Post by Sohtoh on Jan 5, 2010 0:24:11 GMT -5
Starring:
Merrow - Female Albino Whitetail Deer
Roscoe - Male Whitetail Deer
Setting:
Rock-Strewn Soil
---------------------
How long had it been since he'd left the glade? It wasn't terribly long. Not a week or anything that drastic yet. At least a few days. Probably two, but he'd lost track as he kept to his thoughts throughout his very slow paced journey. Had he abandoned the herd? No, not yet. For the moment, he was simply set on the notion that he needed to keep himself away from the others. Everyone; especially Aspen, but certainly from Tix, Chanson, the fawns and the Elk who he seldom saw anyway. The Prince didn't give the outward appearance of being in any state of depression. No, he did a fine job of hiding it. The daylight was on his side as far as masquerades go, as well. With the sun beaming down through the trees during this fine midday afternoon, Roscoe looked downright regal once again. His frame was carried elegantly by his long legs, which navigated through the somewhat trecherous territory easily, though at a slowed pace. His reddened coat glowed minorly in the sunlight, though he wished for a cloud to block the heatwave from his back. It was rather uncomfortable, and he was already in a rather wretched state of mind as it was. Eyes ahead, the large buck focused on where he was going. But.. where was he going? At the moment, there was no goal in mind. All he knew was in what direction he was headed, and that was South. Usually, he tried to avoid the southern forest. Though he knew of the wolf pack's territory in the Southeast, he still deemed the Southwest to be at least a minimal threat. Cautious with his steps, he avoided the sharper, more dangerous rocks with ease and with a charisma to his step. Large ears flicked on either side of his head, ever alert of every bit of his surroundings.
For a creature so blatantly obvious -existing as a stark comparison against what is natural and normal- the little albino doe has proven herself quite capable of vanishing. It has been sometime since her glaringly white figure has been glimpsed; neither near or far. Merrow's disappearance might have stirred thoughts of her demise; that perhaps the vulnerable undulate finally ran out of luck and had met some sticky ending. Of course even then, once would expect to have found /something/ in the way of evidence to such a fate. Needless to say, no such thing is there to be found, suggesting that the little doe indeed continues to live on- a fact that is about to be confirmed. Merrow had indeed vanished from the woodland valley for awhile, seeking respite from the heat to climb back up into the mountains she is more accustomed too. And while the ascension was initially difficult, the week spent at the higher elevation and much cooler temperatures did well to bring her respite. She looks the better for it too, blue eyes bright once more as her white fur glints brightly in the sunlight, reflecting the light like snow and causing her to stand out blindly against the grey stones and loose scree of the slope she now descends again. Much like Roscoe, the little doe doesn't seem to have any real purpose in her stride as she slowly, almost absently, picks her way down through a small gully of rock and wind blown saplings. The sound of gravel crunching and sliding down beneath the disturbance of her narrow hooves occasionally fills the air. Though with the wind softly gusting down behind her, it is not scent or sound of another that draws Merrow's attention, but rather something a bit more ironic. The glint of red, beaming brightly beneath the light of the sun. Roscoe? Large ears curtly prick themselves, blue eyes curiously blinking a few times as Merrow comes to a smooth halt, standing on the incline, though still graceful in appearance ,despite the angle of the terrain. For a long moment, the albino doe just watches, admiring the nobility of the stag as she often does, as if seeing something more than just a dominant buck, but something of a mortal god. Watching the way the sun lights his fur and shines against the soft velvet of his crown, the poise of his stature, and the dark shadow he cast upon the ground. For now, she seems content to just..stare.
It was from the higher incline of the soil that Merrow had paused before him. The female was completely obvious in the surroundings, and though her random appearance did catch him by suprise, he only acknowledged the strange female with a blink of his reddened eyes and a backward, nonchalant flick of both ears. What did he have to say to his herd? Nothing. So then, what would he have to say to this ghostly doe, who hadn't even considered joining them? Nothing, obviously. Though he had stopped briefly in order to acknowledge her in what minor ways that he had, the Prince had little interest in being kept at this vaguely familiar area for very long. There were .. well, other places to get to. Where, he did not know.. but that was completely beside the point. With not one utterance of a single syllable, the estranged Lead Buck kept his eyes on Merrow as he practically floated past her, his head held high despite what tribulations he was going through on the inside. It was odd though.. because as soon as he got within close eye contact of the female, he stopped, stared, and then continued. It was short, his stopping; lasting no longer than a second or two in reality. But he stared at her nontheless. With the gravel and soil crunching and gritting up against itself with the movement of his hooves, the aloof stag continued onward, his pace just as slow and apathetic as it was prior to Merrow's appearance.
Closer and closer, Merrow just watches as the regal stag's direction of travel brings him into proximity. The little doe herself doesn't seem so inclined to leap into conversation either. In fact, Roscoe doesn't even receive a nod of acknowledgment or any other gesture of greeting. Though this is not to say that he goes without respectful recognition, for her strange sky blue eyes are persistent in tracking his progress, while behind those cold optics scintillates a quiet contemplation. She looks upon his face, her gaze leveling upon him in a manner that might be disconcerting, as if she could somehow see past the outward facade; empathy to his apathy. When Roscoe pauses, Merrow's breath catches and the pink of her ears disappear as the large appendages wilt back against her narrow head and her blue eyes briefly advert. It is the only movement glimpsed from the albino, who otherwise stands as still as stone and nearly as lifeless. Though as the muscular buck continues on, Merrow's head swivels upon the axis of her long graceful neck to follow his progress, eyes blinking after him in thought, before with further silence, the petite creature turns herself to follow after him, sharp hooves sinking deep into the soft earth and scree. Though unlike Roscoe's proud stance, Merrow pursues with her head low and her ears still back, portraying the image of a meek and submissive creature, though somehow resolved and irrefutable.
When Merrow does nothing to respond to him aside from adverting her eyes when he stared right into her own blue optics, Roscoe feels nothing in turn. He isn't upset, he isn't happy. Just.. no response whatsoever. As he continued on, his tail flicked and his jaw moved a bit to the left and to the right, gritting his teeth together instead of speaking up, wondering if that's what he was supposed to do. With a deep breath taken in, the large buck's chest appears larger, and his own ears shift behind as he hears the gravel that he's already tread upon crack and grate against itself again. Though he stops, he doesn't look back to see if she's following. The male can hear; he knows she is. What he doesn't know, is why. With a calm breeze picking up and wafting through the area, the larger of the two creatures exhales his deep breath quietly, and closes his eyes in minor contempt as he speaks. "What is it?" As usual, there aren't many words spoken by the contemplative stag, but he is questionable regardless. Indeed, what would Merrow want from him? Hadn't he made his opinion of her clear when he verbally drove her out of the haven of an environment to the North? With his lids opening, the buck's long neck does turn back, and he casts a glare down upon the submissive female. "What do you want?" There. Spoken with his rude gusto, Roscoe seems truely peeved.
Soft little grunts of effort escape the little doe a few times as she struggles up the incline, once even sliding back down a step as the loose earth gives way, already broken up by the weight of the previously passing buck. It is in the middle of one of these embarrassing slips that the somewhat disgruntled voice of the male captures her attention, the white anomaly pausing in a rather unceremoniously manner with one foreleg bent beneath her and the other stretched out out front, almost giving a rather humorous impression that she is bowing down behind the buck. Sheepishly she flashes a smile, though it along with her ears seem to wilt that much more as she finds herself under his crude glare, her own blue eyes turning up to take in his peeved, if somewhat guarded expression. Ahem. Plucking herself from the soil, Merrow manages to regain some semblance of the graceful creature she is, rather than the uncouth youth she appears to be on the rocky incline. Giving herself a small shake to rid her white fur of the dark soil upon the front of her chest, Merrow plays ignorant of the stags foul mood and takes a passive step forward, lofting her ears as her settles her gaze upon his own ruthless stare, a faint smile just visible upon her muzzle, as if she were enjoying some private joke, "Seems to me that that is a question /you/ should be answering, not me."
Admittedly, Merrow did have an off-beat sort of charm about her. Though he claimed to not to want to be in her presence just because of her abnormal pelt before, he had little reason to live up to that discriminate claim now, judging the fact that he had accepted the piebald fawn, Hotah, as his own son. So, it wasn't discrimination that was holding him back this time. It was something far less understandable if viewed in a certain light. Roscoe's own strange view on socializing was reason enough for him to not want to be around anyone, much less a doe that he figured had a bad impression of him in the first place. How unfortunate for Merrow now, that he was in such a rotten mood. Keeping his ground, the male stood idly by and watched her make a fool of herself momentarily, before the makings of a scoff were emitted, and he continued walking in the direction that he had been going in the first place. "I don't owe any explanations to anyone.. especially not you." Roscoe's voice was strong, and thus it carried despite him facing the opposite direction, walking away from her. When his face was hidden, he allowed his eyes to fall to the ground and watched as his hooves kicked up some of the tiny, rocky debris from the rough soil.
Discriminated against or not, Merrow seems optimisticly accepting of either outcome and in truth, expects the latter. Even if the little doe knew of Hotah and found herself still the outcast in Roscoe's eyes, it would change nothing of her attitude. Though should she come to learn of Hotah's strangeness, that might well change her outlook. As it is though, Merrow knows nothing of Roscoe's 'deformed' son and even less about the stag's shifting mood. This of all things, if perhaps what has captured her intrigue and curiosity the most. Something that she voices in a somewhat cryptic manner, still clinging to a light-hearted mood in the face of the stag's dour one. In fact, the retort that was perhaps meant to cut elicits a lilting laugh from the dainty female, "I do not recall asking for a explanation, Roscoe of the Umber. I only suggested you ask yourself the same." Her voice is as melodic as it always is, floating out after the buck as he proceeds onward. She does the same, a quiet smile still present across her lips "You are like a mountain stream, Roscoe of the Umber. Smooth at times, then unexpectedly rough and cutting when it comes a little rain." Her ears perk acutely, facing forward in deep curiosity and mild amusement, "I take it it has rained recently?"
In all honestly, Roscoe can appreciate this female's inherant optimism. It is a relief from the otherwise sour moods of the does that belonged to his herd, one in particular. It seemed that no matter how bluntly he tried to put this one down, she always sprung right back up in some odd, quirky way. Refreshing, really. Having to force himself not to grin, it takes but a mere thought of some of Aspen's words, claiming that he had wished for some predator to come after his son. The argument between the two was short, but heated. Perhaps if he would accept this one's company, she would care to pry further, and if she was lucky.. the Prince would open up. Knowing Roscoe however, she shouldn't hold her breath. With his hooves carrying him forward still, an attempt to simply ignore the albino is made, but prooves fruitless. Determined, this one seemed to be. With an exasperated sigh from the older stag, he clears his throat and shakes his head in response to her first comment, ignoring it verbally. Though it would never be outrightly admitted, her voice was rather like music to his ears. Intelligent in her words, light in her tone.. if she weren't so.. different, it would be so much easier for him to accept her. A backward glance is given, and he finds himself impressed at the comparison that she makes. Though metaphoric, Roscoe is flattered with both the title, which before now, had never been used, and also with being compared to a mountain stream. Hooves halting, Roscoe turns his entire frame in order to face her, and speaks clearly, his voice unwavering. "It has stormed." He says, and one corner of his mouth uplifts in an attempt at a thoughtful smile. "Don't bother to show any concern, Merrow. The matters of the herd do not concern you, remember?"
Persistent indeed, right now, just as she has always been in life. It is a attribute that has served her well and by no small recognition, is the reason she lives still. As for her innate ability to spring back, such is just the nature of the small female, a strength perhaps given in place for all her weakness. Thus so, Merrow stays resolute in her pursuit of the stag, slender legs scrambling up the rock strewn soil, the frail creature looking like a young salmon trying to swim upstream. Though when the larger undulate halts to turn himself towards her, the struggling Merrow does the same, lifting her pretty face up towards him with the same brightness in her eyes and a peculiar wonderment most often found on the faces of young fawns. Her alluring head gives a small tilt, suggesting a trace of quiet curiosity, or perhaps just more amusement. "Mmm..I see." she muses softly, considering, "And I suppose in response, that mountain stream flooded over a bit?" She grins now, a light expression that reaches the corners of her eyes. "Though nothing that a bit of warm sunlight can't dry up, I imagine?" It is not so much a question, as it is merely observational and rhetorical, the inflections and gently chiding tone of her voice implying that she believes Roscoe is overreacting. His forthcoming comment causes the little doe to suddenly scoff a incredulous snort, followed by a chortle, "No, the matters of the herd do not concern me; at least not nearly as much as you do." She gives her head a small rueful shake, like a parent faced with a child who's behavior has raised the question of 'what /are/ we going to do with you?'
With his eyes turned to her, a brow raises at the slightly comical sight of her perking up from her otherwise clumby climb up the medium incline that he had conquered with ease. Though, he is quick to note that she might not be as strong as 'normal' does due to whatever deficiency that she may have, and thus he lets it slide without a comment. Strange. That was the perfect word to describe this one. Other times, he had to think long and hard about just one word that suited a doe's personality, but with Merrow, it was much easier. Strange. In good ways, and in bad ways. Just.. strange. The mountain stream had indeed flooded, and he nodded his head in her questioning. "Yes.. I'm afraid so." He said, but then rolled his eyes at the sunlight comment. "Must you be so .. friendly?" He wonders aloud, a faint chuckle expressed afterward in order to make the question more light hearted than it may have come off as. Regarding her further, he takes a step to the side and motions his head to where he stood before, as if he wanted her to be at the same ground level as him. Perhaps if she could use the indentations in the soil that he had used, it'd be easier for her? Something sudden tugs at his muzzle, and he frowns once again. "What is it that you want?" He asks, nearly the same question as he had before, but he hadn't the time to sit here and be friendly with this albinistic female.
Yes, Merrow is strange. So very, very strange. Not just in appearance, but in many other ways. Her thoughts, her past, her frailty, and the fact she has survived it all. Strange. It should be have been her name. In response, Merrow just insist on that slow, rueful head shake, ceasing only when roscoe poses a question that clearly strikes her as odd and more amusing than anything else. Consequently, her lips widen as the vestiges of a smirk becomes apparent, the little pale doe barking a short laugh as she takes a few steps upwards, seemingly conforming to his own thoughts and using the pre-pressed earth from his hoofprints to climb up next to him. Once here, her diminutive size is starkly apparent compared to the stag, being on the same level of ground hardly improving the impression of her size. Seemingly oblivious to this though, Merrow just adjust herself, tipping her chin upward in order to look upon the visage of the male in time to watch the frown return, her ears splaying outward a touch as she lets her smirk slide sideways into a crooked sneer, "Must you be such a badger?" Her tail gives a flick now and Merrow gives a small bounce forward to put her a short space ahead of the buck, to whom her head swivels around to look over her shoulder at him, blue eyes meeting the red of his own. Only now does Merrow's face takes on a more serious expression, deep and thoughtful, though a smile still lingers upon the corners of her mouth, "I will only answer that when you truly wish to hear what I have to say, Roscoe of the Umber." She says gently but firmly, "Until then...I suppose you'll just have to go on trying to ignore me." A wry smirk returns on this note and the little doe narrows her pale blue eyes down "So..where are we going?"
A badger? Roscoe was no badger. At least, he certainly didn't think that he was. True enough that he was prone to his moods, but that was just because he was always so enthralled in his own thoughts. Coming from such a long ways away in the North had made the older stag used to keeping himself company with just his own musings.. and when people disagreed? Well, he just wasn't used to it yet. Though it'd been over a year since he had claimed this land to be his home, and he ought to have gotten used to some disagreement by now. A hefty fault on his part. Watching as she climbed up the rocks next to him, he let his eyes linger on the ghostly doe for a moment, before he took in a sharp breath through his wet nose, and exhaled quietly. The air was .. different out here. The area was more open, which he was quite uncomforable in, but travelled apathetically through anyway. With it's openness came a lack of scent, he believed. In the guarded forests, he could easily breathe in the aromas of the trees, the grasses, the flowers, the water.. everything. Out here was just so bare. If he were to leave the Umber, he would not leave for an area as close, nor as barren as this. Tilting his head down in order to speak with her in such a way that she didn't have to look so high up, the dominant male was caught a bit by suprise as Merrow bounces ahead of him, and looks back to taunt. With his brows lowering, Roscoe held his tongue against insulting the peppy female, and instead spoke a minor white lie. "I wouldn't have asked you what you wanted if I didn't care to know what you wanted." His voice, though dull, sounded honest. With a few strides, he was at the odd female's side once more, and stopped moving ocne again. "/We/ aren't going anywhere."
Badger or not, Merrow has taken a liking to the moody male. The reasons why are all her own, kept private and well guarded, save for the gentle acceptance she always seems to be willing to make, no matter how the Prince might decide to treat her today or tomorrow, while yesterdays always seem to be forgotten. Sky blue eyes spend a moment to roam over the person of the male, watching his sides swell with his breath and the moments regard he spares to their surroundings. Merrow herself doesn't seem to alert though, nor follow in his example to draw in a breath of the open air. Rather, her interest remains in the buck, quietly observing him in a studious manner; a soft smile upon her lips. Though her silent contemplation of what thoughts might be brewing in that hard skull of his is eventually interrupted as Roscoe advances up beside her once more, his words just before sending her concentration scattering and bringing her ears upward and tempting her smile to widen. "Oh I've no doubt that you want to know." she concedes, "I just doubt your ability to listen." Once beside her, Merrow sets her bright gaze upon the male, allowing both of her brows to shoot upwards for a moment as she smiles, "Why of course we are!" she proclaims, turning her head to gesture toward the west, where the sun had begun to settle down towards in the evening hours, "We are headed into tomorrow; to be guided by Yiska the dusk and then welcomed by Wapun the dawn." Her smile widens now as she gives a side-glance toward Roscoe, cutting her blue eyes to look upon the side of his noble face for a moment, before turning her eyes back to the opened horizon, for which the expanse is uninhibited by the usual canopy of trees . The little doe allows a sigh to escape her, soft and wanton and full of humility. "Did you know everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle? The sky is round and so is its mother, the earth, and so are all the stars." As she says this, her eyes turn upward, picking out the few glinting dots that have already begun to flicker to life in the darkening east. "The wind, in its greatest power, whirls. Birds make their nests in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours. The sun comes forth and goes down again in a circle. The moon does the same and both are round." As she continues to speak, it is apparent that Merrow has allowed herself to drift very far away from here, the ghostly female only barely aware of Roscoe's presence as she seems to become a part of something greater, the lull of her voice portraying this as her words exist like the words from a ancient time. "Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing and always come back again to where they were. The life of a creature is a circle from childhood to childhood. And so it is in everything where power moves." Silence to respect. A breath to return. Then a smile, warm and gently affectionate as Merrow turns her face to look upon Roscoe, "Such is why tomorrow is so wonderful.." Hesitantly, the little pathetic creature reaches out to touch the delicate pink flesh of her nose to his shoulder, her ears folding back meekly, "..it allows us to try again."
It's quite obvious to Roscoe that Merrow has a strange liking for him, but he deems that it must just be somet type of odd respect that she holds for his status. After all, he leads a herd that he had pretty much picked out himself. Though he was well aware that the thought was vain, had he been born a doe and was chosen into this herd, he would've looked up to it's leader as well. Of course, he would keep this to himself just as Merrow would keep her reasonings behind liking Roscoe to the degree that she did to herself. With his eyes wandering from Merrow, to the landscape ahead of them, to the sky, then back to Merrow, the buck is easily distracted at the moment, off-put with wondering just where he was going to go or, more importantly, what he was going to do while he was there. His days away from the glade had made him regret the way he had treated the mother doe, Aspen, as he did. However he was far too proud to go back and apologize now, anyway. Besides. It wasn't as if she were completely free of guilt either. The things she had called him.. 'ignorant,' 'tyrant,' and that he believed his son to be a 'blazing example of his shortcomings as a male..' those things had hurt him. Strong as he was, the distant, standoffish male did have feelings behind that masculine shell. One of those large ears flicks backwards, and his head follows suit as he turns once again to look down at the white doe. "And why would you doubt something like that?" He wonders, not knowing quite why he wouldn't seem like the type to listen. If he was /interested,/ Roscoe was a good listener. These things came with the territory of being a leader, as he was learning over time. Sure, it was taking him an awful long time to finally learn these things.. but he was still rather young. He had time to learn. It was then that the peculiar Whitetail began her monologue focused mainly on circles.. and on life itself. Oh, he had certainly misjudged this young doe from the beginning. All the more to make him feel foolish. She was quite intelligent, and though he wasn't versed in any religion in any time of his life, he thought it good that she had something to take comfort in. After she was finished, he uttered rather quietly, "I know nothing of that religion." It wasn't meant to be disrespectful, but rather just matter-of-factly spoken. Shifting his weight a bit, the Prince kept his eyes on her, and though he was suprised, he didn't back away from her when she touched her nose to his shoulder. In fact, he grinned. Not a big grin, but it was sincere. Had another doe not just given birth to two of his own fawns, he probably would've at least touched his nose to her neck in response, but he did not. Loyalty would be given to Tix up until the coming fall, in which nature would take over once more, and any female was game. However, thoughts did not rest on the breeding season. Merrow was simply enthralled with her speech and she hadn't thought something through. Yes, that was it. Clearing his throat, his eyes left the doe and he lifted a hoof, ready to start moving once more. "Yes, well.." he started, and looked toward the west. That was the bit of land that Aspen had chosen to birth her fawns at. He would not be going west. To the North? Perhaps. It was where he came from, though. To return so suddenly would be admitting he was wrong. The South was far too dangerous for even his liking, what with it being close to Cougar country and all. No, Roscoe would head /into/ the darkness of the East. Taking a step towards the darkening sky, Roscoe kept his head craned royally, not bothering to wait for Merrow, but not stopping her either.
The touch of her nose to his neck is not brief, but nor does it linger beyond the necessity of it's existence. Though when Merrow does retract her touch, the warmth of her expelled breath clings to the spot, bleeding through the scarlet hue of his summer coat to be felt against the skin beneath. His confession doesn't seem to surprise or appall the little undulate, who just offers up another soft smile and a nod. "Not many do." she admits in turn, drawing in a breath of warm summer air and the vague scents of trees and the rich dark soil beneath them. 'But I mean to change that.'. This she does not say, but it can almost been glimpsed in the way Merrow fixes her blue eyes upon the stag, her smile still warm, but faltering the face of what will no doubt be a challenge. For now though, for this is not the time, the albino female simply lets the matter slip away as she directs her thoughts back to his earlier question, bringing it back to focus with a smile that retains more mirth than anything, "And I doubt, because you have not given me a reason to believe yet, Roscoe of the Umber. Though I do have faith that one day, I will tell you." Yes, once day she will. Just not today. This said, this matter too is discarded in favor of welcomed silence, with Merrow spending a moment to watch Roscoe reflect upon something in his mind, then seemingly to make it up and decide with a turning to the east. The little white doe, of course, is there to follow unquestionably, moving along at his flank in the contentment of her own self-reflections and quiet ponders of just what the tomorrow she spoke about will bring.
Merrow - Female Albino Whitetail Deer
Roscoe - Male Whitetail Deer
Setting:
Rock-Strewn Soil
---------------------
How long had it been since he'd left the glade? It wasn't terribly long. Not a week or anything that drastic yet. At least a few days. Probably two, but he'd lost track as he kept to his thoughts throughout his very slow paced journey. Had he abandoned the herd? No, not yet. For the moment, he was simply set on the notion that he needed to keep himself away from the others. Everyone; especially Aspen, but certainly from Tix, Chanson, the fawns and the Elk who he seldom saw anyway. The Prince didn't give the outward appearance of being in any state of depression. No, he did a fine job of hiding it. The daylight was on his side as far as masquerades go, as well. With the sun beaming down through the trees during this fine midday afternoon, Roscoe looked downright regal once again. His frame was carried elegantly by his long legs, which navigated through the somewhat trecherous territory easily, though at a slowed pace. His reddened coat glowed minorly in the sunlight, though he wished for a cloud to block the heatwave from his back. It was rather uncomfortable, and he was already in a rather wretched state of mind as it was. Eyes ahead, the large buck focused on where he was going. But.. where was he going? At the moment, there was no goal in mind. All he knew was in what direction he was headed, and that was South. Usually, he tried to avoid the southern forest. Though he knew of the wolf pack's territory in the Southeast, he still deemed the Southwest to be at least a minimal threat. Cautious with his steps, he avoided the sharper, more dangerous rocks with ease and with a charisma to his step. Large ears flicked on either side of his head, ever alert of every bit of his surroundings.
For a creature so blatantly obvious -existing as a stark comparison against what is natural and normal- the little albino doe has proven herself quite capable of vanishing. It has been sometime since her glaringly white figure has been glimpsed; neither near or far. Merrow's disappearance might have stirred thoughts of her demise; that perhaps the vulnerable undulate finally ran out of luck and had met some sticky ending. Of course even then, once would expect to have found /something/ in the way of evidence to such a fate. Needless to say, no such thing is there to be found, suggesting that the little doe indeed continues to live on- a fact that is about to be confirmed. Merrow had indeed vanished from the woodland valley for awhile, seeking respite from the heat to climb back up into the mountains she is more accustomed too. And while the ascension was initially difficult, the week spent at the higher elevation and much cooler temperatures did well to bring her respite. She looks the better for it too, blue eyes bright once more as her white fur glints brightly in the sunlight, reflecting the light like snow and causing her to stand out blindly against the grey stones and loose scree of the slope she now descends again. Much like Roscoe, the little doe doesn't seem to have any real purpose in her stride as she slowly, almost absently, picks her way down through a small gully of rock and wind blown saplings. The sound of gravel crunching and sliding down beneath the disturbance of her narrow hooves occasionally fills the air. Though with the wind softly gusting down behind her, it is not scent or sound of another that draws Merrow's attention, but rather something a bit more ironic. The glint of red, beaming brightly beneath the light of the sun. Roscoe? Large ears curtly prick themselves, blue eyes curiously blinking a few times as Merrow comes to a smooth halt, standing on the incline, though still graceful in appearance ,despite the angle of the terrain. For a long moment, the albino doe just watches, admiring the nobility of the stag as she often does, as if seeing something more than just a dominant buck, but something of a mortal god. Watching the way the sun lights his fur and shines against the soft velvet of his crown, the poise of his stature, and the dark shadow he cast upon the ground. For now, she seems content to just..stare.
It was from the higher incline of the soil that Merrow had paused before him. The female was completely obvious in the surroundings, and though her random appearance did catch him by suprise, he only acknowledged the strange female with a blink of his reddened eyes and a backward, nonchalant flick of both ears. What did he have to say to his herd? Nothing. So then, what would he have to say to this ghostly doe, who hadn't even considered joining them? Nothing, obviously. Though he had stopped briefly in order to acknowledge her in what minor ways that he had, the Prince had little interest in being kept at this vaguely familiar area for very long. There were .. well, other places to get to. Where, he did not know.. but that was completely beside the point. With not one utterance of a single syllable, the estranged Lead Buck kept his eyes on Merrow as he practically floated past her, his head held high despite what tribulations he was going through on the inside. It was odd though.. because as soon as he got within close eye contact of the female, he stopped, stared, and then continued. It was short, his stopping; lasting no longer than a second or two in reality. But he stared at her nontheless. With the gravel and soil crunching and gritting up against itself with the movement of his hooves, the aloof stag continued onward, his pace just as slow and apathetic as it was prior to Merrow's appearance.
Closer and closer, Merrow just watches as the regal stag's direction of travel brings him into proximity. The little doe herself doesn't seem so inclined to leap into conversation either. In fact, Roscoe doesn't even receive a nod of acknowledgment or any other gesture of greeting. Though this is not to say that he goes without respectful recognition, for her strange sky blue eyes are persistent in tracking his progress, while behind those cold optics scintillates a quiet contemplation. She looks upon his face, her gaze leveling upon him in a manner that might be disconcerting, as if she could somehow see past the outward facade; empathy to his apathy. When Roscoe pauses, Merrow's breath catches and the pink of her ears disappear as the large appendages wilt back against her narrow head and her blue eyes briefly advert. It is the only movement glimpsed from the albino, who otherwise stands as still as stone and nearly as lifeless. Though as the muscular buck continues on, Merrow's head swivels upon the axis of her long graceful neck to follow his progress, eyes blinking after him in thought, before with further silence, the petite creature turns herself to follow after him, sharp hooves sinking deep into the soft earth and scree. Though unlike Roscoe's proud stance, Merrow pursues with her head low and her ears still back, portraying the image of a meek and submissive creature, though somehow resolved and irrefutable.
When Merrow does nothing to respond to him aside from adverting her eyes when he stared right into her own blue optics, Roscoe feels nothing in turn. He isn't upset, he isn't happy. Just.. no response whatsoever. As he continued on, his tail flicked and his jaw moved a bit to the left and to the right, gritting his teeth together instead of speaking up, wondering if that's what he was supposed to do. With a deep breath taken in, the large buck's chest appears larger, and his own ears shift behind as he hears the gravel that he's already tread upon crack and grate against itself again. Though he stops, he doesn't look back to see if she's following. The male can hear; he knows she is. What he doesn't know, is why. With a calm breeze picking up and wafting through the area, the larger of the two creatures exhales his deep breath quietly, and closes his eyes in minor contempt as he speaks. "What is it?" As usual, there aren't many words spoken by the contemplative stag, but he is questionable regardless. Indeed, what would Merrow want from him? Hadn't he made his opinion of her clear when he verbally drove her out of the haven of an environment to the North? With his lids opening, the buck's long neck does turn back, and he casts a glare down upon the submissive female. "What do you want?" There. Spoken with his rude gusto, Roscoe seems truely peeved.
Soft little grunts of effort escape the little doe a few times as she struggles up the incline, once even sliding back down a step as the loose earth gives way, already broken up by the weight of the previously passing buck. It is in the middle of one of these embarrassing slips that the somewhat disgruntled voice of the male captures her attention, the white anomaly pausing in a rather unceremoniously manner with one foreleg bent beneath her and the other stretched out out front, almost giving a rather humorous impression that she is bowing down behind the buck. Sheepishly she flashes a smile, though it along with her ears seem to wilt that much more as she finds herself under his crude glare, her own blue eyes turning up to take in his peeved, if somewhat guarded expression. Ahem. Plucking herself from the soil, Merrow manages to regain some semblance of the graceful creature she is, rather than the uncouth youth she appears to be on the rocky incline. Giving herself a small shake to rid her white fur of the dark soil upon the front of her chest, Merrow plays ignorant of the stags foul mood and takes a passive step forward, lofting her ears as her settles her gaze upon his own ruthless stare, a faint smile just visible upon her muzzle, as if she were enjoying some private joke, "Seems to me that that is a question /you/ should be answering, not me."
Admittedly, Merrow did have an off-beat sort of charm about her. Though he claimed to not to want to be in her presence just because of her abnormal pelt before, he had little reason to live up to that discriminate claim now, judging the fact that he had accepted the piebald fawn, Hotah, as his own son. So, it wasn't discrimination that was holding him back this time. It was something far less understandable if viewed in a certain light. Roscoe's own strange view on socializing was reason enough for him to not want to be around anyone, much less a doe that he figured had a bad impression of him in the first place. How unfortunate for Merrow now, that he was in such a rotten mood. Keeping his ground, the male stood idly by and watched her make a fool of herself momentarily, before the makings of a scoff were emitted, and he continued walking in the direction that he had been going in the first place. "I don't owe any explanations to anyone.. especially not you." Roscoe's voice was strong, and thus it carried despite him facing the opposite direction, walking away from her. When his face was hidden, he allowed his eyes to fall to the ground and watched as his hooves kicked up some of the tiny, rocky debris from the rough soil.
Discriminated against or not, Merrow seems optimisticly accepting of either outcome and in truth, expects the latter. Even if the little doe knew of Hotah and found herself still the outcast in Roscoe's eyes, it would change nothing of her attitude. Though should she come to learn of Hotah's strangeness, that might well change her outlook. As it is though, Merrow knows nothing of Roscoe's 'deformed' son and even less about the stag's shifting mood. This of all things, if perhaps what has captured her intrigue and curiosity the most. Something that she voices in a somewhat cryptic manner, still clinging to a light-hearted mood in the face of the stag's dour one. In fact, the retort that was perhaps meant to cut elicits a lilting laugh from the dainty female, "I do not recall asking for a explanation, Roscoe of the Umber. I only suggested you ask yourself the same." Her voice is as melodic as it always is, floating out after the buck as he proceeds onward. She does the same, a quiet smile still present across her lips "You are like a mountain stream, Roscoe of the Umber. Smooth at times, then unexpectedly rough and cutting when it comes a little rain." Her ears perk acutely, facing forward in deep curiosity and mild amusement, "I take it it has rained recently?"
In all honestly, Roscoe can appreciate this female's inherant optimism. It is a relief from the otherwise sour moods of the does that belonged to his herd, one in particular. It seemed that no matter how bluntly he tried to put this one down, she always sprung right back up in some odd, quirky way. Refreshing, really. Having to force himself not to grin, it takes but a mere thought of some of Aspen's words, claiming that he had wished for some predator to come after his son. The argument between the two was short, but heated. Perhaps if he would accept this one's company, she would care to pry further, and if she was lucky.. the Prince would open up. Knowing Roscoe however, she shouldn't hold her breath. With his hooves carrying him forward still, an attempt to simply ignore the albino is made, but prooves fruitless. Determined, this one seemed to be. With an exasperated sigh from the older stag, he clears his throat and shakes his head in response to her first comment, ignoring it verbally. Though it would never be outrightly admitted, her voice was rather like music to his ears. Intelligent in her words, light in her tone.. if she weren't so.. different, it would be so much easier for him to accept her. A backward glance is given, and he finds himself impressed at the comparison that she makes. Though metaphoric, Roscoe is flattered with both the title, which before now, had never been used, and also with being compared to a mountain stream. Hooves halting, Roscoe turns his entire frame in order to face her, and speaks clearly, his voice unwavering. "It has stormed." He says, and one corner of his mouth uplifts in an attempt at a thoughtful smile. "Don't bother to show any concern, Merrow. The matters of the herd do not concern you, remember?"
Persistent indeed, right now, just as she has always been in life. It is a attribute that has served her well and by no small recognition, is the reason she lives still. As for her innate ability to spring back, such is just the nature of the small female, a strength perhaps given in place for all her weakness. Thus so, Merrow stays resolute in her pursuit of the stag, slender legs scrambling up the rock strewn soil, the frail creature looking like a young salmon trying to swim upstream. Though when the larger undulate halts to turn himself towards her, the struggling Merrow does the same, lifting her pretty face up towards him with the same brightness in her eyes and a peculiar wonderment most often found on the faces of young fawns. Her alluring head gives a small tilt, suggesting a trace of quiet curiosity, or perhaps just more amusement. "Mmm..I see." she muses softly, considering, "And I suppose in response, that mountain stream flooded over a bit?" She grins now, a light expression that reaches the corners of her eyes. "Though nothing that a bit of warm sunlight can't dry up, I imagine?" It is not so much a question, as it is merely observational and rhetorical, the inflections and gently chiding tone of her voice implying that she believes Roscoe is overreacting. His forthcoming comment causes the little doe to suddenly scoff a incredulous snort, followed by a chortle, "No, the matters of the herd do not concern me; at least not nearly as much as you do." She gives her head a small rueful shake, like a parent faced with a child who's behavior has raised the question of 'what /are/ we going to do with you?'
With his eyes turned to her, a brow raises at the slightly comical sight of her perking up from her otherwise clumby climb up the medium incline that he had conquered with ease. Though, he is quick to note that she might not be as strong as 'normal' does due to whatever deficiency that she may have, and thus he lets it slide without a comment. Strange. That was the perfect word to describe this one. Other times, he had to think long and hard about just one word that suited a doe's personality, but with Merrow, it was much easier. Strange. In good ways, and in bad ways. Just.. strange. The mountain stream had indeed flooded, and he nodded his head in her questioning. "Yes.. I'm afraid so." He said, but then rolled his eyes at the sunlight comment. "Must you be so .. friendly?" He wonders aloud, a faint chuckle expressed afterward in order to make the question more light hearted than it may have come off as. Regarding her further, he takes a step to the side and motions his head to where he stood before, as if he wanted her to be at the same ground level as him. Perhaps if she could use the indentations in the soil that he had used, it'd be easier for her? Something sudden tugs at his muzzle, and he frowns once again. "What is it that you want?" He asks, nearly the same question as he had before, but he hadn't the time to sit here and be friendly with this albinistic female.
Yes, Merrow is strange. So very, very strange. Not just in appearance, but in many other ways. Her thoughts, her past, her frailty, and the fact she has survived it all. Strange. It should be have been her name. In response, Merrow just insist on that slow, rueful head shake, ceasing only when roscoe poses a question that clearly strikes her as odd and more amusing than anything else. Consequently, her lips widen as the vestiges of a smirk becomes apparent, the little pale doe barking a short laugh as she takes a few steps upwards, seemingly conforming to his own thoughts and using the pre-pressed earth from his hoofprints to climb up next to him. Once here, her diminutive size is starkly apparent compared to the stag, being on the same level of ground hardly improving the impression of her size. Seemingly oblivious to this though, Merrow just adjust herself, tipping her chin upward in order to look upon the visage of the male in time to watch the frown return, her ears splaying outward a touch as she lets her smirk slide sideways into a crooked sneer, "Must you be such a badger?" Her tail gives a flick now and Merrow gives a small bounce forward to put her a short space ahead of the buck, to whom her head swivels around to look over her shoulder at him, blue eyes meeting the red of his own. Only now does Merrow's face takes on a more serious expression, deep and thoughtful, though a smile still lingers upon the corners of her mouth, "I will only answer that when you truly wish to hear what I have to say, Roscoe of the Umber." She says gently but firmly, "Until then...I suppose you'll just have to go on trying to ignore me." A wry smirk returns on this note and the little doe narrows her pale blue eyes down "So..where are we going?"
A badger? Roscoe was no badger. At least, he certainly didn't think that he was. True enough that he was prone to his moods, but that was just because he was always so enthralled in his own thoughts. Coming from such a long ways away in the North had made the older stag used to keeping himself company with just his own musings.. and when people disagreed? Well, he just wasn't used to it yet. Though it'd been over a year since he had claimed this land to be his home, and he ought to have gotten used to some disagreement by now. A hefty fault on his part. Watching as she climbed up the rocks next to him, he let his eyes linger on the ghostly doe for a moment, before he took in a sharp breath through his wet nose, and exhaled quietly. The air was .. different out here. The area was more open, which he was quite uncomforable in, but travelled apathetically through anyway. With it's openness came a lack of scent, he believed. In the guarded forests, he could easily breathe in the aromas of the trees, the grasses, the flowers, the water.. everything. Out here was just so bare. If he were to leave the Umber, he would not leave for an area as close, nor as barren as this. Tilting his head down in order to speak with her in such a way that she didn't have to look so high up, the dominant male was caught a bit by suprise as Merrow bounces ahead of him, and looks back to taunt. With his brows lowering, Roscoe held his tongue against insulting the peppy female, and instead spoke a minor white lie. "I wouldn't have asked you what you wanted if I didn't care to know what you wanted." His voice, though dull, sounded honest. With a few strides, he was at the odd female's side once more, and stopped moving ocne again. "/We/ aren't going anywhere."
Badger or not, Merrow has taken a liking to the moody male. The reasons why are all her own, kept private and well guarded, save for the gentle acceptance she always seems to be willing to make, no matter how the Prince might decide to treat her today or tomorrow, while yesterdays always seem to be forgotten. Sky blue eyes spend a moment to roam over the person of the male, watching his sides swell with his breath and the moments regard he spares to their surroundings. Merrow herself doesn't seem to alert though, nor follow in his example to draw in a breath of the open air. Rather, her interest remains in the buck, quietly observing him in a studious manner; a soft smile upon her lips. Though her silent contemplation of what thoughts might be brewing in that hard skull of his is eventually interrupted as Roscoe advances up beside her once more, his words just before sending her concentration scattering and bringing her ears upward and tempting her smile to widen. "Oh I've no doubt that you want to know." she concedes, "I just doubt your ability to listen." Once beside her, Merrow sets her bright gaze upon the male, allowing both of her brows to shoot upwards for a moment as she smiles, "Why of course we are!" she proclaims, turning her head to gesture toward the west, where the sun had begun to settle down towards in the evening hours, "We are headed into tomorrow; to be guided by Yiska the dusk and then welcomed by Wapun the dawn." Her smile widens now as she gives a side-glance toward Roscoe, cutting her blue eyes to look upon the side of his noble face for a moment, before turning her eyes back to the opened horizon, for which the expanse is uninhibited by the usual canopy of trees . The little doe allows a sigh to escape her, soft and wanton and full of humility. "Did you know everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle? The sky is round and so is its mother, the earth, and so are all the stars." As she says this, her eyes turn upward, picking out the few glinting dots that have already begun to flicker to life in the darkening east. "The wind, in its greatest power, whirls. Birds make their nests in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours. The sun comes forth and goes down again in a circle. The moon does the same and both are round." As she continues to speak, it is apparent that Merrow has allowed herself to drift very far away from here, the ghostly female only barely aware of Roscoe's presence as she seems to become a part of something greater, the lull of her voice portraying this as her words exist like the words from a ancient time. "Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing and always come back again to where they were. The life of a creature is a circle from childhood to childhood. And so it is in everything where power moves." Silence to respect. A breath to return. Then a smile, warm and gently affectionate as Merrow turns her face to look upon Roscoe, "Such is why tomorrow is so wonderful.." Hesitantly, the little pathetic creature reaches out to touch the delicate pink flesh of her nose to his shoulder, her ears folding back meekly, "..it allows us to try again."
It's quite obvious to Roscoe that Merrow has a strange liking for him, but he deems that it must just be somet type of odd respect that she holds for his status. After all, he leads a herd that he had pretty much picked out himself. Though he was well aware that the thought was vain, had he been born a doe and was chosen into this herd, he would've looked up to it's leader as well. Of course, he would keep this to himself just as Merrow would keep her reasonings behind liking Roscoe to the degree that she did to herself. With his eyes wandering from Merrow, to the landscape ahead of them, to the sky, then back to Merrow, the buck is easily distracted at the moment, off-put with wondering just where he was going to go or, more importantly, what he was going to do while he was there. His days away from the glade had made him regret the way he had treated the mother doe, Aspen, as he did. However he was far too proud to go back and apologize now, anyway. Besides. It wasn't as if she were completely free of guilt either. The things she had called him.. 'ignorant,' 'tyrant,' and that he believed his son to be a 'blazing example of his shortcomings as a male..' those things had hurt him. Strong as he was, the distant, standoffish male did have feelings behind that masculine shell. One of those large ears flicks backwards, and his head follows suit as he turns once again to look down at the white doe. "And why would you doubt something like that?" He wonders, not knowing quite why he wouldn't seem like the type to listen. If he was /interested,/ Roscoe was a good listener. These things came with the territory of being a leader, as he was learning over time. Sure, it was taking him an awful long time to finally learn these things.. but he was still rather young. He had time to learn. It was then that the peculiar Whitetail began her monologue focused mainly on circles.. and on life itself. Oh, he had certainly misjudged this young doe from the beginning. All the more to make him feel foolish. She was quite intelligent, and though he wasn't versed in any religion in any time of his life, he thought it good that she had something to take comfort in. After she was finished, he uttered rather quietly, "I know nothing of that religion." It wasn't meant to be disrespectful, but rather just matter-of-factly spoken. Shifting his weight a bit, the Prince kept his eyes on her, and though he was suprised, he didn't back away from her when she touched her nose to his shoulder. In fact, he grinned. Not a big grin, but it was sincere. Had another doe not just given birth to two of his own fawns, he probably would've at least touched his nose to her neck in response, but he did not. Loyalty would be given to Tix up until the coming fall, in which nature would take over once more, and any female was game. However, thoughts did not rest on the breeding season. Merrow was simply enthralled with her speech and she hadn't thought something through. Yes, that was it. Clearing his throat, his eyes left the doe and he lifted a hoof, ready to start moving once more. "Yes, well.." he started, and looked toward the west. That was the bit of land that Aspen had chosen to birth her fawns at. He would not be going west. To the North? Perhaps. It was where he came from, though. To return so suddenly would be admitting he was wrong. The South was far too dangerous for even his liking, what with it being close to Cougar country and all. No, Roscoe would head /into/ the darkness of the East. Taking a step towards the darkening sky, Roscoe kept his head craned royally, not bothering to wait for Merrow, but not stopping her either.
The touch of her nose to his neck is not brief, but nor does it linger beyond the necessity of it's existence. Though when Merrow does retract her touch, the warmth of her expelled breath clings to the spot, bleeding through the scarlet hue of his summer coat to be felt against the skin beneath. His confession doesn't seem to surprise or appall the little undulate, who just offers up another soft smile and a nod. "Not many do." she admits in turn, drawing in a breath of warm summer air and the vague scents of trees and the rich dark soil beneath them. 'But I mean to change that.'. This she does not say, but it can almost been glimpsed in the way Merrow fixes her blue eyes upon the stag, her smile still warm, but faltering the face of what will no doubt be a challenge. For now though, for this is not the time, the albino female simply lets the matter slip away as she directs her thoughts back to his earlier question, bringing it back to focus with a smile that retains more mirth than anything, "And I doubt, because you have not given me a reason to believe yet, Roscoe of the Umber. Though I do have faith that one day, I will tell you." Yes, once day she will. Just not today. This said, this matter too is discarded in favor of welcomed silence, with Merrow spending a moment to watch Roscoe reflect upon something in his mind, then seemingly to make it up and decide with a turning to the east. The little white doe, of course, is there to follow unquestionably, moving along at his flank in the contentment of her own self-reflections and quiet ponders of just what the tomorrow she spoke about will bring.