. That actually surprised a laugh out of her, a bubbling giggle that matched the girlish appearance of her. Might be the most inappropriate nickname anyone had come up with for her yet. The laughter dissolved into a fitful chuckle as she took a few slow steps forward, more in the clear.

"I heard you singing," she said, amber eyes still glued to him. She didn't glance at his twitching limbs, didn't avoid staring at the scars on his face - in fact, she looked directly at them, curiously, and then just as quickly dismissed them to meet his gaze. "I've just brought down a deer, and I can't carry all the meat. I'll give you some if you'll cook mine for me." And odd request - but then, she didn't seem to have a pot hanging from her pack, nor any sign of a tent.

[Sturlin]

It was a strange request, but she seemed to be a strange young woman. She was friendly enough to suit him though. A few moments passed as he carefully considered the request. He nodded and gestured for her to join him by the fire, “As you wish.” After all, Sam's visit had turned out quite well. It was not unreasonable to hope that this visit could end amicably also.

While he did set the bow aside he kept it close at hand. Leaning out toward his tent he hooked a finger in his own pack and pulled out his preservation kit as well as a some cooking supplies for what she did not want to save for her travels. He would watch her carefully each time he pulled something out of the pack, not entirely sure he could trust the stranger yet. Mr. Pickles had not yet re-emerged, but Francis seemed unconcerned and enjoyed the meal in his feed-bag.

[Miharu Mindi]

She stalked forward when permission was given, some unconscious measure of grace in every step, and bare feet made not a sound in the grass. She plopped down cross-legged on the ground about five feet away from Sturlin's log and slung her pack into her lap, untying it and pulling out the muslin-wrapped bundle of deer meat. It was quite a lot, but she was tall and muscles bunched easily to take the weight.

WHen he pulled out the preservation kit, she blinked, and another smile dented one corner of her mouth. "Oh! You can dry it? That would be even better. If you're willing to do this, I can go back and get the rest of the meat for you. That's a fair trade, yes?" she asked, blinking wide eyes up at him.

[Sturlin]

He watched her as she moved to sit nearby, a few suspicions in his mind. When he looked into her large eyes a small smile stole into the corner of his mouth. It looked as though he would be eating well tonight. Of course, that thought led him to wonder how such a little thing had caught a deer and killed it with her bare hands. He nodded again, saying “If you wish I can dry it for you. Do you need help retrieving the rest?” Once again he tilted his head as he looked at her, perhaps a mannerism he had picked up from years with Mr. Pickles.

As if sensing the presence of fresh meat the bald cat poked his head out of the tent and carefully placed a paw on the ground outside. Testing the ground, wary of the woman who had just arrived and perhaps afraid of her, Mr. Pickles lowered his belly and began to slink closer. His eyes were very wide as he stalked the neatly wrapped meal.

[Miharu Mindi]

Miharu looked down to the cat who was slinking towards her and her package, nostrils flaring as she identified its scent. "Hello cat," she said, digging through her pack again to pull out her skinning knife. There was nothing threatening in the gesture - she held it only as a tool, not as a weapon. She flipped back the muslin to reveal the large slabs of meat, and quickly cut off a chunk the size of her palm from on of them. Didn't seem to care which, or whether any choice cuts were kept for herself - she'd eaten worse, and raw, so she didn't really concern herself with what might be dried for her. The chunk was flipped onto the ground closer to the weird little cat, and she stared at it a moment and wondered what'd happened to its fur.

But then she seemed to remember herself, and forced her attention back to Sturlin. "Oh! Oh, no, it'll be faster if I do it, probably," she said, shrugging as she unwrapped the rest of the meet and laid it on the log beside him. "Shouldn't take me more than a bell," she said, skipping over to the edge of the woods - though in a different direction than she'd approached, for she'd had to circle the camp to come in downwind.

Didn't seem to worry about leaving her pack with him - perhaps because of how well-settled in this clearing he seemed to be, and she trusted him not to run off with her things. Or maybe she knew she could get them back if he wanted to make an issue of it.

She was smart enough, now, to wait until she was out of sight before she pulled off her toga and hung it from one of the branches. Then she shifted, and if Sturlin had tried to sneak after her he'd see only a bright flash of light as she reformed as a great gray wolf, her fur as bright and shining as silver, with black tips across her ears and down the length of her spine. Then she simply picked up the muslin and the knife-handle in her mouth and jogged off to find the carcass.

Whether he followed or not, he would be able to hear her steps pause, and then the sound of an animal running away.

[Sturlin]

He chuckled at her words, and looked very pleased that she had offered such a nice bit of meat to Mr. Pickles. When she called him 'cat', he added pleasantly. “His name is Mr. Pickles.” He made no issue of her desire to work alone and when she sat the meat next to him he immediately began preparing it for drying and went to work with his kit. “Take care little bird, I will see you in a bell then.

With his own share of secrets to worry about he lived under the philosophy that he did not need the secrets of others rattling around in his head. He made no attempt to follow her, but the sound of the animal sprinting into the distance was easily recognizable for the hunter, and her eyes had already given him a peculiar suspicion of her nature. Suspicions were a far cry from knowledge however, so he held these thoughts close to his chest and busied himself with his work.

Of course by now the hairless pink muzzle of Mr. Pickles was stained red and he was licking his chops with an expression of satisfaction on his face. He had eaten his fill and was now convinced that this new person was more than welcome to feed him whenever she wanted. With the tip of his tail twitching lazily he strolled over to Sturlin and lay in his lap while he worked.

[Miharu Mindi]

It was less than a bell when she returned again, a faster trip now that she wasn't worried about stealth or approaching downwind. She reappeared at the edge of the woods, adjusted the lay of her wrapped dress, the handle of the knife still between her teeth and the bundle of meat tucked under her other arm.

She padded over and set it down on the other side of Sturlin, shuffling quickly away from him to resume her previous seat. She pulled a waterskin from her pack and used a bit of it to wash the last of the blood from her hands, and then just folded them in her lap - not realizing there was still a smear of it across one of her cheekbones.

"I'm Miharu," she finally offered, as if it just occurred to her that trading names might be appropriate. "You... live here?" she asked curiously, glancing around at his set-up.