Honeyed Pasture Water stings the lungs

long post, please don't feel the need to match up to it! this babe just lost her family :')

She had faced the torrential downpour the coast had to offer her; she kept running and running through it all, determined to survive. Through the rain, through the wind, until she had found a place safe to collapse. She lost track of time, did she sleep during this time? Did she eat? She wasn't sure what happened in this spand of what felt to be seconds when it was really a few days at most. The coast was swallowed by the ocean, with unforgiving winds and water being poured out. She lost the scents of the others when she was seemingly left alone after Minerva left. She waited for them, but as she saw waves grow bigger. She moved up the shore more to where she had seen the pale wolfess. The pasture of grass, above the sea and away from this treacherous water.

Never did she expect that this decision would save her life. She managed to escape with her life as she witnessed massive waves rip through the beach and tear apart the land beneath its waters. It felt as if her heart was being drowned under these large waves, what was the fate of everyone else? But now... she knew that if anyone was still down there, the ocean had claimed their lives. She hoped and prayed to the stars that no one was dead, but praying and hoping only went so far. She decided not to think about it.

She was freezing, not remembering when her coat was shaken out to rid itself of the extra water. All Gracious felt was exahusted, fearful too. Rather than think more, she took a survival intitative and shook out her coat. It felt better to relieve herself of the weight, though she grew unsteady on her paws and stumbled to the ground in a flash. Everything was dark around her, and perhaps she may give into this darkness to take her away. The ocean was loud behind her, but it wouldn't reach her here at this moment. She was free, maybe for a minute or two. 

The grass pillowed itself underneath, loose blades surrounded her and tucked her closer to the dirt. It was a bed she never knew would be so comfortable in a time like this. She looked at the grass blades that helt bits of dew, she heard the crickets and other small animals surrounding her, she felt... at peace, just for a moment. She shut her eyes, hoping to sleep.

ee snatches this!
morning post blehh

Thin, hymnal: "Meldenya?"
a vague unknowingness shrouding the chords; first, for her hesitance of ever have returning to this gilded little realm of forsaken fronds; second, for the manner in which these old bones lie beneath her.

The dove-boned silver does not think her elder has been trodden with hoof; and by the sodden salt upon grayed coat, she can only assume that the argent has been sent from the spitting seas; which she and hers have sighted through rises in their Weald.

Neither does the stricken know whom of hers has dared near enough to salvage souls from the ravaged shores. It might have been prudent, to have sewn her lips shut and to let the argent rest; and for but a moment felt an echo of the weight within that marrow in that of her own.

For now, Andraste is quiet;
watchful and wisping warden for both of their persons.

Gracious slept, slept for what felt could have an eternity. However, her ability to keep track of time was lost after the calamities she faced. After a few minutes of quiet breathing, her eyes cracked themselves open, breaking the barrier of crusty salt that attempted to hide her grey eyes away from the world. She felt tired and wondered why her sleep didn't rejuvenate her. 

She turned her head to face the sky. It was dark still, the stars were perhaps in the same place they were in when she first landed in this place. She exhaled abruptly, though finally noticed that someone else was there before her. Gracious was not sure who this wolf was, but there was no aggression, no threat of attack while she was in this bad state of mind and health. The scent somehow was similar to the place surrounding her, perhaps she knew this land more than the ocean knew Gracious.

Weakly, she offered a chuff. An invitation to step closer, if the other chose to. Perhaps, even slip a word in. Whatever felt best, Gracious didn't have the strength to force anything to go a certain way.

sorry for the wait, wacky week urghh

Andraste would never again mother;
yet, should she be branded fanatic for the nurturing of those not of her flesh, her blood; sneered as good shepherd; for living the life of one absolutely struck into a new, fathomless vessel; known as maddened, unhinged for all she would do from this hour and next; all by those who would not understand unless they wished to—

The silver winged near and nearer; saw the gleam of eyes that greeted the stars first, and then herself; heard the huff of a chuff; invitation. It was all she needed.

Inspective, tender touches;
the rabbit-pink nose limned the arch of an ashen ear, nostrils flickering; remembering the stir of brine within her own blood. Then, with a halting endeavor, the stricken eventually allowed herself to drape about her elder wanderer's threshold; ribs tentative the the worn spine.

Should there be even the faintest show of fury, she would retreat. For now:
"I am here,"  with a dove's tip of the shorn crown. ... How had the seas wrung this foamflower so soundly?

She saw her inch closer, quiet and soft. Gracious felt thankful, even more so when she felt the tender touches of the other's nose to her body. It was welcomed, all of it was welcome. She had nothing left to call her own, not a home, not a friend, not a family. Unknowingly, the only wolf she could consider family had already lost his life to the waves. Interaction was needed, but the simple sensation of touch and connection with another, it was what Gracious really wanted.

Perhaps the younger female picked up on this hidden need of Gracious. Thus, why she moved closer and shared her body with the mountain woman. Gracious didn't know how long the other would be here to comfort her, not an idea in the world. Yet, the short time the two had together was enough for Gracious to feel safe. "Thank you..." she whispered out, weak but determined to tell her. There was no one to catch her when she felt like falling during this period of chaos and destruction. It felt like the world was ending, as if Armageddon was upon her.

Yet, the soothing touch of another in this meadow of green grass, colorful flowers, and the chirps of crickets beneath the moon's cold gaze was enough for Gracious to think past her tragedies. She breathed quietly and turned her head back to nuzzle the cheek of the other, to represent her thanks.

A breath of affirmation: "I must get you to my Weald."

In the mists would she not only find better accommodations but better easement to her ailments. First, however — with the same nose that'd reached for the cloaked female did the stricken begin to prod. Gently she went, following the line of heaved shoulder and along the pronged ribs. Repeated the words of he who had lain with her, once upon her own desolation:  "Tell me where ze pain is, where it is not,"  a quiet hum,  "and if you think you are able enlugh to stand with me."

The sibyl would wait for however long, though; and would only commence when the argent was ready.

A weald, such a strange name for perhaps a home. Gracious often spoke in a more articulate way than most, but perhaps she had met her match. She felt the prods against her, and although she flinched a few times, she didn't feel deep pain. Just exhaustion and its nasty side effects. 

"I am not broken," she said softly, "tired from running. My lungs are on fire." She felt like smoke should have billowed from her mouth as her lips parted, the heat from inside of her was almost too much. But the night's temperature would soon help her cool down, and perhaps the calmness of her visitor. She struggled to get her legs underneath her. "I can walk, just-" she said, catching herself just in time as she felt one of her knees buckle, "need some help."

She does not think she's touch upon deep bruises or, heavens forbid, ruptured discs; though undeniably weathered, her greyed ward was still hale in a manner that seemed hopeful. This was as evident as could be, mostly by the words which then bedded down upon patient ears; and now she must be an anchor, for however long;
so the stricken says no more, and as the shrouded she-wolf begins to shift her limbs beneath her, her pale shoulder found the weight of Gracious' sodden chest. Until she found the footing of her hinds, she would remain here to prop her up.

"Slowly,"  came the murmured omen, listless; felt the ragged, briney breath upon the back of her skull, but began to assist her as she could in rising all the same.

"Slowly."

Gracious listened and quietly took the other's words seriously. She would know what to do more in this situation than the mountain woman did, her dazed state of exhaustion would eventually cloud her mind again and leave her confused. Until then, Gracious eased up on the weight she let fall onto Andraste's body. She feared she could break the girl if she let herself fall completely, that would do no good.

She hummed as she attempted to find her foot placing, when she felt steady, she turned her attention to the wisp. "I am ready" she said, tired eyes hoped to catch hers. She made the first step, then another. It was a slow movement, almost like a dance. Just one foot in front of the other, not worrying or rushing but simply paying attention to footfall.

ee we did it! good job <3

This weight upon her marred spine; so different from—
—but it was more drapery than anything, tattered; fraying at the edges as she herself had once been. Still; she let her elder rest upon her as she gained the bearings of her cardinal points. The waif lingered, though, even as the other managed to ease away from her stilted figure, even with her reassurances.

Her own step was light; as if retracing those of some tentative waltz. Her story ... no, she would ask after why the sea had spurned her so. Later; much later, aftwr she had been shown some manner of accommodation and Andraste would be able to gather some properties for her ailments.

The silver would allow her to lie amongst her mists for however long she needed;
and should she choose to drift from them without notion, then ... all would remain well.

The walk was silent, but perhaps it was best to keep it that way. Both would need to spare their breath for the journey to the weald, the unknown homeland of this dove who came to Gracious' rescue. Perhaps she may return to the coast one day to swallow the fear she now holds witht eh scent of salt and the feeling of sand underneath her. But until then, Gracious would stay inland, stay with Andraste and whomever else she had taken to her home.

Gracious was finally rescued.

what a lovely thread, so excited for the next ones! <3