we live like thieves
     kings among men

“But its cold!” ”Not as cold as the Basin, so -.” The rest was not very pleasant, especially at this hour. The stag snorts and stops on their march. This was, in his mind ridiculous. Antlered head turns and rises to see the glass. They hadn’t found anything terribly exciting in the tour of the wall. This was pointless, especially this early in the morning! With another snort the stag looks east, but still only finds a muted dawn, even the hints of the coming sun whitewashed by the mists. Then his moon eyes fall back to the golden figure growing distant. It hadn’t really been the gold’s fault for the early morning call. The sleeping hallow was rather awful. Under a pine they had tried this time, and all night needles pointed into the gold, and the snow feel in drips on their backs. Not the grandest, and certainly not lending to a full night’s rest.

For his current show of stubbornness though the stag gained no halt or even hesitation in the gold jog. The flowing trot and billowing snow just continued on. Groaning, and in a rare move, the stag gave in, and his lite limbs leap him forward to catch up.

There was method to the madness, as their always was. The gold, crowned in his usual winter fashion of his wolven cloak and trappings, was ever a sneak. How could he call a place his, when he didn’t even know where the best exits where? Or hiding holes? Or anything? So this day, and the ones following would be filled with simply, going, seeing, and watching. Who liked to graze in the north meadow, who kept near the cliffs, who nested in the eastern trees, all he wanted to know, and there was only one way to find out. Not of course, for anything he needed to know now. But usually, the second you realize you needed to know these things, was the second it was too late.

As Haldir leapt forward the gold turned to look. The stag would not meet his gaze, his eyes glaring forward as he still hopped and skipped to keep up. Perhaps in any other day the gold would let the deer sulk, content it was paying for its self enforced stubbornness. Yet today, as he had the past few, the mischievous nature was coursing thick in him. Fores lift high and roll into a 3-beat. The stag looks over with surprise to hear the change then fakes annoyance. The Laurelin can only laugh at him. Foolish deer. Snorting and kicking up his heels he ups the speed, still looking over to the other side to check the border, but also looking to his companion. It didn’t take long. When invited, it never did. The stag snorts, giving in, and with a toss of his head, leapt with more vigor and calls out in a bellow to the golden. The chase was on.

"Talk?"