When Erin needed to clear her head, there were very few things that actually helped. She knew she could be a short-tempered person, and rather easily angered, which certainly didn't help her keep her cool under any circumstances. It was the typical Veela temperament within her, which was something that Erin begrudgingly acknowledged. Most witches and wizards boasted that kind of heritage, but it came with too many bad memories for the Irish Quidditch player for her to have any level of proud for it. It wasn't something she could change, though, and her temper was there to prove it. Her father, after all, would say she got angry 'far too easily' - and then cut himself off before he could continue to say 'just like your mother.'

And, curiously enough, that was the woman that was to blame for Erin's current bout of frustration. Not genetically - this time, she had actually done something to get Erin riled up. Strangely enough, after almost seventeen years of irritating her indirectly, Rozenn Dumont had actually finally done something with which Erin could be presently angered. The Veela con-artist had sent a letter. Something so simple, yet so aggravating. A letter addressed to Erin's childhood home in Castletownbere - because she quite obviously didn't bloody well know where else to find her own daughter - stating that she 'wished to speak with Erin.' Curious how it took her seventeen years to come to that conclusion.

As far as Erin was concerned, Rozenn Dumont had held no interest in having a daughter, and Erin would gladly abide to her wishes. Her childhood with her father had been wonderful and magical and full of happiness. The few years she had spent with her mother had been... much less than happy. At seven years old, Erin had been sad to be abandoned by her own mother. Now, she saw it as something of a blessing. She wouldn't have had Quidditch or Hogwarts or any of her friends... or a caring parent, as a matter of fact. Erin had been better off growing up in Ireland with her father, and that was the only good thing that Rozenn had ever done for her.

It didn't make her any less angry about that damned letter, though. Her father had forwarded it to her and recommended that she respond. Well, as far as Erin was concerned, no answer meant no chance in hell would she agree to meet up with her conniving Veela mother. Hopefully, the woman would take the hint. For the meanwhile, Erin needed to blow off steam from all the anger that had built up inside of her while reading the letter. Having checked off Quidditch practice earlier that morning and managed to squeeze in a bit of crosstraining after, Erin figured she would take the woods for some archery - something that had taken a bit of a backseat to the abundance of qualification games for the World Cup.

Archery relaxed her. Erin didn't really hunt, as she lived in the city and didn't have the need for it. The only time she had was when she was fifteen and had visited her Uncle Cillian on Bere Island - and on that trip, she had managed to hunt more than her uncle and father combined. The skill was there for hunting, but Erin found it relaxing to just focus on the arrow in her bow and the target in front of her. Usually, that target was an exceptionally narrow tree trunk or far away tree stumps. Archery helped her cancel out the rest of world - and hence, cancel out her mother's letter.

Erin was still attentive, though. Wandering around the woods with a bow and arrow meant that she had to keep her eyes and ears open - which was why she quickly picked up on the sound of leaves rustling behind her. She stopped walking, her head tilting to the side for a moment and taking in the silence that followed. In one quick move, Erin pivoted on her foot and had and arrow cocked and the string of her bow pulled back next to her face in a split second. The first words out of her mouth were, "Don't move!" which were quickly followed by a beat of stunned silence as Erin took in the person standing before her. She slowly lowered and relaxed the string on her bow. "Jaxon?" Erin questioned in surprise, a slightly confused frown clouding her face.

Outfit

Jaxon Jameson Cole

The full moon was not upon him. Not quite yet, but still he could feel it creeping. Next week the change would come and he'd deal with the weakness that led up to it and followed the transformation. Jaxon was not really used to it. Despite nearly six years afflicted with the lycanthropic curse and having learned from Alex and Larissa how to embrace the wolf--instead of fighting it--learning to co-exist with it...he still was searching for who he was now in this new life. The plans he had always seen for himself--the family, the kids, the wife, the white picket fence. He couldn't have that. Not here anyway. Maybe if he went back State side (which was a possibility that was gaining appeal each passing day). Even if he did move to America, the fact he was a werewolf did still pose some threat, no matter how attuned with his inner wolf he felt he was.

Plus, he had a responsibility and a duty here to other werewolves in the United Kingdom that he had given himself to. Jaxon Cole was not the type to abandon his promises--to neglect his word. What he said, he did...and he had thrown his hat in with the McHalen's. They had his loyalty. He would not abandon them. Not when the rebellion benefited so much from what he could give monetarily...and now more wolves were seeking sanctuary on his lands during the full moon (and even, on occasion, other times).  The increased were presence had the man wandering the wilderness, removing any deer or other game tracks he came across. He'd already placed a number of no trespassing and no hunting signs along the borders--though with the multitude of kilometers that rounded his hundreds of acres, there was much ground left uncovered. He'd chosen to mark areas nearest to the wildlife preserves and muggle roadways first as those seemed most likely to be the places where persons would find their way onto his land. 

At some point, he'd affixed the last of his signs--and turned from his dutiful task, to a more familiar one...running. Jaxon was shocking light footed for a man of his size. His were abilities enhanced his already ridiculous seeker agility to make him remarkably nimble. He had set to running near the river and was deep into the woods making little noise as he traveled. He'd picked up a scent on the wind...though he was not fully aware of it. His mind did not process the realization, even as his instinct caused him to pursue a new path through the wilderness towards the intruder. His feet seemed to know where to land to avoid sticks and limbs, to find their way instinctively to the spots where soft moss grew and muffled the sounds of his travel completely. But he was not infallible--and on occasion the crunch of limb breaking would ruin the silence of the forest. The seeming echo serving as a reminder that he was still part man and not wholly beast and predator. 

One such misstep drew the attention of that which he sought without even knowing he was seeking her. He would know that voice anywhere. His first love. The only girl to ever break-up with him. The Irish veela chaser. Erin Maela Donoghue. He threw up his hands at the sight of her bow lifted towards him. "Damn, darlin'," he drawled out. A boyish grin turned up his lips and he didn't look to much older than when she'd sent him off to chase his Quidditch dreams, despite the years that had passed his graduation. Good genes, great physical fitness or the were affliction (or all three) had kept the man very youthful in his appearance. "That's one helluva way to greet a man when you are the one trespassin' on his land."

His name fell from her lips and he took a few more slow, steady steps forward towards the blonde. "Yes, ma'am," Jaxon confirmed. "The one and only." Damn, she looked beautiful. He had always had a weakness for the veela allure--or at least an affinity for them...his two longest, most serious relationships had both been with women of that ancestry. Erin was only partial, but Lilybelle was full--but he didn't believe that it was their magic that made him love them. They were such different women. Both amazing--and both ever possessing a piece of his heart. They'd had the privilege to know and love him before he'd been made into a monster. Even if he didn't see himself that way, the Ministry and many of the public surely did.

It took him next to no time to bring the distance between them to nothing. Jaxon did not hesitate in wrapping his arms around the woman--careful of her weapon, but too happy to see her not hug her. He was still as affectionate as he had ever been, which was quite a lot. "Lookin' purdy as ever, 'Rin." He swore in that gravelly country boy drawl as he squeezed her tight. "What brings ye out my way, darlin'?" was the question on his lips once he'd let her free of his embrace. He might have been affectionate--but he didn't smother--wasn't any reason for that.