Stavanger Bay 8 dogs 8 banjos (Optional Packtivity)

Optional Pack Activity - Donnelaith is also invited. See this thread for more information.

The sky was black and empty, save for the secretive twinkle of the stars. Atoll stared hard at the place where the moon should have been, and felt a secret rejoicing in her heart when it did not deign to appear. The no-moon was upon them, and although she was far from home and therefore from such traditions, she felt that it would no be so bad to bring some traditions from her old family into this new one.

Knowing that, somewhere, her mother and brother were doing the same thing, Atoll threw back her head and gave a inviting howl to her brethren, and within another errant thought, to those who resided in Donnelaith. It would be good to share joy and meat and stories, and would hopefully strengthen the bonds both within their pack and outside of it.

It'd been a hard few weeks, after all, even though the food was plenty and the weather fair. They had to use this time of good graces lest it be forgotten in times of trouble. Winter was never far off, after all, and it would be good to have something by which to remember the fertile summer months.

Besides - there was much to celebrate. Her heat was just abating, though the scent was still on her fur. With any luck, new life would be even now forming within her. A blessing like that had to be shared with others, even if she was not yet sure she wanted to announce it to the world. It would be enough to be joyful with them.

Please, please let it be joyful...

Excited, anxious, dancing in place, Atoll waited for her pack and the others to arrive.

murgash had gone for a leisurely stroll through the caches (taking stock -- both literally and physically in his mouth) when the howl came. he recognized it as atoll's and swung his slobbery muzzle around, dirt still crumbling from the half-rotted fish held between his teeth.

it was not out of duty or subservience that he heeded doe's call -- rather, it came out of his duty to perform. his stomach's hunger was abated, but doe had eluded his advances yet -- perhaps tonight would be the man's lucky and fateful night.

the repulsive beast quickened his pace when he saw doe was alone, and a flittering hit his stomach that was not the doing of the putrid fish he had just consumed. she looked anxious, excitable -- perhaps he could put that to bed. with a roguish grin (one that did him no favors and exposed every crummy, plaque-lined tooth in his crooked snout) he sided up to the fair lady -- had he arms he would have thrown them about her in an uncomfortable, too-personal gesture of camaraderie. "oi! de beaut-ee-ful loidy -- wot's de occayshiun, darlin'? he half-bellowed, half-sang, his baritone an offensive bugle probably too close to her ears for comfort.

Lagertha perked at the call, raising her head from the stream she was drinking from. A brow cocked curiously, wondering what the occasion was. It was only recently that they had had a pack meeting. Lagertha had been certain that she saw figures dance on the Sea's surface, drunk on the wine. It wasn't likely something the Viking would soon forget.

Doe was whom she first saw, glad to see the witch doctor given Doe seemed usually busy these days. Lagertha smiled at her, dipping her head to Atoll respectfully. She turned her smile on the ugly beast nearby, unfamiliar to her. He certainly wasn't a looker, but the Shield-maiden could not begrudge him that. 

Settling on the fringe curiously, Lagertha turned her eyes on the food hungrily.

The Atoll's call rose through the night. The gangster had been taking a patrol along the Bay's borders, pausing so many feet to sniff at them. Despite that her call had tapered off into the blackened sky mere seconds ago he did not stop his patrol. He'd nearly reached the end and he intended to finish it before his made his way towards Doe. His head lowered, fierce eyes of red-orange settling on the writhing shadows of the territory beyond their western border, his black, leathery nostrils flared as he inhaled the scents around. It was clear of unwanted visitors and intruders but to ensure that it stayed that way he scratched his paw against the grass, letting the scent glands in his paw pads add his scent to the other's that littered the borders. His patrol done, he turned his back to the world outside of Blackrock Depths and made his way towards where the Atoll's call had risen from.

Arturo was not the first to arrive: there was an extremely mangy thing that the coywolf assumed was a wolf close to Doe. He thought he understood the lure. Her heat might have been abating but the scent was still an allure upon her natural perfume. He drew his salmon pink tongue along his leathery nose, trying not to linger upon it. She was not his and despite what instinct demanded of him he would show restraint. Thankfully, this was made easy by the fact that the scent was not as strong as it had been when she'd been in her full blown heat. Fiery, red-orange gaze slid to the silver draped woman — realizing that he knew neither of these wolves, though could not assume the same of Riptide. The two of them didn't share knowledge well with one another, but he hardly cared.

He wasn't his devout, unhinged counterpart. The gangster dipped his head to Doe in a respectful and gentlemanly manner, his gaze then sliding to the meats she had gathered with muted curiosity.

The call is familiar but she isn't sure why. She only knows she has to go to it. Qilaq offers one sweep of the den for Amayo and Appeh only to realize she's alone—something she easily shrugs off—and picks herself off the ground. The bone she'd been chewing on is temporarily forgotten as she stumbles out of the den into the cool air. She blinks a few times to orient herself, uncertain which way to go. Neither of the wolves she's grown fond of is there to guide her and a worried, shaky breath escapes her. Qilaq waits only a moment for the appearance of the two but knows she'll miss something if she doesn't search for it soon. 

 A gust of salty wind carries Amayo to her and while her nose wrinkles with the irritation of the ocean, her feet speed up to bring her closer to the woman. Upon the sandy terrain she sees her and the girl bounds forward (or tries to) through the sand with an excitement that makes it difficult to get a grip of it. She takes a few falls (and mouthfuls of sand) before she makes it to the crowd. It is then she notices the others, giving them a brief look as she freezes in her tracks. Her legs burn with the sudden extra work from the ground and with slight hesitation, she eventually works through the unsteady ground to Amayo.

Wolves are still welcome to trickle in. Post order does not matter at this point, but please only post once per 24-hours. There are no set rules to den nights, so feel free to have them talk amongst themselves or suddenly start playing/sparring or anything like that. Drama also welcome. Enjoy.

The night was certainly ripe for it - the winds were only just changing, and the heat was still in the sand but already quickly cooling. Atoll laid on her belly to absorb the last vestiges of the sand's warmth, shivering a tiny bit as a chill breeze ruffled her fur.

Murgash was the first to arrive, already seeming to know the convention of such nights. She invited his nearness, and panted her approval of her jovial manner. Before she could answer him, sweet Lagertha slipped out of the night, and Atoll stretched to neck to nose affectionately at the other woman. Not even the appearance of Riptide could dull her spirits, now - all were welcome to den nights. There were no exceptions.

Atoll was saddened to see that none from Donnelaith had yet appeared, but the night was still young, and there would be many more no-moon nights in which to partake.

"Tonight is the dark of the moon,"  she said without preamble, pausing to clean crusty sand off of Quill's nose as she drew near. "Where I was born, it was a time to be together under the stars - we would share stories, and song and dance. So - who will tell a story? Who will remind us what it means to be a pack?"

If no one volunteered, Atoll has many to share. She was interested, however, to hear of her packmate's history, or whatever tales the could weave in lieu of that.

totally meant to add her earlier but forgot that she was tagged!

Tansea was nervous as she left behind the gargantuan trees of Donnelaith, trading the forest for the sea as she was called. The witch did not recognize the voice but it had called for her and surely, if this unknown pack wished any harm on her, Donnelaith would avenge her. She might not be very important to the pack but it was the principle of the thing.

Such group gatherings were not the dryad's cup of tea, large numbers unnerved her. The group before her was not extremely large, two women and two men along with a child. The women were both slender, the brown agouti smaller than the silver. The two men were both dark though one was taller and skinnier, not  ugly like the squat one. 

Tansea padded to the group, catching the words of the agouti woman as she got closer. Tansea chose to sit near the taller of the dark men, it seemed as if he was of the same quiet strain. 

The witch chose not to speak, assuming that agouti spoke of their pack and not Donnelaith. She was still uncertain why Donnelaith had been called, waiting tensely for any of her pack members to show up.

I was going to let the others respond first, but Tansea probably needs special attention XD

Even as she spoke, the approach of a stranger - one whose cadence of steps she did not know - reached her ears. They were quirked toward the woman before she appeared over the lip of the shore, and Atoll got slowly to her feet (encouraging @Qilaq to stay back) and took a few steps toward the unfamiliar shewolf, scenting the air as she did. Though she did not know the woman, the smell of Donnelaith was woven into her own. A friend, then.

"Hello, stranger," she said brightly, bemused by the number of Donnelaith's ranks that she still did not know by sight or name. "Come and join us - someone is about to tell a story." At this, she twisted her head around to her packmates to see if any of them were going to take the cue. At this, she also added, "Donnelaith is also welcome to share stories - this is a time to strengthen our bonds and grow closer in our alliance. For how can you live with your backs to strangers? It is better to know us, so that our bond can be with all of Donnelaith, and not just with Deirdre," she explained, eyes softening toward the pale woman. "Will you tell us your name? This is kind Lagertha, noble Murgash, you sit near Riptide, and here is Quill, a cub of the pack."

She tipped her nose toward each pack member in turn, not knowing that the dark coywolf went by another name, at times. She had never met Arturo and had no desire to, though she would certainly like him better than his sea witch counterpart. Their first interactions had been by no means terrible, but fear of him had grown like weeds in her mind. Was he a pretender, hoping to usurp her position? The real thing, knowing that she was being untrue? (Though indeed, it had been many weeks since last she'd thought herself a fraud.) Whatever the case, his presence gave her much unrest. Sometimes, she thought about doing something about it...

But tonight was not the night. Her attention would stay on Tansea, unless Arturo's reaction was more than a flinch.

"I have a tale"

She sidled up to the group, the coyote among the wolves, yellowed eyes gleaming with intelligence. She did not fear, for she knew she was under the protection of Atoll. She moved silently and made to stand close to the woman who had saved her, eyes on the wolves before her. She decided to enlighten them with a tale, for dozens of myths swirled at the forefront of her mind, gifts from a rich upbringing, she merely had to pick one. 

But which one? That of the foolish bragging wolf, that spoke of foolish pride, the magical one of transformations and mysterious islands, or the tale of two lovers, tragic at it's end? Or, perhaps, the one of the foolish mortal that challenged the mighty Goddess. The last would do, she decided, she would save the others for another occasion.

"Once, there existed a..." she paused, the legend spoke of a coyote, and yet she was surrounded by wolves. Adapt. "wolf, one swift of paw and with mighty strength. She was perhaps one of the greatest hunters to ever grace the earth, however, proud and greedy, and shared none of her rich spoils with her kin. So proud was she, she compared herself even to the greatest hunter, the goddess of the hunt herself. The goddess was angered by such foolish pride, and took the form of an old wolf on the earth to speak to the girl, and warm her of her pride. And yet the girl scoffed, disregarding the crone's words and challenging the goddess skills again, saying that she would surely win in a contest."

She paused, looking around her at the small crowd, before continuing. "Enraged, the goddess threw away her mortal veil, revealing her true form. She ordered a contest, one between herself and the foolish mortal. When, after the contest reached a conclusion and the mortal failed, she threw herself from a cliff in shame and fear of the goddesses wraith. But as she fell, her body warped and twisted, becoming small and weak in stature, and thus the perfect prey animal. She landed upon the earth, the wolf turned rabbit, and immediately the goddess set wolves upon her, to hunt until the end of time. And thus the hunter became the hunted, humble at long last." she finished, surveying the circle with cool eyes as she awaited a reaction, not truly caring what they thought of the tale, but, perhaps, only a little bit.

Riptide. The Atoll had introduced him to the pallid forest women as his sea witch counterpart and the gangster fought the urge to grimace. As it so happened he (thankfully) was not Riptide — of whom had been uncharacteristically absent for a while but certainly not enough to give Arturo hope. The pallid forest woman had claimed a seat close to him, and feeling it was rather customary, he offered her an acknowledged dip of his head though he did not speak. There hadn't been much time between her arrival and Doe's eagerness to greet their neighbor. Arturo himself did not remember being personally introduced to the Atoll but it was obvious that Riptide was ...acquainted with her. This explained why she introduced him as Riptide and not Arturo on default. He considered correcting her, wanting to shudder about trudging through this activity hearing the sea witch's name upon her and the other's lips. It was like being confused for his identical, twin brother. Except Riptide was a demon drudged up within his own mind and not a separate entity.

A coyote made herself known then, appearing from the shadows and begun to weave a tale of goddesses, mortals and magic. In a way, it kind of reminded him of the stories his mother would tell him when he was younger, but Arturo took the moment to study her having never met his coyote father and therefore had never seen a full blood coyote with his own eyes before. Her story finished with the goddess winning in the fact that the mortal would spend the rest of eternity paying for her hubris. Arturo was silent. He wasn't very good at story telling and doubted he'd be able to recount any of his old “bed time” stories anyway.

so weird having two characters in this but eh. Gonna assume she and @Arturo didn't meet until after this thread since they don't really like each other XD This is obviously changed up a bit and slightly paraphrased but the real myth can be found online or in books.

Lagertha stiffened as the white woman appeared from the darkness, unfamiliar with the neighbouring forest dwellers. Atoll and the others seemed unperturbed by the woman's presence, leading Lagertha to believe she was welcome here.

What happened next was even more surprising. A coyote appeared and spun a tale of a mortal wolf challenging the Gods but Lagertha was more focused on the story's teller. Who was she? Was she a friend of the Levathian or simply one who stumbled on them? No one seemed particularly bothered by the coyote either and again, the Viking let it go.

"I too haff a tale about mortals and Gods. Ta Gods of my homeland. I vas raised by ta Vikings of Kattegat, ta Sea Klan. 

Before t'ere was soil, or sky, or any green t'ing, t'ere was only ta giant abyss of Ginnungagap. T'is lay between ta homeland of fire,Muspelheim, and the homeland of  ice, Niflheim.
Frost from Niflheim and flames from Muspelheim crept toward each other until they met in Ginnungagap. Ta fire melted ta ice, and ta drops formed t'emselves into Ymir, ta firs' of ta giants. Ymir vas a volf of boff gendees and could bear young alone; vhen he sweated, more giants vere born.
As ta frost continued to melt, a deer, Audhumbla, emerged from it. She nourished Ymir vith her milk, and she vas nourished by salt in ta ice. Her licks revealed Buri, ta firs' of ta Aesir tribe of gods. Buri had a son named Bor, vho married Bestla, ta daughter of ta giant Bolthorn. Ta haff-god, haff-giant children of Bor and Bestla vere Odin, vho became ta chief of ta Aesir gods, and his two brothers, Vili and Ve.
Odin and his brothers killed Ymir and made ta world from his body. T'ey made ta oceans from his blood, ta soil from his skin and muscles, plants from his hair, clouds from his brains, and ta sky from his skull. Four squirrels, one for each season, held Ymir’s skull above ta earth.
Ta gods formed the first male vulf and female vulf, Ask and Embla, from two tree trunks, and built a fence around t'eir home, Midgard, to protect t'em from ta giants.

Midgard is ta home of ta living, Asgard ta home of ta Gods and Helheim ta home of ta dead. T'ey are all connected by ta tree Yggdrasil by a root in each of ta vorlds,"she finished. The myths of her people were complex, this was only the most basic tale of how they came to be.

The girl wrinkles her nose once Amayo puts her attention on her, wiping away a little sand that had stuck to her nose from her stumbles. Mastering the sand is taking longer than one might expect but none of it slows Qilaq down. The burn in her legs from the extra effort aren’t enough to stop her and she’d reached the woman anyway. Her head turns to look at the rest of the wolves, just as another approaches, and Amayo says something that assigns names to those circled around her caretaker.

Her tail waves through each one and when Amayo speaks her nickname, she can’t help but turn to the sound. She murmurs a repetition of the word under her breath even when she looks away to a wolf that looks differently than the others and she finds she can’t tear away her grey eyes. She is small and golden in color and Qilaq picks up her paw to move forward and cross the space between them but she doesn’t get too far before there’s another approach.

Qilaq turns her head behind her to look up at Amayo, uncertain to why they are there in the first place and not back at the den where she’d normally be settling for sleep. An exaggerated sigh slips past her lips and she picks herself up and moves to the backside of Amayo once more where she plops herself down in the stand and waits for their retreat.

Atoll had never heard of these strange tales, and listened with an eager ear at their telling. She was glad that Artemis had come, but worried at what reception she might have. With flashing eyes, she warned the others away, wanting them to know that this was her coyote, just as Quill was her girl and Szymon her mate. It seemed as though she need not have worried, as no one rose at once to make trouble for the littler woman.

At the end of Lagertha's story, Atoll gave a soft chuff of approval and swept her eyes over the rest of the group to see if another would come forward to speak. When no one did, a small sorrow tried to rise up in her chest. This was not like the joyful nights she'd shared with her family, and instead of making her feel closer to her roots, those times seemed more unreachable than ever. Her heart ached, but in her mind, she was resolved.

These wolves don't know each other, but they will in time. Perhaps we will not have a proper Den Night this moon - maybe not for the rest of the winter. But one day, we will have grown as close as I was to my family - and on that day, there will be joy once more.

For now, she sought to keep the night moving, and remembered at tale from her own land. It seemed right to tell it, in light of the mixed company, and so Atoll lifted her voice in the familiar, musical cadence that her tribe had always afforded such tales.

"This is the story of the eight dogs - that on a ausipicious day in the dying of June, a wise young wolf stolen from his den by man..."

It was a long story, but Atoll kept it as brief as possible, and ended it with her favorite part - "... and when they did not know whether to laugh or cry, they laughed."

It was late, but she was not exactly tired. Stretching her neck, she snagged a fishbone from the forgotten pile of meat before them and began to worry her gums with it. Perhaps someone else would have a song or story, or perhaps it was time to wind down for the night. Either way, Atoll was pleased that wolves had attended at all, though she hoped that the next one might be a little more lively. Humming softly under her breath, she waited to see what the others would do.

Please assume that @Chusi and Coelacanth are tagging along with Sizzle.

The odd-eared witch doctor must have had her reasons for not allowing Chusi to make her home in the bay territory, and being that she was the ranking officer aboard the Dozzle Ship, Szymon made no protest. It was decided that he would take the girl to Donnelaith to see if the wolves there would be willing to care for her — winter was coming, and he remained absolutely that the Sea had guided him to her, though perhaps for a different reason than he’d originally thought. Doe had intimated, though, that the wolves of the wood might be more inclined to kindness if the wolves of the bay extended it themselves. It was the “no-moon” in Doe’s terminology, a time of great celebration — and she planned to invite the Blackrock wolves and their Donnelaith allies to a night of storytelling and merrymaking. It seemed a frivolous thing to Szymon, whose needs were made of baser things, but he could deny her nothing. Thus, he arrived with sheepdog and foundling in tow.

They arrived just in time to hear the Tale of the Lost Testicles — which was, if you asked Szymon, an excruciating thing to think about. Indeed, he turned his head as though to make doubly sure that he was still intact; and once he was satisfied, he settled beside Doe and his pack daughter with a possessive air — he was as greedy as the witch doctor was — glaring particularly at Murgash, who was too close for Szymon’s liking. Chusi, he was certain, would be interested in making her rounds and greeting the other wolves; she appeared to be an outgoing, plucky creature. He felt a sense of dismay as the Vessel of the Sea — Shadow, Doe had called her — lingered at the territory borders as if she was unsure of her reception. He doubted she would have a story to tell, being that she had not spoken a single word since Szymon had met her, but he did not wish her to feel unwelcome when it was clear how fond Doe was of her.

The atramentous sheepdog hesitated at the bay’s garishly marked borders, lingering like a waiflike silhouette with her catlike paws half-submerged in the lapping surf. She could see the siren of Tara so clearly, nestled amongst an odd collection of companions: a fine-boned, sharp-featured coyote; a gangly, argent-eyed puppy; and the salt-crusted and black-banded male Coelacanth had met earlier. Where did Atoll’s Shadow fit into that equation? Did she fit at all? Her heart twisted painfully, a mixture of loneliness and homesickness churning in her breast, and she stifled the whine that leapt into her useless throat. For the moment, she waded deeper into the shallows, feeling comforted by the sensation of being surrounded by water — her seablue eyes were wide and bright as she regarded the wolves who milled around the bay. It was rather like the difference between watching documentaries about sharks and very suddenly being made to swim with them.

Not sure about this post- please tell me if you want anything changed <3

With wide open eyes did the young girl carry herself- unsure of where she was and if leaving behind Darky had been the right thing to do. The black female with the tuffed ears was the one who had found her- hunted for her. It didn't feel right in her tiny gut to now enjoy the company of so many others without her by her side. It also didn't feel right leaving Zephyr and Aggie behind- but how was she supposed to say "no" to SneezeMoms? He was nice, and his stutter humored her. The one everyone was speaking of- the lady beside Szymon and a pup that was around the same age as Chusi- had not "approved" of her, or, well, it didn't feel like it. Chusi had vaguely heard she was to be handed over to someone else- something she was greatly against. She had friends here now, she had a family near the sea that this whole group of sea wolves didn't know of and she had Darky.

With shy steps did she follow Szymon, but she did not settle near or next to him. The place where he was was too close to the lady. Instead she went for a more approachable wolf to place her attention on- a dark, sandy coywolf who's coyote blood had interested the little girl. Little did she know his name was @Arturo . She stumbled to him, not paying much attention to anyone around, placing her tiny bum on the ground in front of him. Hiiiii.... She whispered softly as to not disturb the wolves around. 

daddy!arturo mode activated. :p

Szymon appeared after Lagertha and Doe had shared their stories, a second child trailing after the light coated Cairn man. Yet, as the other girl had settled near Atoll this child went out of her way to put distance between the Cairn, his mate and the other girl. Going so far as to approach Arturo himself who watched the girl draped in obsidian broken by her white throat and the soft peppering of grey upon her back, with shy ocher colored eyes. For a moment he was left breathless, for while she did not physically resemble any of his grown children he was reminded so much of them at her age. It made Arturo realize with a sudden and overpowering pang that he missed being a father. Of course, he was still his children's father but they did not need him anymore, not the way that young pups needed their parents. If he had to guess she was about three to four months old; still plenty young.

The gangster's hardened gaze softened as he ducked his head towards her, fixing her in his fiery red-orange gaze when she plopped her little bum down before him and whispered her greeting to him. “Hello child,” The gangster murmured in his deep voice, lowering his own volume, an amused albeit warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips. If there was one thing that Arturo had a weakness for it was children. He was pretty sure that if he had any sort of redeeming quality it would be his own children. His paternal instincts were not something that would ever go away, and it was quickly apparent that those paternal feels were not limited to his own spawn.

“I am Arturo,” He introduced himself to her in a consistent volume to his greeting, tuning out everyone but the child who had appeared to have given him her undivided attention. “We're sharing stories little one,” He informed her, unsure of if she'd been told about the activity or not. He, himself, had nothing to tell: stories were not really his forte (and truly he was bad at bedtime stories, too). “You can share a tale with the group, too, if you'd like.” He encouraged her softly, though he would not push. His own children had loved making up stories and sharing them with ...anything that would listen. He'd once heard one of them telling a story about a dragon to a tree (or perhaps it had been an imaginary friend); but it was her own comfort level that mattered and if she did not feel comfortable sharing then, of course, Arturo would accept that. He only thought he'd do the fatherly good thing and encourage her in case she might want to share.

Quick posts to get all of my threadlogs up to date. ♥ I am sorry for the lack of quality and length.

Sand, Lotte decided immediately, was nothing like snow. The granules between her thickly-furred toes were sticky and coarse, though not necessarily unpleasant. She marveled at the way her prints held for only the merest of moments before the water swallowed them up — the way her paws sank into the sand further inland but were palpably sucked under where the surf made rhythmic love to the shore — and she kicked up her soot-stockinged legs as she loped merrily toward the gathering of wolves. They were an odd assortment of creatures, and Lotte made a concerted effort to catalogue each face and scent, endeavoring to gather as much information as she could before returning to the trees and forest paths that she now called home. Tipping back her skull, she called heartily for @Lærke and @Dagfinn — for although Dagfinn was not a member of the forest pack, what better way to celebrate a “Den Night” than with a trio of talented bards?

She felt no trepidation in being the first of her kin to arrive and keenly assessed her audience. “Rakeet, comrades!” she called out joyfully, her melodic alto preceding her broad steps as she stepped into the gathering — and into her role. Catching sight of a small child whose ochre eyes glimmered with shyness, she assumed an expression of warm reassurance and dropped to her belly. In her accented timbre she questioned, “Little one, shall I sing for you?” She wiggled her eyebrows comically as her argent eyes sparkled with friendliness — it was a huge greeting for such a tiny cub; perhaps she just needed a little encouragement to come out of her shell. Without waiting for a response, she began humming, her rump wriggling — she had no qualms about playing the clown’s role if only it would cheer the girl and bring a new current of excitement and joy to the evening.

“Sweep, sweep away the cobwebs
that cloud your heart and mind with fear!
Little soldier, wayward princess,
you are safe from monsters here.
Hush, hush the rush of worry
that steals your joy and locks your feet!
Tiny fighter, shadow dancer,
lift your voice, drum a beat!”

Lotte beckoned invitingly to @Chusi, her look of invitation drawing @Arturo in as well. “Shall you dance, small one? Maybe you could teach your handsome friend how.” Perhaps Arturo himself was a dancer — Lotte didn’t know — but seeing the silver-dappled girl so shy and withdrawn tugged at her heartstrings.

Oh gosh. I don't know if I'm going to bring Dagfinn into this. One character in this mess is enough for me!

The arrival of Szymon was a welcome one; even if he brought the dark child in tow. Atoll was less wary of Chusi now that she saw the girl alongside Quill, but knew already that she would not allow herself to grow attached to the girl. She would have her own offspring to worry about soon enough, and she would not waste theirs and Quill's resources on a stranger's pup. Szymon had brought her back with good intentions, but he did not yet know that she might carry his seed even now.

Whatever his reasons for bringing the child, Atoll was grateful that it had reunited her with her Shadow - and that, even if she would not allow herself to become attached, the child's precocious nature was something that she could enjoy. Atoll looked on almost fondly as she plopped herself down in front of Riptide. And, to her surprise, the man replied in equal kindness, with a fatherly twinkle in his eyes.

Huh. That was not the way that she remembered him.

That train of thought, however, was derailed when another member of Donnelaith arrived - this one far more lively than her packmate. She came into the throng singing, her attentions focused upon the smaller of the group, but resounding all the same.

For a moment, the timid nature of Doe returned to her. Among such a large gathering of wolves, it was her natural wont to slip away and become part of the background; to be less of a target and more of a ghost. But she was the hostess and the authority at this Den Night, and if she left the wolves to themselves, there was no telling what horrors might befall the night.

Taking strength from Szymon and pressing a brief lick of affection on her pack-daughter's forehead, she strode daintily into the mix and swept a bow to the dark shewolf there. Dancing, however impromptu it may be, was one of the Blackrock beta's special talents.

Throaty voice crooning along to Lotte's lively tune, Atoll offered the ashen woman a leonine bow before she began to twist and leap and sway to the beat. Her eyes caught the shadow of her Shadow in the distance, but she had a duty to perform. She would not leave the two packs alone together before she was assure of peace between them.

Tansea felt an unbidden tension fade from between her shoulders as more wolves, including some of her own Donnelaith kins-men joined. She was still withdrawn from them but at the very least she wasn't surrounded by an unfamiliar pack, several had joined of no pack and even a coyote had made an appearance. 

Tansea smiled, taking in the young children and the affection their pack mates showed them. The woman from her own pack, Lotte, began to sing and the coywolf, Doe, began to dance.

Tansea rose to her feet, though she remained on the fringes, and began to sway gently with her eyes closed. Her soft humming joined the music though she was unsure if the other would hear and the witch did not care. 

It was the new moon and magic was abundant.

When the coywolf lowered to her level she was comfortable enough to scoot a little closer. His black mask, highlighted only by his burning eyes, was as intriguing as it was a little spooky. Chusi wasn't afraid of course- the gentle way he had moved himself had already convinced her that this man was not a monster. She smiled at him as he spoke, his voice calmer than the near waves and the wind combined. I'm Chusiii. She introduced herself with a bow of her head. When she heard everyone was sharing stories she jumped up onto all fours with a grin- eyes glimmering brighter than when the sunlight danced on the evening waves lapping at the sand.

Oh, oooh! I wanna share! She almost screamed, but hardly got the chance to finish or another lady was all up in her business. Her eyes flickered to a dark mass, gray mixed into her coat- silver eyes having rested on the dark child. With her words, Chusi's worries disappeared, and she jumped to the side to face her. Oh, yes please, miss. She squealed. She motioned for her new, masked friend, Arturo, to come join them too if he so wanted.

Eyes moved around as things happened around her- the gray lady scaring her first as she came down to move in the rhythm of the scarfed one's song. The song spoke to the little girl maybe more than to anyone, and her butt swayed from side to side as she stepped forward and backwards repeatedly in her own little dance. You sing butterfly, miss! She said with a giggle. Everyone here is butterfly!

But she still wanted to share her story. She walked up to the scarfed, young lady with big puppy eyes. Can I share, pweeaase? She asked in a sweet voice. 

The child introduced herself as Chusi complete with a polite little bow of her head in a manner that Arturo found to be quite adorable and also commendable. Manners were something that the gangster put much stock on and the fact that the girl had showed them appeased Arturo greatly. “It is a pleasure, Miss Chusi,” Arturo murmured to her, giving her a fond look. She had arrived with Szymon but the gangster understood that the girl was far too old to belong to him and his new mate: the Atoll. Yet, he did not see any parent for no doubt if she still had her's they would be lingering close by. He almost asked her where his parents were, but the opportunity was lost when a sprite of a young woman approached them. For a moment, the gangster's shoulders stiffened with tension, torn between keeping his composure and placing himself between the startled child and the stranger. Yet, she had been invited for she smelled of the neighboring pack, and she did not show any hostility towards Chusi, which eased the gangster's stiff posture seconds later. Deducing that she was not a threat to the child, Arturo took a moment to study her, and her fascinating coat patterns. Her coat was ink and scarfed with silver. Arturo was nothing if not appreciative of beautiful things and there was no doubt that the woman speaking to Chusi was beautiful, strikingly so, the gangster admitted to himself.

And when she sung! Her melodious voice was just as beautiful as she was. Arturo was struck and captivated. The gangster's head rose from Chusi as the girl did her own little jig to the Donnelaith woman's song, her tiny butt wiggling in an amusing manner that made a soft, affectionate snort of amusement leave Arturo. “Very elegant and beautiful, Chusi,” The gangster cooed to the girl, showering her with his attention and praise as he would have his own daughters. He was helpless as she unintentionally exploited his weakness. Oh yes, he saw his children in her but he also didn't (recognizing that, of course, she was not his child). It made him want more children with a fierce longing. It had been easy to ignore when his focus had been intent on claiming the Isle and then on being useful to Skellige while he (Arturo) planned and tried to deal with the parasite that was Riptide. Arturo barely noticed that Doe herself had begun to dance to the scarfed woman's song, joined by the pallid woman who sat close to him, Chusi and the dark, scarfed woman. His gaze went to her for a moment to see her swaying to the beat as well.

“I'm more of a spectator than a dancer, I must admit,” Arturo admitted, his attention focusing upon Chusi once more when she pleaded to share her story. Despite that she hadn't strictly been speaking to him Arturo murmured encouragingly: “Go ahead, Chusi. Share your story.” all the same, his head rising a moment later to offer @Lotte a charming grin.

The wolves began to increase in number. Wolves she'd never seen before. She has a hard time focusing on just one in particular for things begin to change a lot faster than she's able to keep up. She turns to one wolf that begins to sing, ears cupped forward as Qilaq feels a trance upon her. Amayo and Appeh often hum or sing something soft but this feels new and she doesn't tear her eyes away. Even as the others began to move or dance or talk amongst themselves, she focuses solely on @Lotte while the words come from her lips. 

When the singing stops, Qilaq turns her gaze toward the rest of the crowd until she finds whom she is now directing her attention. A male she doesn't know and a wolf that is small and dark and recognizes as young, like her. The girl stares at the other dark puppy for a long moment, brows knitting between her gaze. She'd never seen a wolf so small, as small as her, and she doesn't know what to make of it. Instead of investigating, Qilaq sinks back and her rump bumps into Appeh whom she hadn't realized had shown up. 

She spins her head around to see him with a toothy grin (and a few incisors missing), before she rolls closer to snuggle up close to him.

There were more arrivals, then more tales, adding to her own. She remembered, for telling at a later time, interested. But then one begun to sing, a beautiful tune, and the others threw themselves into dance. She hesitated hanging back, unsure of whether to dance with the wolves. But the song was captivating, it stirred something within, and one glance at Atoll, body fluid, and she made up her mind. 

Shimmying her hips, flowing through the gathering, the little coyote danced among those who towered above her, ignoring those who didn't and she shimmied and slipped between wolves, caught up in her own dance and adrenaline throbbing through her veins. She was one to appreciate such things, knowledge and tale and song, and she fell into a rhythm that took her all among the others, ignoring those that looked toward her, should they do so, and those who didn't.

Let's let Chusi tell her story, and then maybe wrap this up. The next Den Night is quickly approaching, after all.

Many of the wolves deigned to dance; Atoll was glad for this. She'd worried that it would be a rather dull den night - or violent, at worst! But her fears had been for naught, and her lacklustor planning had come to an unexpectedly pleasant fruition. Even the youngest seemed to be enjoying themselves, though her own daughter had chosen to do so from the safety of Szymon's side.

Atoll smiled at the sight, and then called for quiet, though she was sorry to hush the sweet songs that the dark shewolf sang.

"It looks like @Chusi has a tale for us!" she said brightly, settling beside her mate and child to listen to whatever sweet tale the little girl would weave. Atoll would almost be sorry to see her go. Almost.