TIMESTAMP TBD - Whatever works best for you!
Squirrels were, almost always, great fun. It wasn't their playful natures or their bushy tails that made them such, but rather their very short tempers. A squirrel, when enraged, might chatter on for a day straight if it had the mind to. The high-pitched screeching was far from melodic, but Doran enjoyed it none the less. He'd been harassing a squirrel for a solid break before he'd managed to corner it in a tree just a bit too far for the little creature to escape from without braving the ground and the man who stood shouting lines of broken poetry at it. So, like all things when left no other options, the squirrel began to shout back.Once it started, it did not need further prodding, and Doran settled himself at the bottom of the tree, leaning against its trunk and letting the cool air wash over the film of sweat he'd worked up in chasing the furry animal tree to tree. The incessant chattering had reached a point of near hysteria shortly before he'd sat, and while it had calmed some, the squirrel's frustrations once released were hard pressed to be restrained. He smiled up at the branches, the skittering scratch and scritch of claws digging firmly into bark belying the empty limbs his eyes saw, but he did not torture the beast further by craning to find its hiding place.
It was part of the forest, one of the many denizens who took shelter in the cracks and crevices of the forest's steady strength. He liked the aggravated monologue of the squirrel; it was reminiscent of warmer days when he and his cousin would toss harmless nuts and seeds to see who might make the poor things pop off first. The joy of life was not always found in what was new; sometimes, it resided peacefully in the past, a pleasant heat to be revisited should circumstances allow. And allow they did, as Doran had made no plans of expedition on that trial and had felt no need to. There were times when action seemed the only course to take, but on occasion, after consulting with his cousin's hearty tree, Doran would take time to revisit their memories. Sometimes they were bitter days, but this day was subtle melancholy, one to which he did not mind the lost time.
Whether it was during or shortly after the squirrel's tirade had ended, Doran blinked himself awake to the sound of something far sweeter. It was smooth and light, carrying itself on the still wind like a bird, fluttering just beyond where his eyes could see. He stirred then, pushing himself up off of the damp ground and brushing the dirt from his backside. He offered a invitation to his first soloist, "Shall we see who dares compete with your angry aria, my furry friend?", but he was quickly given a sharp reprimand and a shake of a bushy tale. "Alone I go then."
He set off towards the voice, footsteps soft but not consciously obscured. It was a wordless tune, one that humming would have easily been able to follow, but there were sounds that suggested a familiar yet unfamiliar language. High fell to low and back again, rising back with a wavering vibrato only to fade to nothing. Doran paused then, one with the forest in wait of what might come next. The second song was lively, with words that he could not quite make out for distance than the heavy trunks of the trees around him, but as he neared, the familiar unfamiliar language was once more employed, one comprised primarily of vowels.
When he spotted the singer, Doran stopped in his advance, leaning against a tree to study the forest's performer without interference. The man, who's gender was easy to discern by sight but not quite so much by voice alone, stood about the same height as Doran, perhaps shorter if their distance was closed. He was elegant, fair skinned with hair like that of doe, and he moved with a grace reminiscent of Lily's own. Was he beautiful? Doran couldn't decide as he walked some paces behind the man, keeping to the trees not out of a desire to deceive so much as not to interrupt. When the song ended, and it did not seem another would begin, Doran approached.
Though he had had little experience with the noble caste, Doran knew enough about the difference their garments to garner the man was, at the very least, well off. Thus, he did not offer his hand as he was more accustomed to, and instead stood in his best stance of deference, which looked very much like he had an uncomfortable rock wedged in his boot. "How do you do..." There weren't words for what he wanted to know. The very thought of introducing himself having long since been pushed aside by his own curiosity. Instead, he ventured an attempt at the warbling bounce of tone the man had employed on a drawn out note near the end of his song. It sounded somewhere between choking and gargling with it came from Doran's unpracticed throat. "Better than that, but that. Is it difficult for you?" It had appeared effortless, but Doran couldn't be sure when appearances were so adept at misdirection. "Or was it? Before you could, I mean?"
