In the dark of the woodland, surrounded by the undergrowth of decades, where the sound of a single twig breaking could sound alarms throughout the local population. It was the night before the full moon, yet it still held itself in the sky, so beautiful in all its pearlescent glory. The things that roamed the darkness looked up at Mother Máni and wished for blessings or to evade her ever-present eye. The chill wind blew through the forest, rustling branches and leaves as it whistled across the tops of streams and lakes.
The smell of smoke, ash, and meat roasting over an open flame could be spotted within a valley. Distant from humanity, off the beaten track, a man sat by a river's edge, a loose flannel shirt and damp jeans adorning his body. Boots sitting nearby as he let his feet soak in the running waters. The firelight gave his body an odd silhouette that showed what could be hiding within the man. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, scenting the air as he enjoyed the peaceful ambiance of the wilds.
Beneath the scent of musk, sweat, and the beast lay blood. Part of a prey hung nearby on a rope, bleeding out into a container, an ancient axe lying near the firelight, revealing a wicked sheen. The other parts of the creature were being roasted on a spit, slowly being rotated by a set of pulleys and what looked like a pendulum. The quiet sounds of the forest were interrupted only briefly by the man letting out a slow whistle, two tones as he lay back against the stones of the river's edge.
That was when he heard a sound. The man didn't seem to be too worried. Too light to be a bear, not quick enough to be another type of predator that would mean him harm. It came from downwind, which either meant that it was hunting him like a person or just because it wanted to check him out without giving away its position with its scent. "I guess I should ask if you're friend or foe," Gerwulf finally called out in a cordial, if gruff voice. Glad that he had hung up his general supplies in case it was something looking to rob him out of desperation. Even now, though, he didn't get up or move, just lying there near his fire whilst his feet lay in the water.
She needed to run—to feel the wind tugging through her fur as the twigs snapped underfoot. One of the many downsides of always being on the move—never knowing when she might find the time to just—unleash her wolf. Not to defend herself or because she'd wound up in a fight but...just to be. It was for that reason she found herself within these woods—far from the prying eyes of the humans she hid carefully amongst.
That was the safest way to avoid—well the same sort of tragedy that had befallen her family—her coven. Hide amongst them and they don't notice you—not if you're careful. She shook her head with a wolfish chuff—tossing the depressing thoughts from her mind before they could take root and drag her down into the shadows again; padding through the underbrush on silent paws.
It was then that she caught the foreign scent—the midnight fur at her hackles bristles to stand stiffly at attention—a wariness riding her lupine body; causing muscles to bunch. She tipped her snout down to the ground—tracking the scent as she bounded off in the direction it wafted from. Pausing just a small distance downwind—bones snapping and realigning to restore her to her humanoid shape. Best not to spook a stranger by approaching in her shifted state; one never really knew how they might react.
Brushing her hand through the dishevelled dark hair hanging in loose waves around her shoulders—she lifted her gaze; affixing a dark blue gaze—one currently threaded with filaments of lupine gold to watch the man lazing by the river. Confidant that he wouldn't notice her—the wind direction masking her scent from him.
It was a shock then—when he spoke; querying whether she were friend or foe... Well that's a good question, isn't it? She mused; moving as if to push to her feet before pausing—a rueful glance down at herself reminding her she needed to clothe herself. Not because she was bothered by her current state—but because she couldn't be sure how they might react to it.
Swallowing—she shuttered her eyes and began muttering quiet words in a lilting magical manner; feeling the familiar tingle of her magic crawling across her bared flesh—manifesting garments in her patented style. Then—she rose; feet bare—shoes were always the hardest thing to conjure; and took a hesitant step forward. "Perhaps I should be asking you the same question..."
There were many things that Gerwulf could have put his mind to in this moment, as the skies above glittered with stars and the world was illuminated by his fire. Ears twitched as the sounds became different from whoever or whatever was nearby. If it were just an animal, firelight and his voice would have kept it away unless it were starving. Instead, he unconsciously witnessed something else entirely, the whispered chants of a spell.
He wasn't a magic nor bookish individual, though if he had heard it with more clarity, he could have given what would have accounted for a layman's term for the spellweave. Instead, it wasn't what he was concentrating on. Slow footpads sounded out hesitantly with a voice. Gerwulf hadn't been shot yet, nor was he being surrounded by more than one person, so he didn't believe he was in too much danger from the stranger. However, it was polite to announce oneself when approaching a camp, or at least it was back in the day.
"True, but I've been here for a while already. Either way, I'm usually a friend to most," Gerwulf stated nonchalantly, grinning to himself as he slowly righted himself into a sitting position. Rolling his broad shoulders, his back crackling like that of the bow of a tree being bent. Letting out an exaggerated yawn as he stretched, he finally turned his torso, head, and then body as he pulled his feet out of the river. His pale green eyes were not as evident in this light, as pupils seemed to adapt as he turned his gaze toward where the stranger stood.
A woman, barely a girl perhaps, was not what he was expecting. Then again, many a person was struck down by something that put on the guise of someone young. It was why there were cryptid stories that ranged across the entire mountain ranges of the Americas. "Now, why are you so far from civilisation? Actually, let me guess... a rite of some kind?" He guessed poorly, having looked down to realize her feet were bare even in this type of darkness, which colored his opinion. New-age hippy, something more, he'd not know until she was close enough to scent. Even then, it wasn't an exact science. The strange part was why they were alone out here with no apparent belongings attached to their person.
Nascha had never considered herself an overtly polite individual—but even she would have found it difficult to announce herself whilst in the form of a wolf. Werewolves generally lacked the ability to communicate with those outside of their own packs when shifted—a fact that wasn't altered by the fact she was half witch. With no connection between herself and this stranger; she could have no more announced her approach as she could have inquired about the time.
"Usually a friend—doesn't really inspire the level of trust needed to quell a stranger's wariness." She quips; her head ticking to the side in a clearly lupine gesture. He was right in her assessment of her youth—at barely Twenty-Two years old she'd often been underestimated by those whom she came into contact with; her being all of 5'2 probably didn't help with that either.
"Uh—no. Props for creativity though; that's actually a new one." Nobody ever flung ideas like that her way on the occasions they'd found her out amongst the trees. She pursed her lips—considering him with a quiet sort of intensity.
Though the woman's thoughts were typically correct, it also depended on how people reacted to strange predators coming across them in the woods at night. Most humans panicked; others shot first and asked questions later. While supernaturals, unless blessed by telepathy, would react defensively when approached by animals in the dark. Gerwulf had none of the abilities that helped communication between creatures, and being someone who was an outsider to most packs, it meant that he truly just accepted until signs of danger taught him to believe otherwise.
"The truth doesn't usually quell the wariness of others, not that I've found anyway," Gerwulf responded with a chuckle, as he sat there, still not moving to get up or even go for anything that could help defend himself if something did happen. It was confident, or arrogant; however, that was just a detail that others had to glean from how he held himself. Looking to be in their late twenties and size over the six-foot mark, he seemed to believe that staying on the ground would keep up his state of passivity.
"I knew a Lenape once, who spoke of such rituals in the woodlands. Or were they another tribe? It's kind of hard to remember. Too many blows to the head," He spoke out in jest, smiling as he met her more intense gaze. "Well, if you'd like, come on by the fire and share its warmth. I only bite when asked, which means you're perfectly fine in my company." Again, humor or a poor excuse for one, as Gerwulf seemed to just be bravado and flirtation rolled into something man-shaped. He still made no motion to stand just yet, preferring not to scare off possible companions by making sudden moves or showing off his bulk. Even though it was usually those who were fast that were much more dangerous in the darkness.
