Wolf RPG

Full Version: i love to watch the castles burn, these golden ashes turn to dirt
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for @Dirge

She was hopelessly lost.  She had returned to the Weald with Cassiopeia on her mind, and she wondered how the girl was faring back at Sunspire with her shot ankle.. and now she was wondering if she was going to be the one to fall in a hole and have to be rescued.

Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case.  But being lost forever seemed pretty likely.  At least beneath the dense canopy she was hidden from the sun.. but honestly, that didn't help either.  Here she could not tell what direction she was going, where she had come from or been, and howling for help was out of the question. 

And where she felt lost, Dirge felt at home. Familiarity had begun to work its way in steadily, the winding paths and sometimes lack thereof guided him swiftly. He found @Nyx absent today but did not fret over it yet; their time in the woodlands seemed to have been drawing her out of her shell little by little. She had happened on him on the last jaunt he had taken away from the weald and since then, her movements and behavior were more animated for brevity's sake.

Whatever darkness that had hung over them seemed not to hit the forest floor, but pockets of dappled sunlight broke in where trees thinned, and he knew he had left the deepest of the wood behind without needing to check. His mind was a busy place as of late, having settled firmly on lingering in the dense wood until it could serve them no more, and he already debated where to cordon off a rather crude claim in its midsts. Though ambitious about such a thing, he was not as foolish to try and take the forest whole—that was too much, too long of a distance to maintain between himself and his sister, too stressful—yet he did acquaint himself with its features, pondering how best to prioritize them as he stepped over errant foliage in his way.

That was when she stumbled into view, a fiery glimmer between ferns and stout timber, and then flickered out of view.

With an interest piqued, he narrowed down where to go and seamlessly altered his course, perhaps too curious for his own good. Ceara was not a hard wolf to follow even in the shade; Dirge found her again as he topped a long toppled log, his eyes focused on the wave of red hairs against deep green as it seemed she was uncertain, but certainly lost. He smiled to himself as he went to join her, sure to make sound as not to alarm her in that steady approach; his tail waved behind him.

"You've let the forest swallow you whole, I see."



Even though she knew he lived here, she had not expected to run across him.  It's a dangerous place, she echoes, a ghost of their previous conversation.  Although this time she supposes she is the damsel — and although it isn't a position she would like to see herself in, she supposes that she is... in distress.  At least her leg isn't broken, and it's not raining, and her company isn't a stranger.  For once.

Don't know if I'll be able to find my way out.

Perhaps it was budding sarcasm on her lips that broadened his smile just a bit, or maybe it was simply a resignation that she put stock into the notion that the weald was so dangerous that it would smother her and leave her ensnared deep in its tangled depths. Maybe it was both of those things that would ward off the inexperienced traveler or uncertain scout; he felt he was neither and thus could only let his smile slip away on the tail of a sigh. The mirth of his smile was left to linger in his gaze.

"A pity then," he hummed, "though I would not be troubled by it keeping you here. All places have their danger until you're familiar with them." He brushed past her then, urging her to follow with a bump of his snout to hers. Dirge was bold enough to believe she would follow, playing on her discomfort of being hopelessly off-track. But he did know enough to distangle her from such, and had no qualms of showing her the way out.


It would turn out that she was not so good at the rebound. How long had it been since she'd been able to exchange snippets of witty banter? She is stunned into silence, jaw parted slightly before she remembers herself just as he runs himself along her and touches her face with his own.

Too bad I've got a whole pack that would come looking for me, she offers (this time more quiet than the last) as she focused on anything but him — the damp earth beneath them, the whispering canapy above. Could come visit though, I'm not sure exactly how kosher that is.

She began to follow him through the tangled web of the Weald and was almost awestruck at how easily he could maneuver through what she percieved as danger; a hunter and tracker he might be, but he might make a more exceptional scout.

He caught her words as she fell into line behind him, their easy pace far more leisure than the steps that had brought them near. As experienced as he was with the woodlands, the weald did in fact hold a set of its own difficulties; the overgrowth for one, though in time and shift of season he would see it flatten and become less sprawling with traffic. Dirge stuck primarily to the trails worn in by prey, where untold generations found the better terrain for their own ease... and likewise to suss out where they were like to house themselves.

"Your humble plateau not fond of visitors then?" he probed, curious if her comment spoke of dissent. It wasn't terribly uncommon for packs to keep their guard up at all times, but rather unquestionably wise in truth. He was oblivious to their history, unknowning that they had reason to do—so had Moonspear, for that matter.

Another comment off his tongue interjected before her response: "At least they'd come looking for you though. Some packs would sooner believe you've abandoned them." Thankfully, he hadn't quite that experience. He had dome the abandoning, relatively speaking, but at least he afforded Hydra the decency of staying true to his intentions and now it was all solidly behind him.

She remembers Rosalyn (who had seemed so nice) and allows a frown.  As long as they don't suck up a bunch of valuable resources and then ghost us like the morning after a one-night stand, you know, I'd say we're probably pretty friendly.  She didn't know, though — in practice she'd never seen it.  I dunno though.  Maybe I'll just come get lost again.

Occasionally he disappears in the deep greenery although they walk close in tandem and she lapses into silence, his words rattle around in her head as she waits for him to come back into view.  I'm glad I don't have to worry about it, is all she would seem willing to say, and she wonders if he's had to deal with that.  

Anyone else staying out here with you?

She seemed set on testing the idea, at least for a moment, and it humored him. Getting lost was not for the faint of heart in theory and he liked to think for the better of them, they could manage just fine. Loneliness was more apt to bother them in the end, but thankfully Dirge had never had to deal with true solitude long term.

"A couple of others linger around," he answered, though he did not attest to how true that statement was. "For the most part, my sister and I are the only constants." He had done some ranging, made a show of meager borders, but it hardly covered the breadth of the weald. There was still far too much of the forest for just he and Nyx to manage, but he hoped in time he would have certainty in those he extended his offer to. The rest would come together as it should.

He knew he couldn't easily bend the will of those destined to wander to yield and remain and didn't seek to. Some would simply not want to put in their share of the work to manage and maintain, instead prefering to make their survival easy by modest offerings. But this was no easy endeavor he placed stock into—it would have been easier to curry favor to some nearby bastion for the winter to come, and ensure a low cost life.

But Dirge would not sacrifice his freedoms for it.

She took every scrap of information he gave her greedily.  Perhaps another time, she'd have to tell Raven and Quixote about his menagerie, but until they grew in numbers they would have nothing to worry about.  Even then, they still might not be.

She had just no clue why none of his proespectives wanted to stick around this musty old place.  Maybe if he didn't have such awful taste that she was inevitably drawn to, for some reason unknown to her they'd have better luck.  But uh, beggars can't be choosers, and winter would be here before they knew it.  Right?

Well.  I'm sure you'll have some stragglers that roll in as the seasons start to change.  She didn't expect she'd be one of them, and later on she'd reflect on this.  You have a sister?

Though he knew she was right, he hoped for some than just stragglers. It was a gamble to take leftovers, relatively speaking, not knowing whether their intentions were as forward as their word. Yet he knew without ponder he would question the integrity every morsel, every cut and quarter. Likening it to food was not too far off the truth but he did not comment on her observation; she sought to placate and soothe him where he did not need it, or so he thought.

"I have more than a couple actually," he answered, crossing through a gap between narrowed trees grown close. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere, waiting for her moment to make an appearance if she so desires," and as if he knew for sure, he said it so Nyx would hear it. It was quieter tones as he glanced back to Ceara he concluded: "Certainly payback for all the times I've come to eavesdrop on her over the seasons. Sure she's seen a good show or two. Or faux pas." Sometimes both, he would wager.

The pair continued talking, until the edge of the weald came along, and then concluded with their farewells.