The only sound was the stamp of hooves, the clank of metal and wood, the creak of leather. The resounding echo of his pulse pounding steadily within his own ears. Vision was narrow, peripherals nearly completely blocked by the steel of his visor. Through the slit he could only see his opponent and the straight and narrow path upon which both of them traveled. His horse carried himself with dignity, his foot falls sure and steady, matching Lif's own steed. Closer. Closer still until he could see the flare of the enemy mount's nostrils, soft pink against the pearlescent finish of his sleek coat. It was warm today, despite the approach of winter. The horses' withers would be drenched and frothed in sweat by the time they were finished here.

All other sound returned in a tidal wave of cacophony as the lances splintered in a violent spray. His eyes narrowed, but he dare not risk the tilt of his head to disrupt the good balance he had as the blunt weapon shattered against the shoulder of his armor. The force blew over him, a point certainly for his adversary, but his aim had also found its mark. Both jousting polearms broken and he would fluently discard his as he readjusted himself in his saddle, trying to quickly regain his breath. Tia had, of course, advised him against the tournament. She had worriedly claimed he was not yet in a condition warranting further punishment, and yet he had insisted that he was. He persisted that the deep bruising addled him naught and that he was perfectly fine to participate, besides they had already paid their entry dues and put up their family crest before the war had called him away. He had missed part of the contest, but was assured that he could still enter if he did so today.

And any distraction was welcome.

It wasn't until Hades reared, a shrill leaving his mouth as the great ebony stallion turned, that Lif witnessed that he had already won the duel. The percheron dug at the sand, stepping anxiously in preparation for another charge as he tossed his massive head to and fro. On the other end of the dividing poles, Banshee (or so he believed the announces had claimed the opposing beast to be dubbed) continued to drag his rider while the attendants raced to try and catch him. With any amount of luck, the man would be largely unharmed, only his pride subject to injury as his foot was unceremoniously caught within its stirrup. He seemed to come to his senses, rapidly lunging up in an attempt to free himself, to which he was successful.

He'd earned his spot within the finals to be held the next day with this victory. Hands rose, unstrapping and removing the heavy helm, settling it within his lap while his free fingers would trace through the hair pressed firmly to his brow. His own aid appeared shortly after, their cheers and congratulations warm like honey as they retrieved the pommel of the spear, his helm, and assisted him down. The heavy weight of his gauntlet smoothed along the side of the massive shadow as the handler guided the still excited Hades away. Unlike Destriar, this one was more spirited, not quite a mount he would trust with his life on the battlefield, but his wild enthusiasm was great for the showmanship of this sport.

Just the same, he was also in need of a drink, one he sought out once he was resolved of the weight of the armor - at least for the most part. His shirt clung to him, but being able to feel the press of the breeze through it was a heaven-sent, one he grinned to the vendor about as he downed the goblet of chilled water provided. The arcane wasn't often something he was grateful for, but it certainly was right now.

The young woman aiding in tending the stand continued her pleasant, idle conversation. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with enthusiasm as she canted on. First about the weather, then the joust itself. He was somewhat pleasantly surprised to find that she knew the workings of the contest, and it wasn't another air-brained conversation that he merely had to politely nod and smile through. Her eyes were a pleasant green, soft in her wind brushed apple cheeks, her lashes long. Thick. They were lighter than some, as were her brows, in tandem with the gentle wheat blonde that colored her lengthy locks, tied briskly at her nape with a polka-dotted handkerchief by the look of it. Her father continued to serve other guests, more flocking to such a concession now that the main events were at a stand still. He supposed the swordsmanship event would be next within the coming hour or so. Folk gathered to get their refreshments before wading through the crowds to the next arenas.

Despite the war, they hardly grew ill of the violence.

Many of the competitors wore heavy frowns, their gazes clouded with unreadable or downcast apparitions. Mere windows into an empty prairie plagued by thunderheads. Thunder.

His head would tilt, if but just faintly, his grip shifting upon his glass as the lady refilled it before he'd even realized it was empty. He would nod his thanks to her as she drifted away to aid the stand owner in filling orders. Feeling eyes upon him, he would cast his stare to the side, glancing to the hooded figure from his peripherals. His view, especially from this angle wasn't entirely informative. While there was a nip to the air, their attire seemed oddly out of place among many others. Almost suspicious as he noted the way they maintained the hood over their crown as they received their drink as well. It wasn't until after that the hand that ensnared the beverage caught his full attention.

In whole, he would adjust himself to look at the cloaked person. From silhouette, he would assume female, her skin an exotic hue, marked with softly glowing runes and designs. Almost like milky stars trapped in the dark velvet of the night sky while the sun lingered just below the cusp of the mountains - not quite ink, but not quite twilight either.

Amidst his observation, did she also seem to take heed of him as well. He caught the glance she threw at him, and a boyish simper would spread crookedly upon the edge of his mouth as he rose his cup to her in semblance of greeting before he would take another drink of the refreshing contents. "Don't believe we've met." He would add afterwards, settling the kiln kissed container upon the makeshift bar.

“No I – I don’t believe we have.” He was certain they hadn't. He would have recalled someone as exotic as she, as otherworldly. Not to say that was a bad thing. He'd met many different faces here, many holding extreme appearances, August himself as one of them. While such marks were rare among those like himself, the signs of lycanthropy proved otherwise to be common. He could say with confidence though, that she was striking, a face to remember, even though she seemed to seek to keep it covered for one reason or another.

Did she not feel comfortable? Even among most of those of her own kin? He supposed he could also rationalize with that as well. While in Odersten itself humans were far fewer than the wolves, it was even in his own home that the uncomfortable fit scratched at his skin like an unreachable itch. One he had just settled into suffering with for better or for worse. Hand in hand with guilt, with drowning expectations. Sometimes he envied the backlash Auggie gifted his father in the face of such burdens, but he hadn't been able to muster the same response. He had hoped that in becoming head of his house and taking on such responsibilities that it entailed would entrust him the ability to give those under their banner an easier life. A better chance than his old man had. Thus far he had only managed to get his brother sent away and his sister married off like livestock in exchange for more weight in the family coffers.

Though in his brief consideration, his focus had never lost her. Leisurely, his cheek rested within his hand, azure stare lazily drifting across her concealing attire as she hurriedly palmed her drink. As it returned to what was visible of her countenance, he would offer her a light, amiable simper. "Aren't you hot in that?" He inquired, genuine curiosity lacing his intonation. Perhaps the day only felt as warm to him considering his prior dress and the rush of adrenaline. Even still, the sun beat hard upon his shoulders, and he couldn't imagine it being much better bundled as she was. Especially the way she gripped the blessed cool waters.

"Can always take it off." He offered, keeping the innocent curiosity from his tone. He couldn't keep himself from wondering just what it was she was trying to hide. Merely her features? Or something else entirely? Something more malicious? Given the high strung nature of many in recent days, especially after the return from the disaster in Dunmeath, he couldn't shake the overly cautious and somewhat protective nature that had begun to come to his surface. Some had also made their displeasure with this event known as well, claiming it to be a waste of precious resources that shouldn't be. It seemed the majority had just been thankful for a distraction just as much as he had been, but radicals belonged to every group of people. One could never be too sure. He hummed lightly, a brow piqued lightly in faint surprise at himself. "Sorry. Name's Lif by the way."

He couldn't hide the amusement that sparked within his gaze as he watched her merely pull the cloak further about her person, the hood deep enough to cast a nice shade over her exotic features. “I’m alright,” she would assure, though he'd noted the tightening of her jaw before she'd done her best to hide it away. Was she merely being stubborn? Or had he unintentionally struck some manner of nerve with the intentionally harmless inquiry? Regardless, he would rise from his seat, taking a few steps closer until only a single bar stool rested between them, finishing the last of his own water as he did so. “…Thank you, though.” He would place the empty mug down. "Hmm, at least let me buy you a drink then?" He would inquire, his intonation purposefully light.

He caught the way the cloak hood moved, a twitch of an ear, perhaps as he introduced himself. His cheek would lean onto the open palm of his hand, observing the glimpse of her that the movement provided. The slight glow of the markings that runed her skin. “Solana, sir.” She would return, and he would laugh, the sound remaining easy. "No need for the sir." He rose a hand, the tender tracing a path back to him. The dame's father this time, as she had seemed to catch the eye of other patrons, standing at the other end of the stretch with her serving tray tucked within her hands. "Whiskey, please. On the rocks." Normally, he would forgo the ice, but the swelter of the humid weather silently convinced him otherwise - at least for now. "And if the lady would like anything?" He would pique his brow to her innocently, and the man would patiently await her own request -if there was one, before he departed.

He reclined, his back resting against the counter's lip, his elbows resting upon the surface. His sight would drift upward as a cloud granted reprieve from the glower of the sun's attention. "Just call me Lif." He would insist as he canted his peripherals to her once more. A thoughtful hum would leave him in consideration however before he would taste her own name. "Solana. It's pretty. Where are you from, Solana?"

She was quiet, a silence that he could half-heartedly point to what he felt was nerves. Unease. Though judging by how easily her mind seemed to wander away from the present, from him, it didn't seem to be a reaction settled wholly upon his own shoulders. He wondered her motives, for the discomfort she thrust upon herself. Tensions had remained high in recent days, and maybe that alone was the cause for her nervous affliction. War had not presented a kind front on those of Vufrien. The famine persisted, looking far more bleak than it had just before they left. Not only was Dunmeath still not in their possession, but it was utterly decimated as well. No longer was there even the tentative hope that a normalcy could be recollected.

They were going to be forced to look elsewhere. Thieves were rampant, even growing bold enough to trespass in areas that once they wouldn't have dared. They were like desperate animals, driven by their need to survive, and he had admittedly turned a blind eye to richer merchants losing coin to a poor pick pocket merely seeking to fill their bellies. What was he to do? To uphold that twisted sense of justice was to potentially deprive another of life. Even he had returned home at the end of an evening with his pockets significantly lighter than they ought to have been. He had to suppress his sigh. Was she in the same boat? A situation of destitution and necessity? While his sight of her was extremely limited, what he had witnessed didn't seem to be gaunt, but perhaps that had been her downfall and she had suffered a more violent exchange because of it.

“Oh, I will have the same – “ she murmured, seeming surprised by the inquiry, as if her mind had truly drifted far away from the present. He would laugh lightly, his eyes never leaving her. A woman after my own heart," he would tease. She repeated his calling, and an easier expression would flutter upon her countenance, a smile. Given the closer proximity they now shared, he had a better look at her, more details available. Including the color that demurely dusted her cheeks, not pink like most, but one that served to accent the otherworldly apparition of her skin. She was adorable.

His curious inquiry would seem to take her by surprise, even more so the liquid that lingered within her cup now. “Ah,” again, there was a creeping sense of apprehension that poured into her. Not one easy to trust, yet he could find no blame for such a thing. “I have lived in Vufrien for some time, now. Though my heritage ventures across the seas.” He would nod to her vague, but suitable answer. He would embrace the crafted mug, raising it lightly towards her in gesture of a toast before he would bring it to his lips, taking a deep drink of the amber liquid. “Yourself?” "Much the same," he answered, adjusting his weight on the seat to angle himself more towards her. "Originally from across the sea, family settled in Lavalles." He would fix her once again with his full attention, his stare gently appraising, boyish simper amicable. "We only recently moved to Vufrien. Well... I say recently, but it's been a few years now."