The Sentinels where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night

All welcome!

NOTE: Each of the traveling threads is a day apart. ♥ This is day three, March 23, 2017.

A light spring rain began to fall on the morning of the third day, and Lotte, feeling herself uniquely qualified to do so as a former Donnelaith resident, led her wolves into a part of the sequoia grove that had remained intact despite the fires. When the next round of sentries had settled into their patrols, she did her level best to rest as she knew she needed to. Tucking her body against Arturo’s, she poked her nose into the hollow made by the curve of his stifle and the pillow of his flank and closed her eyes — but she was assaulted by a restlessness she could not fight. Tossing and turning, she huffed a soft sigh and rose, walking through the wood with a chilling feeling riding up and down her spine. She felt as though she was walking over corpses — in a way, maybe she was. Deirdre lived in her memory, gliding through the hallowed halls on silver-gilded paws, and Lotte could not help but remember the way the trees had seemed so sentient when the lily-white witch queen had spoken to them. She trusted in the spirit of the Mayfairs to keep her Family safe, but the discomfiting prickling that danced along her skin made her irritable and set her on edge.

“Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you,
and welcome you to join me for this night.
You watch over me always,
protecting and guiding me,
and tonight I thank you.
Your blood runs in my veins,
your spirit is in my heart,
your memories are in my soul.

With the gift of remembrance,
I remember all of you.
You are dead but never forgotten,
and you live on within me,
and within those who are yet to come.”

She sang Emaleth’s song to comfort herself, but allowed her voice to carry across the sands to the bay, across the charred earth to her Family. What she felt was a deep reverence and a deep sorrow, but she kept her voice soothing and reassuring, hopeful and light. It was her assumption that the wolves of Teaghlaigh were content, satiated by the thrill of the hunt and the meat in their bellies.

During Teaghlaigh’s trip to their new territory, Olive will be experiencing the 7 stages of grief — grief over the pain of Dakarai losing (and regaining) his memory, being brutalized, BFW finding them, being demoted and abandoning Ravensblood Forest… and a little bit of postpartum depression. Olive's posts in thread will represent a different stage of grief, dated in order (albeit, a little expedited). This thread represents stage two: pain and guilt. 

Of course, feel free to skip Olive! I’ll bring her in when she is needed and/or addressed.

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The troupe had arrived at the abandoned sentinels on the third day of their travel. Under normal conditions, such trip might have taken the vagrant a day — maybe two, if she were being particularly immersed in the wonders of the world — but their journey was lethargic and dawdling, all at the behest of the pale sylph and her cherubs. Every time she called for the group to pause in the moments, she grit her teeth and steeled herself against the reluctance of the masses. Perhaps Olive had made it all up in her head and convinced herself of such vehemence towards her and her family, but the pain felt very, very, very real to her.

Olive felt remorseful that she continued to vex her own children [first through her mad flight at the Blackfeather Woods, then again through their arduous trek across the wilds] and cause them discomfort. Their small, nascent minds would never remember such hardships and somehow that fact almost made the torment in her heart worse.

Olive felt liable for the strenuous transit that the pregnant Lotte subjected herself to, all too willingly carrying the pace and spirit of the entire group upon her buxom shoulders. The woman, who Olive felt intimately connected with due to their mutual maternal experience [but remained somewhat of a stranger], had been too kind to the pale miscreant. Olive felt undeserving of her kind words and selfless gestures, though she wondered if there was some sense of artifice to such actions. Genuine or not, Olive nurtured a healthy sense of guilt about forcing Lotte’s hand and making her leave the sanctity of the Ravensblood Forest so late in her pregnancy. 

Olive felt anguished at the fact that so many others were put into danger at her and Dakarai’s hands [though, in her mind, she assumed most of the blame; Dakarai was entirely  faultless and wholesome in his  choice to defend her]. Many of the pack was new, though several had simple recommitted themselves to Teaghlaigh and their leader. The shrouded druid was thankful for their arrival and support [if it weren’t for their contributions, Arturo may have dispatched the babes upon their birth] — and begged the heavens that the trials of relocation would not prove their faith in Teaghlaigh was misplaced. 

Olive felt helpless in the face of such destruction [and Teaghlaigh’s own survival], having passed by the cliffside dwelling of Blackrock Depth and using the burnt hull of the sentinels as a temporary haven. The coast, which once bustled with the activities of their allies, laid vacant. Perhaps this was the only good part of leaving Ravensblood Forest — it pained Olive to be in the presence of such fallen greatness and she felt uncomfortable [albeit thankful] that Teaghlaigh had survived the fall of the axis relatively unscathed. But why had they survived, when so many others perished? It was an answer that she prayed the stars would reveal to her; but alas, they never did. 

But most of all, Olive felt unwelcome. When the group hunkered down and found repose once more and Lotte began to lift the spirits of the group with a song, Olive encouraged her brood to wriggle to the outskirts of the group. Their tiny little legs were barely strong enough to lift their rotund little bodies but the three babes were tenacious in their own ways.  There were sentries around so the mother felt safe even in her remote position. She very much preferred to remain outside the direct line of sight of the pack, as Olive felt her greatest threat was the judgement and hatred of the family... not whatever dangers existed within the bleakness of the sentinels — and from her spot in the back, Olive’s eau-de-nil gaze searched for her dark knight; the only one who truly understood the pain which wracked her soul wholly.


 

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He knew that something was wrong with his wife, but not exactly the reason. He could figure it was the treatment Arturo and the rest of the family was giving them both, due to their actions. It was the only thing that would make sense for her to be upset about. He didn't mean to follow her around, but the deep sadness and pain rolling off of her was scaring him greatly. He had taken a moment to pinpoint where she was exactly before leaving for a few moments. He searched for a long while for something, anything that might make Olive see the brightness in their situation.


As he searched he came across a feather. It was large and consisted of whites and golds, reddish browns and speckles of black. It was breathtaking and was so perfectly formed that he picked it up in his maw and carried it back to her. Bright blue eyes looked up at her with a weary sort of love before he placed the feather at her feet.He hoped she would do her thing, Stating the significance of the object and what it meant to her and the spiritualness of everything but he would be just as happy if she smiled and took it as a gesture of his love. 


"I haven't gotten you a gift in a long while mo cuishle. I apologize for that." he said softly his eyes studying her face. The sadness he saw there was heartbreaking to him, and he squinted his eyes shut for a moment before moving forward and tucking her against his chest, his neck and chin wrapping around her own dainty neck in a tight embrace.

She had not been there when the world had swallowed up their sister forest. She had not been there, but she could have helped; Lotte had needed more support then but Hemlock had been razing lives all her own and putting an end to the Hellcat that had taken Palisander's life. This was different, she reasoned, and while she'd followed the Family like a faded flame on it's outskirts this time she did not stay away. She approached @Lotte and @Arturo with the findings from her last foray away from the pack and among the outer fringes of the untouched area of the Sentinels. She didn't have much thyme but she'd found a few little sprigs and brought them to the lord and lady. She sat down, waiting as Lotte sang her song and she hoped - hoped that she might find the same hope that it seemed Lotte had in her heart. 

She nodded towards the sparse herb leaves. "They will help you sleep." Hemlock murmured quietly. "The trip will take a lot of energy." She added, as if it wasn't known. It wasn't as if she didn't think her friends knew, but still, she fretted over them and it felt like making up for lost time. She'd ran the perimeter of their little group, charred earth a solemn reminder of what she'd missed - this, this seemed different. It was a new start, but Hemlock wasn't sure she was ready to let go of what they'd had.

Blinking rain from her lashes, Lotte pushed her gravid frame into a sitting position to greet Hemlock with a warm smile. “Rakeet, liekkikukka,” she murmured amicably enough, regarding the leaves with some reservation. “If I sleep, will I wake when I wish?” she questioned. In a hushed undertone, she confessed, “I must be strong — I cannot afford to be weak now.” It was the added pressure of having bonafide Teaghlaigh members from its first incarnation in Quicksilver Hollow that troubled Lotte so. She worried that Declan, Conan, and Lia would be disappointed in their new Banríon’s typically jovial nature; after all, the contrast between her personality and Arturo’s personality was immense. Plus, they had all been part of this culture for longer than Lotte had even been alive. It was a lot to live up to, all things considered.

Lotte watched quietly as Olive and Dakarai extricated themselves from the group, dismay flickering in her moonbright eyes. The songbird was no empath, but she didn’t have to be. The mist-shrouded druid’s pain was easy to perceive — it wafted from her in waves. As alpha female, the rogue felt slightly responsible for the older female’s grief — but there was frustration there, too. She found it hard to process exactly what she felt, but it was somewhere between, “What right do you have to grieve, you who have put your Family in such an awful position?” and “If I could, I would take this pain from you. No mother should have to reveal her cubs to the world before she — and they are ready.” It was a hard line to walk, and it was difficult not to feel bitter about the den she and Arturo and left behind. The den where their children ought to have been born.

Pulling her thoughts away from the scarred pair with a considerable amount of effort, Lotte refocused on Hemlock. As a vicious cramp seized her, she swung her muzzle around and brushed her whiskers against her convex flank. “Peace, my little bears,” she murmured in the language of her beloved tundra. “Peace and sleep.” She hummed a few bars of the lullaby her mother had sung. “Hemlock,” she said in a low, urgent voice. “I fear — not only for Olive’s children, but for my own. Is there harm in taking these leaves for sleep? My cubs — they eat whatever I eat, yes? Is it good for them to sleep?”

skipping around since they're two separate groups I didn't think a strict post order was needed? sorry loves <3

 The concerns that Lotte rose were normal - understandable. Hemlock's viridian gaze followed the disgraced pair briefly before she snapped her attention back to Lotte. She refused to let herself fester in her feelings of displeasure and anger, there was little that could be done in that moment. It was already done. Olive and Dakari had done it to themselves, although this was more than any of them could comprehend right then. The choices of the parents punished the children, the family, everyone. She gave a soft sigh, reaching out to press her snout against the soft of Lotte's side; not adding pressure but just feeling as the children squirmed and rippled. 

"The rest might be nice for all of you." Hemlock murmured softly. "This will not make you sleep past time for us to move again, but you need your rest - and it will bring you more strength." Hemlock could understand the Banrion's stance but this was different - they all had to focus and help one another after all and it was her job to tend to the Alpha and the cubs. "It will not hurt the cubs, and it will help them settle too. How much does it hurt?" She asked, hoping for an honest answer. Her voice remained low and she allowed only the Alpha to hear her, not wanting to concern any of their packmates.

She would need to find more for Lotte to help with the pain - it would no doubt get worse the further and further they moved. 

Yup! No post order for this series of threads. ♥
Going back to the olden days of RP where everyone just kind of did what they liked.

When it came to admitting weakness, Lotte could be notoriously stubborn, so when Hemlock asked about her pain level the Banríon regarded her a little warily. “You can see that I hurt?” she questioned in dismay. A disappointed huff plumed from her lips. “Well,” she said grumpily, “maybe I do. Only sometimes. Only a little.” Lotte liked Hemlock, but she didn’t like admitting that she wasn’t completely up to par. Her next words, while not completely truthful, were as honest as she could make them.

TRUTH: “It feels as if they are twisting my insides — ”

TRUTH: “ — and I am forced to stop and get my wind back — ”

HALF-TRUTH: “ — but it is here and gone so fast; I have hardly noticed it.”

BLATANT LIE: “ I am sure all will be well.”

In truth, Lotte was “sure” of very few things these days. She did not want to travel across the Teekons to raise her children in a place she’d never seen before; she did not want to stop every few hours to grant Olive’s children a reprieve; she did not want to give Blackfeather Woods reason to laugh at Teaghlaigh’s hasty retreat. It was a gnawing hole in her heart that she had offered gentle Coelacanth to the dark mistress as part of a trade, regardless of the outcome. Lotte had done these things to protect the children in her womb and the Family she had sworn herself to — it went without saying that her love for Arturo was paramount in driving her to such ruthlessness, and if given the chance she’d have done it all over again the exact same way.

Abruptly she sought him, throwing her small, bearlike ears forward upon her skull and casting her argent gaze about until she spotted her elegant gangster in gentleman’s clothing. A sigh went through her as she regarded his prone form, so precious and fragile in slumber. “For him I would do it all again,” she said aloud, not fully realizing that she was giving voice to a stream of consciousness that Hemlock was not privy to. She recalled the sleeping herbs she was supposed to take in looking at him, but her expression when she turned to the fiery wise woman was fiercely determined. “I will not take them now,” she decided, “for spirits walk here and I wish to stand vigil. This was my home, once.”

Turning her head to the plateau that loomed to the southwest, “I will take them when we reach the plateau,” she said, judging that it would take them one or two days to get that far. She was sure that she would be able to sleep soundly in the weald — it was a special place for the Banríon and her black-masked love and she planned to savor their last evening there. There were hollows, nooks, and crannies to bed down in, and it was a familiar enough location that she would feel more than comfortable doing so. Sleeping in the open, though, had always been difficult for the shadow-wrapped rogue. If there was any time she would need a sleeping aid, it’d be on a wide, tall plateau in the middle of the afternoon.

Hemlock lifted an eyebrow, watching Lotte for a moment before the Banrion finally relents and admits a tiny bit to her. Hemlock is well aware it's a genuine response, that she has pushed and pushed and broken through a bit of the wall Lotte puts up as sovereign. "I am skilled," She saids with a hint of mirth; certainly not at the pain of the Banrion but at her response. "You did not know me before, but I have made it a passion to be able to see people. Yours is a strength many will look to - but right now, you are mine to tend to." She offered with an easy smile and the slight wag of her tail. 

The small soft sentence of the Banrion brought a quiet little sense of peace to Hemlock, breathing in the notion of Lotte's devotion and her love; not only for Arturo and their children but for what Hemlock knows to be over them all. It is not only for the sake of their family but for the Family as a whole; otherwise why leave? They could have simply cast out those who had caused them pain and yet they sheltered them at risk to all of the children. Seeing how Banrion moved for the sake of their leader Hemlock was more certain that what she did was not out of duty but of love. Hemlock would extend her love to the Banrion herself. 

"I can get more, with each passing hour of spring there will be more for me to give you. Herbs for you, for the children too; things to help them as they grow within you and even after." Hemlock explained quietly. "When you lived here, what was it like? I never explored the Sentinels, I was still recovering and Palisander..." She drew in a shaky breath. "We were so rarely from one another's side." 

Lotte chuckled warmly at the mirth that colored the healer’s alluring timbre. “Yours,” she repeated, waiting for the inevitable ruffling of her feathers at the insinuation that she belonged to anyone other than herself [and maybe Dagfinn]. It came, but it was muted, and it melted beneath the idea of passing off her self-imposed responsibility for just a little while. “Very well, liekkikukka — I am yours. Do with me what you will.” She suited action to speech, flopping as dramatically as she dared to the earth.

It was from this vantage point, peering up at the viridian-eyed dryad, that Lotte saw in intimate detail the delicate quivering of the pale throat as Hemlock’s breath trembled with feeling. “There was a tradition in Donnelaith,” murmured the young mother-to-be. “Samhain — ‘a time to honor our dead and usher in a blessed new year.’” She quoted the night watcher carefully. Lotte had never been close with many of the wolves of the wood, but she respected their traditions and their memories all the same. “I believe for the Mayfairs it was linked to a certain day of the year.” Her voice took on a higher pitch as she mimicked the voice of the witch queen, searching for a lighter, more melodic soprano than her own alto: “Deirdre Mayfair, the witch queen, rose before the grave of her father and said, ‘Lasher Mayfair, our father…he founded this place, and wished for it to know only peace. He was a good man, a kind man, who loved many, and who was loved in turn.’” Lotte mused to herself, “Emaleth Mayfair, the night watcher, Deirdre’s sister, wished for those present to speak of wolves who had been lost — but none spoke. Until the fire — well, life has been kind to me and to my ilk. Now I add the names of Deirdre, Starbuck, Furiosa, Emaleth, and Doe to those lost.” She paused, thinking of Coelacanth.

“I am not a kind wolf,” came the unwelcome realization.

Shaking her head, she recalled Hemlock’s original question. “Walk with me,” she suggested gently. “I will make you see what was instead of what is.” She rolled over and got to her paws.

Hemlock gave a little laugh, leaning down to tenderly groom Lotte. It was an action that was comfortable, and while she'd always found Arturo approachable it wasn't something that she'd ever actually done. She'd never groomed him or fussed over him this way, and Lotte was a different matter entirely. Hemlock felt naturally comfortable with her, and while the Banrion could be entirely territorial and distant she hadn't been so far with Hemlock. Whether this was just pity or if it was something different she wasn't particularly worried. It would be helpful to integrate Hemlock as quickly back into some semblance of her former self. "I had gathered stones for Furiosa and Palisander - a small token that we could visit whenever we felt the need to honor our fallen." But she had not taken the stones, instead, the skull, and at times it burned her up. Once they were settled she might go and gather them again, but it ultimately depended on how long it was until they felt confident again.

"Only if you promise we will go slow and that you will paint the proper picture of your Donnelaith." Hemlock counters; she will not be responsible for more discomfort from her Banrion. Going slower will be easier on them both but Hemlock masked it in the desire to see the world as Lotte had known it before. "Have you two considered names yet?" Hemlock asked curiously, wondering what their young would be called just as much as she'd once considered her own. "I had hoped for a Basil, maybe a Tansy, but we had never seriously discussed having children." Hemlock admitted. 

@Hemlock, want to fade our part of the thread with your post? You can just assume that Lotte told Hemlock everything that happened to her in the Teekons so far. ♥ Then we can wait for Olive and @Dakarai to weigh in. I know Rachel said she’s good to archive whenever so I’ll wait to hear from Chey if she’s okay with it.

At mention of the memorial stones, Lotte turned her head toward the territory they’d left behind. “We cannot go back for them. We will have to raise new ones,” she murmured apologetically, her argent eyes somber. “We are already taking a grave chance by moving this way — it would have been better to send wolves in pairs or singly and stagger the dispersal. We will leave a thicker scent trail this way, one that will linger for at least half a moon — more if it rains, and it will, with the spring thaw.” The soot-stockinged rogue knew a thing or two about tracking, and the whole situation was far from ideal. She kept her voice pitched low, though, not wanting to worry the pack.

“I am sorry, Hemlock,” Lotte intoned softly. “For your losses.” She turned back to the fire-kissed wolf, speaking not only of Furiosa and Palisander but of their memorial — and, of course, the forest itself.

As the pack’s alpha female, Lotte felt that the responsibility fell to her and to Arturo to beg forgiveness for such crimes — and maybe that wasn’t really the case, but she sighed regretfully nonetheless before forcibly setting her dark mood aside in an attempt to bolster Hemlock’s spirit. She didn’t recognize the healer’s plan for what it was — a desire to slow down the thickly-furred firecracker — and because she didn’t, she complied as she was meant to. The Kali woman was wily, to say the least. “For me, it all started here…” she began, pausing at the border where she had first followed her brother and singing a few bars of the silly song she’d wrote for him:

“Rakeet, o keepers of the wood
where many wolves in judgment stood!
In judgment mayhaps too shall stand
this smoking Ansbjørn firebrand,
for in your ranks, a chocolate bear —
rotund of torso, thick of hair —
has found his place and made his home,
no longer these wilds to roam.”

They could not go back. She tensed, her eyes widening for a moment as she had not considered something so simple. She had kept herself from the pack for the last few days of their stay in the forest, they had been secretive and it was shifted into something else and she - she had to believe it, she had to trust it. She could not form words for a moment as her Banrion told her what she already knew. This was a game of calculated risks and they took them for people who did not even appreciate it. What the pack did as a whole for them, what they had all done, and never had they been thanked or given any sense of peace from those they protected. 

She did not want to be bitter and yet she was. She did not want to hate and yet she did. She did not want to be petty and yet it was all in her blood at that point, her very soul tinged with contempt. She had left her marital home and she left her husband's grave and she was given no solace in return and she was angry. "You have nothing to apologize for." Hemlock said, and did not fool herself into thinking she could mask the emotions in her. 

Hemlock allowed herself something different, to see as Lotte had, to know things the way that she had; and she was grateful for the reprieve of her own bitter thoughts and to know the Banrion better. When she did return Lotte to her husband it was with the promise of fetching the herbs for both of them to take to help them sleep - they would all need their rest of the remainder of the trip.