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"It's always something, isn't it?"

Newanti sighed, head tilted ever so slightly to the side as he watched the overcast sky with one emerald-hued eyed. Large storm clouds were rolling in and the air was growing slightly chill with hints of an impending rainstorm. It was winter, but it was unseasonably warm today. Beneath his paws, he could feel the slush of last night's snow squeeze between his pawpads. It was a slightly off-putting sensation to the shaman, but nothing could be done for it aside from walking where the snow had packed into ice or where the snow had melted completely.

The shaman had no particular place to be this evening, other than to perhaps find himself something to scavenge if he was lucky. With only one eye, it was difficult to hunt his own prey, and the wolf's scrawny frame made no secret of that.



((8D; *bored*))

A young wolf, just coming into adulthood hung his head wearily, holding a small rabbit in his jaws. He sighed- pickings were small during this season, and he was without a pack- with out his father, without his grandmother. He felt weak, alone, and the memories Leradien, his grandmother, had given to him brewed in his mind. He had felt such a power from them- but after running away from her, from her teachers, the light had faded. He had lost something. No maybe it was still there- but withered and weak.

North's heavy paws dragged until a scent on the wind caught him by surprise. A cloud thundered in the background, the sky overcast and foreboding. There were hardly any strangers around this area these days. For the moment, North put his musings aside and moved towards the scent.

He rounded a tree, to find a small dainty wolf only feet away, their body adorned with jewelry and scars. This one reminded him much of his own grandmother, and he approached slowly. "Hello," he muttered as best he could, with the rabbit in his mouth.

edit: oh, and a small backstory. Leradien is my gen1 wolf, a seer who met Lewain (Newanti's mother). Leradien gave birth to Fleance, who is the father of North. North had shaman potential, and was brought to Lera. Lera shared all her life memories with him (including Lewain and her death) to teach Fleance about life. Scared of his new powers and responsibilities he fled, slowly losing his power (aka my laziness).

Newanti wrinkled his muzzle in disdain as he finally let his gaze fall from the skies, resigned to a cold evening on the horizon and a possible hungry stomach besides that. He'd been through worse and quite frankly, there were other things on his mind.

One of these things being the stranger in his midst.

The approaching wolf had been detected before he had ever rounded the 'corner' and it's presence had only strengthened, keeping Newanti on guard. He wasn't much of a fighter, but the shaman could tell that this wolf wasn't looking for a fight just yet. This stranger had a glimmer of magic in him, but it was greatly suppressed for now. Newanti filed that information away for later and focused on being alert.

When the stranger had finally come into view, the shaman's stomach turned irritably at the sight of fresh meat. Newanti attempted to keep a cool, nonthreatening countenance.

"Nice rabbit you've got there," he drawled, unable to keep his nose from wiggling slightly as he inhaled the scent wafting to him on the breeze.

((sure Psych))

The stranger faced him, and North noticed the patched eye, and how this wolf wasn't just light boned- but thin and old. He kept his own stance neutral, ears cocked with curiosity but also with gentleness. This stranger seems to like his catch, the fresh rabbit hanging from his mouth. North tossed it. "You seem you could put it to better use than I could.

He could always catch another one later.
"My name is Fleance. What is yours?"

He watched the other's face, reading it for some kind of memory. It was vague...but it was there. "Do...I know you?" he said, his golden eyes watching the male.

Newanti was not ashamed to take handouts from strangers. It kept him alive, didn't it?
"Much obliged," the male answered in regards to North's first comment, sauntering over to the kill and giving it a critical sniff. Ah, the scent of fresh meat truly beat that of a kill lying chilled in the snow for hours...days even. The neutral-colored wolf settled onto his belly, throwing one forelimb over the end of the carcass, and gave the skin an experimental bite while rolling his eyes upwards to the face of the youth before him.

"Newanti. You don't know me as we've never met, I know that much. I'd remember you if I had." 'Anti was good at keeping mental tabs on wolves with glimpses of magic in their veins. That is, unless this young one had met him as a pup. Very Unlikely. The shaman felt uncertainty in North's mind and a feeling as though North were searching for a memory as though his mind were but a giant book of pictures. "Knowing of me, perhaps, but unlikely. I don't get out much these days."

The shaman let an ear twist around, sensing a rather hapless individual with a driving hunger approaching in the close surroundings. This illicited a sigh from the thin-framed wolf; more complications, it seemed, when it came to getting a decent meal.

"Think nothing of it," North said as he sat down and lifted one especially cold paw up. He watched as the older male inspected his kill. The young wolf watched...it was hard to let a kill go in such lean times. He turned his head away to the bushes absent mindedly. He took the time to look through his memories, wolfs he had met, wolves Leradien had met, and wolves Fleance had met. His memory and knowledge was a collection of three generations- almost like an encyclopedia. It was as if he had lived three lives. Each season, each hardship, each love. Every memory was vivid and bright, as if he had been there himself. Before he could tell the difference between his own few memories and the ones that were given to him, but now, they were all so blurred. He couldn't remember which was what, who was who's. It seemed as if they all belonged to him, as if he had been in every one.

"You look like someone I had met," North mused. looking towards the older male again. The pages of his mind flipped...Isaac...Notoka...Lewian-

But before he could say or think any more a rustle from the bushes startled him. Between the scarce foliage he spotted a large stick, in the mouth of a dulled multicolored young female. Her body also looked scant and under fed.

"It seems we have company," North noted.

Newanti was conscious of North's mental photo album but thought little of it as he fed until his mother's face appeared in this wolf's mind. His brow lifted in surprise and, with minimal effort, forced that image to remain at the forefront of North's mind, likely against the other's will. The shaman ripped the strip of meat he had been working on from the quickly disappearing carcass and sat up, his expression more suspicious than it previous was.

"How do you know her?"

He had to resist the urge to delve more deeply into the other's memories, as that would have been an extreme violation of a currently innocent individual. Thankfully the urge didn't last long, as the energy being thrown from the other wolf that had just stepped into view drew almost all of the shaman's attention now.

The female's question made the shaman uneasy and he dared to extend a touch of magic into Ta-daa's mind, seeking for thoughts of malace while also trying to offer a calming touch. He kept such ministrations minimal, however, so as to not draw attention from the one he was mind-touching.

"We are planning nothing," he answered truthfully. "Just chatting casually over a bit of rabbit, my dear." His gaze slid to North in a meaningful way; it would be best if North agreed vocally the same.

The image of Lewain- it wouldn't go away! North tried to force it, but memories continued to bubble up. The seer, yes- she was a seer. A horrible headache, a mental pain. A journey, Notoka and Silvamord. Lewain. There the old wolf was again, gentle and aged. Her gray pelt soft, her voice kind. Night, morning, Not there, blood! Yelling!

The memories flashed quickly. He could see everything. The dew on the grass. The purple of Notoka's pelt. The deep red of wolf's blood. He could hear everything, yelling, growling, "Gods be damned, Lera. Why is there blood in Lewain's den? WHY? His eyes locked onto the she-wolf's, barely containing his growing rage. You're the seer, you're supposed to KNOW."

His grandmother's name...this must be one of her memories.
He didn't speak to Newanti, everything was there- in his mind. This was how he knew her.
But then he realized something. He hadn't spoken of Lewain. How did this old wolf know? Was he a seer? He had experienced them before.

But the intensity made his stomach do flips, it made his heart drop. And for a moment, he remained in a daze, staring at the nervous female. When Newanti looked at North he snapped to.
"Oh yes..just...chatting."