He stalks through the forest with impossibly light steps, a man in form, yet more than just that. Coral strands flow in his wake, hair hanging in the air as if held aloft by the wind despite the stillness that surrounds him. His eyes shine in the low light beneath the tree cover, a bright orange that reflects against the hair that hangs over his brows and across the peaks of his cheeks and nose. His gaze is downward.

A trail of paw prints are pressed into the damp ground, hurried and careless steps. A Tobi-Kadachi, he would guess, would be certain of, had it not been for the poisonous quills left in the wake of the trail. No, it would seem that this trail was from a Viper.

"Master Auryn—!"

The gravel of the felyne's voice sounds beneath him and pulls his gaze, the small cat tip toeing its way in front of him, careful to remain silent as he had been ordered to. In its paws it carefully cradles a bundle of quills that it has been collecting as they followed the trail. It holds them up, almost triumphantly but its Master only stares down expectantly.

"Ah—," the felyne stumbles for a moment before pulling its paws back down and looking over the quills again, separating one from the bundle and presenting it again. "Look!"

Auryn tilts his head before crouching how and carefully taking the quill from his companion, holding it up to inspect, quickly noting just how small it is compared to the rest.

"There's no way that came from a full grown kadachi," the felyne whispers almost conspiratorially, clutching the rest of the bundle against its chest, "There must be a juvenile with it!"

Auryn hums and the felyne watches him closely, itching for any hint of approval. After a moment he stands again, placing the smaller quill into a satchel at his side.

"Indeed," he monotones after a moment before turning his gaze back to the trail. The felyne follows his line of sight, ears dropping as it realizes that it had missed something so obvious in its focus on quill collecting. "The smaller prints made that quite obvious."

"Oh..."

Auryn continues his tracking without another word, the felyne following dejectedly behind.

It isn't long before they come across a newly made nest. Tufts of fur and shed litter the ground and the mother Viper curls protectively in the middle of the small clearing it has claimed. From their spot hidden in the tree line, Auryn can see two small tails curled up and over the mother's own tail. He is not surprised. As they traveled further, a third set of prints joined the first two. He had assumed that one of the young must have been carried by the mother for a time.

Turning his attention to the mother, it does not take long to realize that she's in rough shape. There are both long-healed and fresh scars littering her skin. Clear bite marks which, judging by the placement and size, he can only assume are from an Anjanath. Fulgur, he would bet, given that they looked to be some of the oldest mars to the beast that he could see and it had surely traveled from its native home in the Reach.

Oh no.

Widow freezes on the spot as she reaches the cafe and spots the man she's supposed to meet, arm raised and fingers gripped around the door handle. Thank the gods he doesn't notice her gawking as she stares wide eyed until someone begins to push on the door from the inside, lightly enough to be polite but still giving her a withering look as she jumps and yanks the door open with a deep blush and a murmured apology.

Her eyes dart to the man again as she steps inside, breathing in the smell of coffee and freshly baked goods to try and calm her nerves. He thankfully hadn't noticed her. Leaning slightly against the wall beneath the front window, his attention is turned to the phone in one of his hands, the other occupied with a coffee cup that he idly taps the side of. Black ink is scrawled across the paper sleeve and though she can't clearly make it out at the distance, she assumes it's his name—Auryn.

Seeing the photos on his profile (on an app that she still didn't want to admit even to herself that she signed up for, tucked away in secret in a hidden folder on her phone) had made her aware that he was undeniably attractive. Even with the fact that they had all been candids, a few taken in surprise, and yet in every single one of them he looked good. But seeing him in person? It just didn't feel fair how gorgeous he was.

It sends a surge of insecurity through her. What would a man like that want with her? She was under no illusion that she wasn't well enough attractive but he... he was on another level. The type of beauty that was sculpted into marble to last through centuries, that poets and musicians wrote about, that artists made masterpieces with.

She should just leave now. Tuck her tail and flee, delete the app and pretend that she never saw this gorgeous man who has now looked up from his phone, gaze finding hers through his lashes, the corners of his lips pulling upward just enough to be noticeable.

Well, fuck.

She clears her throat and fidgets with the strap of her purse before tilting her head towards the front counter, hoping he'll understand it as her taking a moment to order herself a drink (which she will do) and not her needing a moment to scream and cry internally for embarrassing herself (which is absolutely what it is). The moment he gives her a small nod of understanding, she fully turns and steps to the counter, silently mortified to find the barista already waiting for her expectantly. And with a small, amused smirk on her face. Widow finds herself wishing that she had been annoyed instead.

Her drink is simple and ordered in a subdued voice and all too quickly the transaction is complete and a warm cup is placed into her hands. She's out of excuses.

With a deep breath, she turns back towards the man, hiding her surprise at finding him already watching her behind a smile that she prays doesn't look as forced as it feels.

"I hope you haven't been waiting too long," she says as she approaches the table, cringing inwardly at the pitch of her voice, higher than normal with her nerves. Her eyes only meet his for a few seconds before she looks away again, forcing her focus towards sliding into the booth opposite from him and tucking her purse between herself and the wall. She can feel the way her cheeks burn but perhaps if she ignores it, he will as well.

"No." His smooth voice pulls her gaze back to him. They had spoken once, briefly over a call, but again, over phone was one thing and in person... She wonders if he has any idea what ASMR is. He could probably make a killing making the right kind of content. "I haven't been waiting long at all."

"Good!" It takes every ounce of her willpower to not flinch at the squeak of her voice but he only smiles softly at her.

Straightening in her seat, she clears her throat and attempts to clear her head before looking at him fully. Until now, she's tried to avoid looking him in the eye for too long, both out of nerves and simply because his eyes were so intense. She knew beforehand that he was Dragonblooded, it was mentioned on his profile and even if it hadn't been, it would have been obvious from his photos with the way his pupils pulled into slits and his eyes shone in a few of them from the flash. Part of her wonders what wyvern he has ties to. Some Dragonblooded Wyverians' ancestry were obvious, manifesting in physical traits, but nothing about him stuck out as obvious. Just intense.

His head tilts and the apples of his cheeks begin pushing his lower eyelids up slightly. Dropping her gaze she realizes that it's because that soft smile has widened into an amused, but not unkind, grin.

A burn returns to her cheeks as she hangs her head with a huff.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes quietly, resting her arms on the table top, her fingers wrapping around the untouched cup of coffee and anxiously tapping at it. "I don't um—really do this. Meeting people, dating, that kind of thing." Oh, god, she's rambling. She lifts a hand to rub between her brows for a second before gesturing around them with a small movement. "This kind of thing. And I'm making a fool of myself."

For a few agonizing moments, he's quiet, and Widow seriously contemplates fleeing again until his hand slowly, almost cautiously, comes into her line of sight. His nails are long, pointed but dulled and thick, more claw-like than true nails. He taps the tip of his index claw twice deliberately on the table and after taking a deep breath, she forces herself to look back up to him.

The grin is gone, replaced with a curious look, something close to concern that makes her frown at a spike of shame over her foolishness.

"You've nothing to apologize for." He says it in a away that lacks harshness but leaves no room for argument. As if he is simply stating a truth of the universe itself. He lets the statement sit between them, allowing it to settle over her before the corner of his mouth ticks upward again, the expression a bit more shy this time as he glances away for just a second before his eyes lock back onto her as if he can't help it. "And this isn't something I really do either..."

"Really?" She fails to hide the surprise in her voice. Straightening in her seat again, she finds a small amount of comfort in the pink tint that begins to color his cheeks and the way he avoids her gaze now. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising.

"Not for quite some time, at least," he murmurs and pulls the hand he had reached towards her back to nervously pull at and adjust the cuff of his sleeve. His eyes drift towards the counter briefly before he braves looking back at her directly, this time with a bit of a wry edge to his smile. "My daughter decided that it was time I 'got out there'."

Widow blinks a few times, wracking her brain to think back on his profile. Had it mentioned a daughter and she simply missed it? Truthfully, as not only a Wyverian, but Dragonblooded as well, he's sure to have lived at least one, if not several lifetimes more than her, so the idea of him having children shouldn't be too surprising.

"You...," she begins carefully, trying to steer her general nerves from her voice so they aren't mistaken for trepidation, "You have a daughter?"

Auryn's eyes widen slightly as if he's only now realized that she was previously unaware of the fact.

"Ah, yes," he says a bit sheepishly. She can't help but give him a soft smile. It's cute. "She's adopted, just as I was, though in a more... official capacity in comparison, with how long ago I was taken in." Part of her is tempted to ask just how long ago it was, but she isn't sure if it could be considered rude. He leans forward, arms folding on top of the table and cup pushed aside, seeming to begin to relax into the conversation.

"And you?" Auryn questions with a slight head tilt. After she hums in question he clarifies, "What of your family?"

"Oh, my parents are both back in the Old World," Widow answers softly, her gaze dropping and a gentle smile pulling at her lips. "I haven't seen them in quite some time."

Auryn doesn't notice the shift until it is far too late to change course. Truthfully, even if he had noticed it, he doubts that he would have wanted to stop it. It's strange—the desire he feels for this woman. Not the lust that he had grown accustomed to feeling burn through his veins, but a deeper and even more all consuming want for her. To be with her in the most mundane of ways.

He has never felt this way before. Even when he longs for the company of Yoko, the feeling is far different, born of familiarity and the caring that Daora has likened to that of fatherhood, though he hesitates to call it as such himself.

But with Widow... he is unsure of what to call it.

She lays beside him now, curled on her side and facing him, pressed close atop his bed of furs. He faces her on his side as well, propped up on an elbow as he watches her sleep peacefully. A hand idly plays with her hair, twisting her loose curls around a finger as he contemplates their...

Would he call it a relationship? Should he?

What would she call it?

For all of the time they spent together, very little of it was spent discussing what was between them. Most of it was spent in the haze of his heat or resting in moments of clarity. Occasionally, she would question him about himself, particularly about his nature as a Dragonblooded Wyverian, or about his knowledge of the Forest and its inhabitants. He's seen her hesitate with her questioning before, as if there were more at the tip of her tongue, but with her thirst for knowledge, he felt a fool for thinking—hoping that perhaps she had wanted to know something more... personal.

With a huff of breath, he removes his fingers from her hair and drags his hand over the side of his face, claws lingering against his skin and leaving thin white trails in their wake.

This feeling, this something lingering in his chest, it has to be dealt with, in one way or another. Whether it was tucked away until he learned to ignore it or it was brought into the light and allowed to flourish.

"Auryn?"

Widow's voice is quiet and rough as she rouses. One of her hands comes to rest on his bare chest as the other rubs away evidence of sleep from her eyes as she squints up at him in the dim light. Despite his internal conflict, he smiles gently down at her before taking the hand from his face and returning it to her hair, brushing errant strands from her face.

"Did you rest well?" he asks in a soft voice.

Her answer is whispered, as if it's a secret, just for them in the dim, early morning of the Ancient Forest, her sleepy smile making that something in his chest swell.

"I always do with you."