Phantom Hollow how the wild magic, becomes

i have no idea where this fits into mato's timeline at all, lmao. seabreeze is traveling with him & will be joining the thread but this is (still) welcome to anyone! :D scout thread 1 of 4.

Mato knows that to the south west of Phantom Hollow lies Broken Antler Fen and that he is almost tempted to make the diversion. It would cost little to stop by and check up on his family as he has promised them, but he continues west. It would cost him time and when he informed his superiors that he was going on a small trip to the Hinterlands, drawn by his druidic desire to see the Wilds in all of it’s splendor that he did not intend to be gone all that long …and though he expressed no such thing the trip is not as innocent in nature. He has ideas and like a grand architect he needs a place to build; and though Mato has never been one to believe in the idea that leadership is something passed from father to son he supposes the desire has always been there. A smoldering ember waiting for the breath of life, the oxygen that it needs to take hold and burn to life. The empyrean is not sure what has given that ember the fuel it needed but he is taken with it.

It reminds him that he should likely confer this with his traveling companion. Mato was surprised when @Seabreeze sought to go on the little adventure with him but as he had no intention of spurning her company she now kept pace with him. The Hollow is quieter than the Heartwood, a bit colder but the druid welcomes the reprieve from the heavy heat that has settled over the Wilds. Except the Hollow feels…devoid of life. It is too still! The leaves greying with decay under foot and the fur along the imperial’s spine bristle with unbidden unease. He knows immediately that this is not the place he would seek to claim for Tindómë; for that was what he would call this idea. Starlight Dusk; but not here! He does not like the feel of this forest and wishes he could speed up their progression through it. The sooner they left it behind, the better.

“I must be honest with you, Aerlinn,” The nickname falls from his lips without thought, given earnestly for that is what she reminds him of: a song of the sea. She came to the Vale from the sea and she is named for it (or a facet of it), after all. “this trip is not strictly for aesthetic purposes. I seek a territory I may build my —” kingdom sounds so crass to him. It sounds pompous (not that Mato is not capable of such things because he quite is) but the Morwinyon struggles to find a word that fits it. Empire sounds even worse and thus he settles for neither. “I have ideas for a pack. I’ve had them for quite some time but things have halted me. My age, becoming apart of Northstar Vale — of which has been a great choice of my life, but I feel that it is time to take flight.” As a baby bird deigns to leave it’s nest: it is only nature. Perhaps nothing will come of it, or perhaps he will fail …but if he does not try he will never know and that is more crime than anything else. Emerald gaze slides to his lovely companion to search for her reaction to his words. She is not obligated to stay, to continue on knowing his intentions in full, but he feels it only fair that she know. Mato is not a deceitful beast by any stretch of the imagination: he never has been and he has no intention to start any time soon. He feels it is important that Seabreeze knows the intention behind his task and that she make her own choice regarding it.

When Mato voiced his intentions to journey, it seemed proper and natural for Seabreeze to follow her closest companion.  While her packmates were kind (and more than that, they were family) she had continued to suppress herself, going through the motions of survival.  Fill the cache for the pack, eat, sleep, repeat.

So when an opportunity came forth that she could break herself of this cycle without guilt or anxiety she piped up quickly.  If nothing else the druid could use companionship, but the yearling felt the need to be there and protect, making sure nothing happened to her friend.  She had some ulterior motives of her own; the girl had been dealing with feelings, grieving for those who were possibly still alive, and she simply could not bear if anything happened to him.

They trekked forth through Phantom Hollow and she too wished to be rid of it as soon as possible.  While the drop in temperature was more suitable for Bre, the area was reminiscent of a barren wastoid and it did not console her that they were two and wild wolves and fauna were many.  She sauntered, lost in thought until Mato stirred abruptly, making his intentions clear.

She was quiet.  Of course it was the nature of a young wolf (especially that of a young man) to want to strike out on their own, but the feeling of loss loomed over Mato's departure.  Much of the exeperience she had built for herself in the Vale had been with Mato.

No other conclusion came to her. I will go with you.  It was all she could say until she faltered, thinking that if he was leaving the Vale he might want to leave it altogether. If you would have me.

Mato is not sure what he expects, if, in truth, he expects anything at all. The druid does not make it a habit to try to assume the mind of other’s but this mostly because his thought processes tend to be starkly different than those of others. Sometimes, it is an inconvenience but it allows him to be unassuming for the most part. Except when his beliefs that things are to be conducted a certain way give way to assumptions when they are not followed to those expectations by others. Thus, the empyrean is pleasantly surprised when Seabreeze decides that she will go with him, but then in a second breath appears to second guess herself and leave the choice up to him. Or so that is how the druid interprets ‘if you’ll have me’. “If you truly want to join me, you are welcome.” He will not turn her away, nor will he hold it against her if she chooses the Vale. He has been apart of the process of founding a pack and it is not an easy road before them. It is daunting and will present complications, hard work and dedication to the idea, to one another; but Mato knows from the Vale that such a thing is far from impossible. He simply needs to be the leader that can inspire those things in others: that loyalty, that dedication. Is he that type of man? He does not know but suspect he will find out. His father was. Rannoch is. Whether Mato has a place among legends he is not so pompous as to assume. Time would tell, as it always does.

“I am not fond of this Phantom Hollow,” The empyrean speaks the territory’s name with thinly veiled contempt. Perhaps it is the geologist in him but besides the fact that it unsettles him it does not seem like a very fortuitous territory to claim for a pack. “We will keep searching.” Mato declares because he impeccably trusts his intuition. He suspects he will know when he finds the right place to build Tindómë, to plant the roots of the metaphorical tree. “I’m thinking west, towards the Hinterlands. I do not wish to be too close to any established packs.” Whether it be a developing sense of territoriality or a weariness of the territoriality of others the druid does not look too closely at. He only knows that packs that are too close to one another are in competition for vital resources and that it is not a position he wishes to put Tindómë in.

I do wish to join you. I thought that perhaps you were wanting to be rid of the Vale altogether — an entirely new beginning for your creation.  I did not.. I did not want to intrude.  She is quite pleased that he would have her though, and relief spills through her visibly.  She had built so much of herself around the Vale (but it was Mato whom she favored) that she was not sure what she would do with herself if being at his side was no longer an option.

It is so barren, she agreed, shaking her head.  He did not know that she would follow him to the end of the earth and back but he did not need to, so she kept such nonsense to herself.  He must think she to be obsessed with him; following him first on this journey and then to his pack! There must be somewhere better for your vision; I will follow you until you find what you're seeking.

Phantom Hollow.  The atmosphere of this place instilled a quiet brooding in the yearling and she would be happy for them to rid themselves of it yet she knew they had some time before it passed.  A sigh escaped her lips; she could not relax here!  Her ears craned back and forth, waiting for any sign of life other than the two.

“No, I would not wish to rid myself of the Vale entirely, they have been good to me,” Admittedly, Mato had not sought to take any Vale wolves with him because he was not the type of man to ask simply because it struck him as both underhanded and rude towards a leader that he undoubtedly respected. “If Rannoch is open to the idea I would seek to align my pack with theirs.” For Mato would not wish to leave the Vale in bad terms in any capacity, if it can be avoided. “I will call it Tindómë,” Mato speaks to her, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls once. “It means starlit dusk.” It sounds pretty, to Mato’s ears, at least but fits in the overall theme he has in mind for rank names. “The leadership will bear titles of stars and planets.” As it is with anything he is passionate about, Mato is easily lost in his words, in his thoughts as he gives them the life of vocalization. “I do not seek a traditional pack with traditional rules of dominance. In Tindómë it will be earned instead of a contest of who can hold their tail the highest. The right of dominance will come from trades.” What is nature strikes him as utterly barbaric. Leadership, of course, will hold the height of dominance with Morwinyon and Elentári at the pack’s crown if only because a pack needs it’s leaders.

“Beneath leadership will sit those who have earned a mastery in their trade or trades if they have more than one. These masters will form the council and will be crucial to inaugurating pups into their apprenticeships, and if wolves seek to change their primary trade. I think of it all as a balance and the balance cannot be upset. The masters will help to ensure that such does not happen. Beneath the masters, wolves that hold specialities will be next in dominance, then those with the basic trade, followed by the apprentices. Beneath apprentices sits those who have no trade, and then the children.” He explains, laying it out before her in the grand map he has drawn in his mind’s eye, only pausing to glimpse at her as they move through Phantom Hollow to see if she, too, can see this vision. “As the whole pack idea is built upon trades and their correlation to nature and their importance to a pack it will be expected of each member to earn at least one trade. I think three months is plenty of time to earn one basic trade, and if they fail to do so they will no longer be welcomed in Tindómë. There will be a very rare exception but those wolves will sit in the rank of the grey and will never be able to advance higher in the hierarchy unless they commit to a trade. I do not think it is a rank I will be willingly handing out except in extending circumstances.” Mato has yet to hammer out specific details of how or why he would give such an exception but there is plenty of time for that. The time limit strikes Mato as perhaps being a bit harsh but to let wolves sit empty in a rank that is only designed to be a placeholder strikes him as being too generous and defeats the purpose of Tindómë entirely (or so this is how Mato thinks, at any rate). They could join any of the Wild’s numerous packs if they do not wish to commit to at least one trade.

“What do you think?” He inquires of her, truly wanting to hear her honest opinion upon it. He has been thinking on this for quite some time for this branch off was, frankly, a long time coming …before he even left Broken Antler Fen, in truth. And for a moment he offers Seabreeze his rapt attention because he values her opinion and it matters to him much more than he realized it would.

She awarded his words with her rapt and undivided attention as she always did although this time she was guilty of getting lost in them, as well as in the way his bright green eyes sparkled when he spoke so fondly. Tindómë, she repeated after him, It is beautiful.  Will you teach me more of your language?

The yearling tried her best not to interrupt with her ideas as he lay them out before her — but she was only so passionate because she found this structure very agreeable. I don't know if I've told you the trades I plan on taking. Caretaker, bard, midwifery.  I.. haven't really decided. She shrugs, looking to him bashfully.  Of course a girl of such tender temperament would be interested in such soft-hearted trades.  She feared he would think her typical but moreso valued his opinion so she swallowed that fear and desperation. But I am quite fond of this idea you have, Mato.  What will be your position, what may I call you? What can I whisper to you in secret; hidden safely in the woods?

The thought came to her suddenly and it startled her; how posessive that was!  But she also knew that at the moment this was something just between the two of them and she relished in it, if only internally. Her embarrassment only visible through a twitch of her whiskers, she looked back up to him awaiting a response.

“Of course I will,” Mato responds to her request for him to teach her more. The tongue of the druids is far to elegant to be kept to just himself, after all. It is a lilting and beautiful language that he would spread as far and as wide as he could. Umbra dipped ears cup in her direction as they continue to walk — their destination away from Phantom Hollow — as Seabreeze tells him the trades she aspires for. “Those are good trades,” But clearly Mato thought they are all useful and important or else he would not have bothered to include them in his plans. “You don’t have to know right away, and sometimes our minds change and that is ok.” He had once wanted Chronicler but now he seeks Mercenary in it’s stead. A switch that seems all the more practical given very recent developments. “I will call my position Morwinyon; the druid name for the star Arcturus.” It only seemed fitting to the empyrean that he named his rank after a star, after all.

I worry, though; midwifery and caretaking are useless without pups to care for.  Perhaps she would find something better suited, perhaps she might not.  Either way she was concerned about finding something and working on it now before their pack's conception because she feared not being useful.

It was the same thing that drove her to exhaustion in the Vale — her consuming need to feel like her existence mattered.  So she would put her efforts forth viciously for Mato, she would be helping the most that she could in marking borders once they found their home, in recruiting pack members, in hammering out ideas.

Perhaps a counselor, she mused out loud, another tender trade.  It was all she could think of herself now especially with her blossoming feelings and coming to self, that she was too tender and warm-hearted.  Many wolves were not so susceptible to their own earthly desires and yet she found herself dreaming lately — even before they left the Vale — of caring and nurturing, tenderly placing kisses on some other woman's children after bringing them into the world and telling them stories, of comforting another in their sorrow, in singing them to sleep.

She shakes these thoughts, glad that Mato at least thinks her useful even with her head so full; obviously she had not been dealing with her transition to adulthood as easily.  His voice catches her once more and that beautiful language of his falls from his lips — Morwinyon.  She repeats it after him and smiles at its explanation. Does Arcturus have a story?

there is so much speech text in this post, lol. xD

“I wouldn’t call them useless, per say,” Mato frowns. He doesn’t like that word: useless. “it would be exhausting to switch your trade every time someone was having pups or we had an elderly wolf in the pack. If you want to be a midwife and caretaker then be it and when the time comes for children of Tindómë then we will be adequately prepared, won’t we?” He pauses to draw his salmon pink tongue across his lips. “besides there is no such thing as a useless trade even if it does require certain circumstances. They are all equally important and vital to a pack.” But it is clear that this is the way the druid thinks simply because of how Tindómë itself will be structured.

“Arcturus is the brightest star in the Boötes constellation,” He explains, unsure if it is even anything she cares about. Still, he is on the roll and so long as she does not stop or interrupt him Mato will keep speaking. “There are several myths around this constellation. The Babylon’s depicted it as their god Enlil, the leader of their pantheon and a patron of farmers. In a different myth the Greeks claimed that he was the son of Demeter: Philomenus, twin brother of Plutus and a farmer who drove the oxen in the constellation Ursa Major.” Mato pauses and glimpses at her to make sure he did not lose her, or bore her to sleep or anything of the sort. He is not particularly self conscious about his passions but the empyrean realizes that it does not mean that other wolves are interested. “The last myth is the most grim,” He warns taking in a small breath, umbra dipped ears fluttering back to rest at half mast atop his skull.

“Some claim that Boötes is Icarius, a winemaker for Dionysus. He made it so strong that those who drank it appeared poisoned which caused shepherds to avenge their supposedly poisoned friends by killing Icarius. His companion, Maera, brought his daughter Erigone to his body where they both: daughter and companion ended their own lives. The king god, Zeus, honored all three of the by placing them in the stars. Boötes, Virgo, and Canius Minor.” The last had more depth than the others, he thinks, but it is the most sad. Just a story, he tells himself. He is a creature of earth and the heavens and he does not sure his stand on myths: if they are real or just fanciful ramblings of the imagination. Regardless, they make good stories to explain the stars, at the very least.

From here, the pair lapses into a comfortable silence and continue on their way.