When he arrived to the market there was a very confused look on his face. RhyDin was not proving to be any different than the other places he had been, despite what he had been told. His palm pressed to the stubble on his cheek and rubbed lightly. In passing the fountain, a coin was dug out of his pocket and tossed in. You owe me a wish, he thought to himself with a smirk, and sat down on a bench.

Across the market square, a head of golden hair lifted, shining molten eyes flickering across the gathered people as a nose sniffed delicately at the air. There, a scent she had not encountered before in this strange place the two-legs called RhyDin. One of her own, and yet not of her own pack, as so many were here. The scent was caught, followed, and she found herself gazing with disquieting focus at the one seated near the fountain, herself stood in the lieu of a busy grocery stall.

He gave a very canine twitch of his nose and took a deep breath. There was a visible lifting of his brow, and he didn't have to look up to find where the female's was coming from. He smiled to himself as he shoved a hand in his pocket, and looked down at the worn combat boots and faded jeans. He knew he was being watched. When the hand was withdrawn, it contained a cigarette, coaxed from inside a pack hidden in his pocket. He lit it; then, and only then, there was the slightest of glance to her.

That glance was all the invitation she knew she was likely to get. Moving out into the open, she was revealed to be wearing clothing she must have stolen off someone's clothes' line, for the shirt and jeans were woefully big on her, held tight about her waist with corded rope. With slow, certain steps, she approached from directly in front of him, no sign of hostility in her posture or scent. When she deemed herself close enough, her lips formed a very quiet bark of greeting. Clearly, this one had spent too long on all-fours recently.

"Hello to you, too." An upnod was attached to the greeting and he looked at her from behind the sunglasses and ball cap. He was deeply tanned, and in a faded t-shirt. She was certainly something to look at, even in her choice of attire. This was where Wyatt took notice of her choice of belts and canted his head. His own belt had cracked and broken in so many places he wasn't quite sure exactly what all was holding it together.

Her lips quirked into a smile more worthy of being called a smirk at this and she moved closer, though remained standing until she was invited to sit. It was a custom among the two-legs that at least she knew at the moment. The longer you stayed a wolf, the more the wolf shaped your thoughts, and she had been a wolf for several weeks before resuming her human form. Her head tilted as she studied him, arms coming to rest in a wrap about her waist. "Faolan," she introduced herself from behind that almost impish smile, inclining her head to him. "Formerly of the Mountains Mourne Pack." Her voice had the quick, lilting brogue of the northern reaches of Ireland, though it was a little more refined than most Irishmen could manage. Molten eyes blinked slowly as she watched him, clearly expecting the introduction to be returned.

"Wyatt. Would you like to sit?" He moved over and pulled long from his cigarette. After expelling the cloud of blue grey smoke, he nodded once, adding, "There is nothing else after that, no fancy title or anything. I'm pretty sure it's just Wyatt." Unless it was 'stop that thief', or 'hey, put that down'. What did it really matter, though"

With a sinewy motion of limbs, she folded herself into a seat beside him, arms lowering to let her hands grip the edge of the bench lightly. "There is little enough use of titles to us," she mused quietly. "I use it only to remind myself of where I come from." She watched him from the corner of her eye, drinking in her fill of his scent at the same time. "You are new to this place?"

"You could say that." His nose twitched again as a woman wandered past them with an armful of bags. The woman was talking to her friend, and with an extending of his arm, his hand slid it into the bag closest to them. When the arm was returned to resting on the back of the bench, he was holding a leather belt, apparently what had made his nose twitch. Once the girl was out of sight, he dropped it onto Faolan's lap. "I've been to a hundred places just like this."

"Feel free. Just try not to be disgusted; I get drunk and debauched at times. Just a warning." He had been called a womanizer, and he wasn't going to argue with his accusers either because at times they were right. "And I am not a hundred percent sure I will ever find a reason to stay put." Had he been in the mood to be a charmer, he'd have said a smoking body and a brilliant pair of eyes would have been a start. Luckily for her, though, he was behaving for some unknown reason.

Faolan's smile merely widened at this little insight into his character. "It takes a great deal to disgust me," she assured him, "I may even join you in drunken debauchery." She let out another of those throbbing laughs, stretching easily in place before relaxing once more. "And it is better to have company on the road. The hunting is easier, for a start." The way she said 'hunting', however, seemed to be hinting at something other than deer and cows.

A tall man, golden blond hair pulled back into a pony tail, with a leather jacket, jeans and Doc Martens strolled by. There was an obvious sniff of the air and he turned his sky blue eyes on the pair. A smirk was on his face. Then he turned and faded into the crowd.

"I have to agree. A woman is a lot better at tracking and attracting during a hunt." There was a knitting of brows as he was clearly scented there in the open by someone in passing. Had the man stayed for a moment longer, Wyatt might have tried to lift his wallet. He didn't like when people knew who he was without returning the favor. The fact was stored away with the man's face.

There wasn't much a wolf in human form could do to mask their scent from others of their kind, and a few days without a visit to a river or pool made that scent just that bit more obvious. The one who had scented the air must have caught both scents, but the wind was not favorable for Faolan to catch his. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him melt away into the crowd. "You have run with a pack before, then?" she asked Wyatt, though the focus of her attention was on the crowd around them.

"I ran with a whore for a while. She outlived her usefulness." He meant it in the literal way. "And after they'd pay, I'd follow them off and take the rest they were carrying. She liked having the protection. I suppose that's the meaning of Irony." He smirked to himself and looked around, trying to catch sight of the blonde ponytail.

Her brow rose in speculative interest as she listened to him speak, the look of vague amusement remaining on her features throughout the little tale. "Whores get little enough in the way of protection," she offered to the conversation, watching as he looked around. She sniffed the air delicately once more, and smirked. "Over your left shoulder, between the stalls and the inn."

Did he stand upwind from them for a reason' The blond turned, and with a gleam in his eyes, stepped into the crowd once again.

A soft nod and his hand slipped into his pocket; another cigarette was drawn out and then lit. He rested a hand on her thigh to express the point that they did not need the walk away. "If he has something to ask, he may come and ask it. You're no pup to be drawn out that way." He turned his eyes onto the water in the fountain.

Again, her smirk deepened as he laid that outwardly possessive hand on her. No matter the point he was making to her; in appearances, he had claimed her in the eyes of any other wolf watching. Not that she needed it; she had scented no curiosity about herself in the blond, more in Wyatt. "Neither are you," she pointed out quietly, laying her hand over his for a brief moment. Her gaze followed to the fountain. "What did you wish for?"