The deserts were still warm during the day, even in the heart of winter. He did not intend to hang about here this evening to see how cold the sandy land would get. Instead, he sought to explore it as much as he could before the sun started sinking too much into the horizon, and enjoy the warmth of the sun on his clay colored body. He paused, his feet resting atop the sand, and he gave himself a shake, reveling in the feel of the warmth soaking into his body.

Ahead, he saw patches of cacti, and so he strolled towards them, content to find a shady place to rest, and observe the world as it passed around him. If nothing else, this cactus garden would be yet another territory he had explored, and something else he could say that he knew about the lands of Amaryllis.

He wondered if the cacti had blooms during the hot months, because now they were simply shabby and green, and so he would carefully avoid the prickles, before laying down with a soft oof, against the sandy ground.

He stretched his front legs before him, resting his head against his legs, with a content sigh. That was until, the slight breeze brought with it the scent of another and so with a more disappointed sigh, he raised his head, letting out a slight chuff to announce himself to whomever was lurking. He knew they were around- and they were interrupting his nap.

@Olive

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truly, the ability to obscure herself from detection is a trade that’s entirey lost upon her, but it provides a challenge she seeks to overcome. his knowing beckon is enough to extract an irritated sigh from velvet lips, and she heaves her mass upon all fours belatedly, purposefully languid in a perfect exhibit of teenage exasperation. she glances back with a scowl to the cactus that had failed to provide her with ample coverage from the brute, her stare blazing, as if she intended to set the prickly flora aflame (before it succumbs to the desert sun, anyway). but she presses onward, dragging her feet in a mopey saunter as she attempts to minimize the gap between she and the victim of her stalking. in her approach, it becomes apparent that her prey’s stature is impressive – daunting, even. initially, she had been drawn to him for that very reason, but she was oblivious to the capacity of his apex from her vantage point. carmine eyes glint with awe as she stares openly at the dark goliath, jaws unhinging only vaguely in her wonder. “i bet if you sat on me, you’d crush all my bones. and i’d die,” she muses absently, her thoughts forming upon her tongue instead of remaining a prisoner to the confines of her mind. but as the novelty of @Eskel wears off, she snaps back to the purpose of her approach: her fruitless mission. “what gave me away?” she inquiries, seeking the source of her error in hopes that he’ll oblige her.

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Sprawled in the sun, he listens to the world around him but it isn’t his ears that tells him he isn’t alone- it’s his nose. It seems to take mere moments for her to appear, and his eyes appraise her immediately. She is small- youth evident on her features. Her eyes are striking, and she isn’t unattractive- he studies her with an indifferent expression and as she speaks, he inwardly cringes.

Ah, the words of the youth.

Compared to her, he would squish her with half his weight, surely. He was a giant compared to a mere fly. He doesn’t have time to comment on that, because she moves on her questions like a demand.

Without speaking, he raises his tail behind him, and glances over his shoulder at it as a breeze makes the tuft of hair at the end blow ever-so-slightly. It is wordless, what gave her away- she just happened to have her scent caught by the wind.

“You reek of a pride.” He speaks, his words a low rumble. “If you want to sneak up on someone you should probably disguise your scent.” Simple words, paired with a quirk of the brow.

“Where do you reside?” He asks, his muted pink gaze seeking to pin the youngster down- should she find his questions any type of intimidating.

@Olive

ART COPYRIGHT IRISH

a frown creases velvet lips as she surveys the actions of his tail, acknowledging it as a tacit answer to her query as her gaze trails the tuft of fur that’s carried on the gentle breeze. she is silent, ponderous as he offers the response in word alongside demonstration, but her pupils dare not abandon their mark on the floating wisp of his hair. it is not until he presents his own question that she is drawn from her thoughtful trance, and her attention diverts back unto @Eskel somewhat absently. “uh,” she fumbles, attempting to move her thoughts past the error in her ways. “over there,” she relays with an incline of her chin in the direction of andal’s desert base. the babe supposes this is not a very informative description, so she continues: “andal oasis. not my first pick, or second, or my third, really…” she hints to the choice not having been her own, and a shrug of her shoulders is offered. “but they’re okay, i guess.” she momentarily gives thought to the miroslav princess who poisoned her, and a soft smile tugs at her features – fondly. but olive is adamant on receiving further constructive criticism from the goliath, and she meets his gaze confidently, her lack of trepidation towards their encounter apparent. “how am i supposed to hide my scent in the desert? it’s not like there’s mud or anything…” her voice trails as her skull whips about in search of a resource. but she is ill-equipped with the required knowledge for sleuthing, and her attempt to pinpoint anything of use is fruitless.

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His pink eyes study her as her own eyes shift to his tail. He allows it to remain raised for a long moment before it falls down to the earth again with a soft thud. Based on her, ‘uh’, he wonders if he’s rendered her speechless by such a basic tactic. Weren’t cubs taught this common thing at birth here?

Perhaps she is daft, but she does provide him some thing of value. With a jerk of her young head, she indicates a direction and more importantly she gives it a name. Andal Oasis Though apparently that pride was not her first, second, or third choice. He wondered why, but that information factored little into the information he sought to gather.

“Who reigns over this Oasis?” He asks, his voice a smoother rumble this time as he sought to meet her gaze.

Ah, but she was a demanding creature, and she wanted to know more. How was she supposed to hide her scent in the desert? He can’t help the grin that question brings to his lips. “Had I asked my mentor that as a cub he would have taken me and then shoved me into a pile of dung somewhere.” He says as his grin widens. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling lazy and you are not my protégée.” He pauses for a moment. “Deserts don’t offer as much for scent cover but mud isn’t the only option. Strong fragrant plants will do, dung of course, death if you choose to be a creature of filth.” Another careful pause- perhaps the most words he’s spoke in ages. “Most of disguising oneself requires planning... could you not have rolled in the mud in your Oasis? Surely there is water there.”

@Olive

ART COPYRIGHT IRISH

she notes as the goliath perks in response to the information she provides regarding the oasis, and a slight sense of pride courses through her; what she speaks is worthy of his undivided attention. therefore, the babe is unsurprised as he seeks to pry further into the desert pride, and she exhales dramatically in preparation for her spiel. “seneca. he is pretty strong, and very handsome.” it is a girlish sentiment, and she offers only the briefest of pauses as her gaze wavers over to the distant pridelands, thoughtfully. “they all are, honestly. i mean, if you really want to feel ugly, you should go there.” a brow quirks as her pupils dart back onto the male’s massive form, and she glances him over, unimpressed; she will stand by her suggestion. but still, olive is not finished, and her chattiness prevails in the face of the stranger. “but they’re kind of weird, because they choose to live there. y’know?” she presents @Eskel with a puzzled frown before rolling her shoulders dismissively. to each their own, she supposes. she is silent as she wallows in the aftermath of her monologue, hopeful that she has provided the man with the knowledge he seeks. but her cherry gaze widens with the revelation that she has failed to offer him one key piece during their encounter: her name (not that he had asked, anyway). “what’s your name? i’m olive.” a tepid smile worms its way upon her features despite the curtness of his tone; she is friend to all until she’s not, but it is rare that she is not. he reminisces on his past like an elder, but olive offers only a muted snort of laughter as she envisions the scene, and she is grateful her fate doesn’t seem to be steering down the same path. his words of wisdom are something she is intrigued by, and she believes she would be foolish to take the advice with a grain of salt; she commits it to memory. at his inquiry about mud at the oasis, however, she protests: “no. it is just wet sand, and sand sucks. but there’s plants there, so there’s that.” she would not mind to roll about a fragrant bush – so long as it was devoid of the painful barbs that seemed to frequent the desert flora.

art by yumpy!

Honey brings more flies to it than herbs.

He repeats the phrase he learned from his childhood mentor, and so he seeks to impress the girl with his knowledge, and sweeten her to him as best as he can.

Seneca. Who is pretty strong and very handsome... He almost rolls his eyes at her idolizing words. Then as she continues on, he feels his lip curl in annoyance. Is she hinting that he isn’t handsome? Is she calling him... ugly? He rises to his paws with a huff, staring down at her with a bit of annoyance in his gaze, as he stretches. “And I’m not handsome?” He asks, his voice a soft sultry sort of rumble. Ack! Why does he he even care what the yearling thinks?!

But he rests back on his haunches, as she speaks again, hinting at the word “choose”. So the Oasis wasn’t her choice? Of course, he must ask, to confirm his suspicions. “Was the Oasis not your choice?” He’s pretty sure he doesn’t care either way, but if this Seneca is strong enough claim others... perhaps he is name worth knowing in the land.

And then she introduces herself. @Olive. He studies her for a second, taking in her entire appearance, and committing it to memory- he guessed. It was in that moment that he decided to play with the youngster a bit, to tell her a lie and see if she has the wits to sniff it out. Since she was asking about hiding her scent, he figured it was a potentially fair lesson. “I am called Rabbit.” He lies- curious to see what she thinks of that nonsense of information.

Back to the Oasis, as he’s mulled over the wet sands she had mentioned when he’d been more distracted by the whole not-handsome debacle.

“Wet sand could probably hide your scent rather easily for such a small thing as you. You should give it a try, if you can stand the itch.” He suggests.

code by dee, art by spu

internally, she questions the necessity of his height as the man leaps upon all fours, seemingly indignant towards her claims regarding the superior appeal of the miroslav family. she does not cower as he towers above her, but rather, cranes her neck to maintain a level gaze – unfazed. a devious smirk warps her features at his words, and her head shakes in disbelief; either the goliath is insecure or funny, and it is difficult for olive to discern which rings true as of yet. “it’s not that, they just don’t look like us,” she clarifies, referencing the pair’s earthen tones and unassuming patterns. she is almost envious of the andal natives for the piebald that colors their fur, but she is quick to admire their aesthetics first and foremost. he continues his interrogation of her home, and she reclines upon her own haunches to mimic his position – they’d be here awhile, it seems. “no, they wanted me,” she informs him, emphasizing her apparent (and nonexistant) importance within their hierarchy. “do you want to meet them, or something?” she asks with a cant of her head, presuming his interest in the pride to be a gauge of his desire to join. and if she could haul the leviathan to the threshold of the oasis, perhaps she could gain her king’s favor. olive nearly chokes as the man introduces himself, floored by the absurdity of his name. “rabbit?” she repeats incredulously, fixing @Eskel with a disbelieving stare. she stifles a laugh as she considers him, allowing a momentary silence to engulf her as she digests the information in an attempt at kindness. “your parents must love irony,” she muses after awhile, deciding the ridiculous, ill-fitting name was purposeful in the name of comedic genius – she can respect that. he pushes her to roll about the wet sand, and she protests with a frown. “i think i’d rather die,” she laments, deciding she’d sooner wear the rancid aroma of death than litter her hide with stupid sand. only a fool would think otherwise.

art by yumpy!

What an irritatingly interesting yearling! Not only had she disturbed his pending nap, she had also implied that he wasn’t handsome! As she spoke, and clarified her thoughts, he let out a derisive snort. “We look nothing alike. Are you color-blind? Do you see me simply as a shade of gray?” His words are both teasing and at the same time maybe a touch serious. Sure, they were both shades of brown, he guessed. However, Eskel was clay. Olive, as she revealed herself to be was brown. Maybe she was color-blind.

They wanted her? For what? Thus far she had been rather unimpressive with her knowledge of life. She was a yearling- hardly worth getting into a tiff over. Then she asked if he wanted to meet them, and he shrugged. “I’m always interested to learning about prides and their leaders.” He spoke, with a slight smirk. She would learn if she insisted on hanging out by him- knowledge was power.

Ah, Rabbit. The name thing- for a second he doesn’t seem to think that she believes him. But... she takes it as the truth, for now. Speaking about his parents having a sense of irony. “Well I am a similar color to a rabbit. It makes sense.” He shrugged. “And your name is Olive“ he says wryly. Talk about an odd name. Weren’t olives a plant? She didn’t look very green.

She’s dramatic, he has to give her that, as she states that she would rather die. He rolls his eyes, before flopping back onto his side, as he studies her. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” the words are teasing, and paired with a grin. “Sometimes to hide yourself... you have to do some undesirable things.” He adds, with a more serious expression. “I’d roll in sand before I rolled in something dead. Sand at least rinses out of your fur- but that smell- ugh” He rolls his eyes rather dramatically, as he looks at her- waiting to see what she thinks of his... teasing.

@Olive

ART COPYRIGHT IRISH

his teasing is something she appreciates, for the babe can dish it and take it in the name of fun. a devious smirk settles across her countenance as he questions her perception, and her pupils rove his form as she pretends to consider him. “really? when i see you, i see myself,” she lilts, sarcasm absent from her tones as a stiff quality takes its place to sell her claim. “you’ll just have to trust me on this one. unless you want to go meet them yourself,” is the quick follow-up she provides, minimizing his leeway for rebuttal. her mind and its biases are made up: the andal natives are otherworldly in their appeal, with the ability to dull the beauty of any unfortunate enough to not share their blood. she mulls over the explanation he supplies regarding his namesake, and decides that the reasoning is irrefutable. a soft laugh emits from her throat as he repeats her own name pointedly – touche. “our moms probably just looked around and called us the first thing they saw,” she muses, excitedly. it is plausible in olive’s eyes; perhaps her own mother collected plants like diantha, and his mother stashed hare carcasses in her den. she wonders if she should allow tradition to persist and call her own children ‘dirt’ or ‘inside-of-the-den’ when the time comes. surely they’d roll off the tongue and cause great kings to fall on their knees with fear. she is drawn from her thoughts at his threat, and an incredulous snort flares her nostrils. “you couldn’t kill me if you tried. i bet you’re slow,” she taunts. although she truly believes the goliath lacks her swiftness, she is not so confident that he lacks the ability to snuff the life from her very veins; she can only hope he does not make good on his offer. but @Eskel settles back down in the sand, and olive decides (perhaps prematurely) that the lingering threat dwindles. regardless, she remains seated before him. “well, that’s where we’re different. you’re the one who’s out here for fun, anyway,” she scoffs, allowing her distaste for the desert and its sand to be known once more.

art by yumpy!