So often did any of them wander off on their own, frequently for days at a time, that it was a wonder anyone could consider the Gypsies even a 'band'. Most times they treaded the world on lone paws that weren't at all lonely, because they were at peace with the world they occupied and they acknowledged that it was simply too big for them to truly be alone at any point in time. A band they were, however, as they hunted together when food was scarce and they sought each other out when they needed company and counsel. They were a loose-knit band, but a close-knit family, if only because their Medicine Man had a heart that bloomed to all-encompassing reaches and sought to cherish each of them, even as they came and went.

Hawthorn hadn't seen a fellow Gypsy in two days while he had been skirting the rim around the massive crater, as it was a large stretch of land that only connected to itself on the sides. The quickest way from one point to another on the Rim was never a straight line. He had only just dipped into the Eastern part of the crater a day before, thinking he could use a friendly face (or even the opportunity to make an unfamiliar face a friendly one), when he had become caught up in the presence of a whirlwind whipping about the slopes. He had been vaguely aware of her before and was reminded of how much Delta liked to run, though he knew this new woman had not been around long and was not, in fact, his beloved neice. It still caught his interest and his wandering attention, however, and the Medicine Man had taken to following the signs of the free spirit at his own leisurely pace.

It was at a shallow stream that he had finally caught up with her, as she had paused at the presence of yet another wolf. If Hawthorn thought about it, it was a little amusing that they both wandered and ran amok so until unfamiliar faces rooted them to the ground (however only temporarily). The male was washing away the results of a hunt when the female addressed him as 'fox-slayer' and the Gypsy did take notice of the disheveled corpse a short distance from the bank.

Fox was an interesting choice to hunt, he thought. It was food, of course, but foxes were fellow hunters and so often a little more difficult to catch. Not to mention, they were leaner and their meat tougher and stringier. Hawthorn knew how to take what he could get, but he also knew how to weigh his options.

As it was, he was on the opposite side of the bank, which loosely sandwiched the male between himself and the female he had taken passing interest in. While he made his presence known, which was hard not to do as he was a rather large male and when in daylight he was bright like the color of the sun, he sat peaceably his few yards away and without many words to say. Hawthorn was a peripherally social creature who enjoyed his others, but not necessarily the very center of it. He was the sort of introvert that very easily tricked (quite unintentionally) everyone who didn't know him into thinking him an extrovert.

"Well, hello, I don't think I've, ah... seen either of you in our lovely... hole in the earth, before," was his greeting, pleasant and warm with a sufficient dash of his usual Hawthorn awkwardness.

(Ahhh, I'm sorry that took so long!)