You had to push against the fates just to make it through the gate
The surprise doesn't go unmatched. Her dark red brows lift and, casually, she explains, "The Flynns- hunt together, and most of them are not keen on showing the way to someone outside of the Clan." Her tone turns cautionary, or even icy, as she glances over at the woman and her bow, "Usually people would rather trade afterward than join a hunt. Those people are smart. The tundra is dangerous, even to those that know it well."
But Wessex is not a very usual person, Shaye is slowly finding out. And Shaye is not a usual Flynn, either.
There is no hawk upon her shoulder when Wessex brings up the practice of falconry, and there surely won't be - not today. Not for what they're hunting. "What would you like to know?" She asks, welcoming any barrage of questions that may come her way if only because it is a practice she takes a great deal of pride in.
Wessex slows down in the open, but Shaye markedly does not. Her worn boots continue to tread over the solid, icy ground. Past the Wraith, expressing no need for hesitation or examination. When the request had been made, Shaye plotted out their course carefully - and not without consultation among other hunters who had already cleared the trails this Longheat. Not without purpose does she turn to one direction; North. It's only when she hears Wessex's questioning thought over the snow that she takes pause. The draping ends of her wolf-fur coat sway just over the snow in her halt, the hood pushed back so it gathers around her jaw.
"I wouldn't," she remarks cleverly, tipping a knowing eye back over her shoulder at her hunting companion, "this time of year, they might travel hundreds of miles. They have to, in order to find enough food to sustain the herd throughout the season. But I know the routes they follow. We'll keep going this way until we find sign of them." It could take several days, knowing the ways of the hunt, but Shaye is confident. This early in the season, the pair of them might get lucky. She sets off once more, though this time she does wait for Wessex, asking, "What interests you in the luxere?"
But Wessex is not a very usual person, Shaye is slowly finding out. And Shaye is not a usual Flynn, either.
There is no hawk upon her shoulder when Wessex brings up the practice of falconry, and there surely won't be - not today. Not for what they're hunting. "What would you like to know?" She asks, welcoming any barrage of questions that may come her way if only because it is a practice she takes a great deal of pride in.
Wessex slows down in the open, but Shaye markedly does not. Her worn boots continue to tread over the solid, icy ground. Past the Wraith, expressing no need for hesitation or examination. When the request had been made, Shaye plotted out their course carefully - and not without consultation among other hunters who had already cleared the trails this Longheat. Not without purpose does she turn to one direction; North. It's only when she hears Wessex's questioning thought over the snow that she takes pause. The draping ends of her wolf-fur coat sway just over the snow in her halt, the hood pushed back so it gathers around her jaw.
"I wouldn't," she remarks cleverly, tipping a knowing eye back over her shoulder at her hunting companion, "this time of year, they might travel hundreds of miles. They have to, in order to find enough food to sustain the herd throughout the season. But I know the routes they follow. We'll keep going this way until we find sign of them." It could take several days, knowing the ways of the hunt, but Shaye is confident. This early in the season, the pair of them might get lucky. She sets off once more, though this time she does wait for Wessex, asking, "What interests you in the luxere?"
Shaye
