His journey thus far had been somewhat uneventful; he thought often of Asherah and the companionship she's promised, and equally about the silent wolfdog whose name he'd never know. Sometimes he thought of Shink, and sometimes he thought of home, but most often he thought of Lotte, and what she would have to say about all this. He knew that she'd come into these lands with Laerke - it had been part of the reason for his coming along, although the promise of adventure had been quite enough on its own.
Truth be told, this was the longest he'd ever been apart from his twin. At home, they'd been considered a matching set, and he struggled to form his songs without relying on her to pick up the higher notes that he could not reach, or else offer a rhyming word that he was unable to think of.
He was glad when their scents reached him on the westward wind, and followed dutifully through the woods until he came upon the borders of a pack that bore their signatures on the territory markers. At long last, the family would be reunited! Dagfinn did not plan to stay - already, he was making plans to find Asherah once more - but that did not make their coming together again any less joyful.
It doesn't matter what the bear has to say about it, either, he thought to himself, ready to face the beloved man's disapproval, should it come. I have to make my own way in this world, and my way is different from his. From theirs.
But there was no bitterness to these thoughts. He was too excited to see his siblings once more - and so he howled their names, praying that the would be swift in their answering.
Truth be told, this was the longest he'd ever been apart from his twin. At home, they'd been considered a matching set, and he struggled to form his songs without relying on her to pick up the higher notes that he could not reach, or else offer a rhyming word that he was unable to think of.
He was glad when their scents reached him on the westward wind, and followed dutifully through the woods until he came upon the borders of a pack that bore their signatures on the territory markers. At long last, the family would be reunited! Dagfinn did not plan to stay - already, he was making plans to find Asherah once more - but that did not make their coming together again any less joyful.
It doesn't matter what the bear has to say about it, either, he thought to himself, ready to face the beloved man's disapproval, should it come. I have to make my own way in this world, and my way is different from his. From theirs.
But there was no bitterness to these thoughts. He was too excited to see his siblings once more - and so he howled their names, praying that the would be swift in their answering.
September 12, 2016, 04:49 PM
Very short posts to get all of my threadlogs up to date. ♥ I am sorry for the lack of quality and length.
Lotte had been on the trail of a fleet-footed rabbit when the familiar call was cast upon the woodland wind — without breaking stride, she veered off course to answer it. Dagfinn! The excitement of seeing her brother again drove her paws faster still, her eagerness sharpened by an inherent competitiveness. Dagfinn was her kaskonen — it was only right that she arrive first to greet him at the borders. The sight of him in the distance — tall, long-legged, and hardy, with a dusty star blotting out the ink of his chest — bade her to run faster still. Hind limbs gathered beneath her and propelled her in a high flying leap to announce her presence — and if that were not enough, the soot-stockinged hoyden threw back her slender head to call out to him, her melodic alto reaching new heights that invited him to take the lower notes and sing along. I missed you! How I missed you!
When finally she reached him, her smoke and soot patterned coat feathered through with leaflitter, she was utterly breathless — she had energy only to engulf his chin in a boisterous wolf kiss before she slid bonelessly to the earth with a theatrical slump of her shoulders. There she tucked her muzzle somewhat uncomfortably against her throat, all four of her legs shoved back with their paw pads up. “Sinulla on tappanut minut,” she wheedled plaintively. “My heart — it has burst.”
When finally she reached him, her smoke and soot patterned coat feathered through with leaflitter, she was utterly breathless — she had energy only to engulf his chin in a boisterous wolf kiss before she slid bonelessly to the earth with a theatrical slump of her shoulders. There she tucked her muzzle somewhat uncomfortably against her throat, all four of her legs shoved back with their paw pads up. “Sinulla on tappanut minut,” she wheedled plaintively. “My heart — it has burst.”
September 12, 2016, 06:06 PM
Lotte appeared first; this did not surprise him. His kaskonen always had a keen sense of him, and had probably known of his presence before he'd ever lifted his voice. It was just a part of the closeness they shared; that they had always shared since they day of their birth. And it was only for them - Tove and Bård were not invited, and neither was Laerke, beloved to them as he was.
It had always been this way. And her voice had always spoken in songs that invited his own - this day was no different. He could hear her rising alto before he could even catch fresh scent of her, and his own thrumming bass reached out to catch the chords she offered. All song failed them, however, when they finally caught sight of each other. Dagfinn stood his ground, mindful of the border, but his heart seemed to swell in his chest each time she stepped near to him. Her words, though a trifle dramatic, seemed a fair description of what had happened to his own organs.
After nearly two months on his own, it felt like coming home.
"Good! Jos olet kuollut, sinun täytyy olla tukala!" he proclaimed, descending on the silliest of his siblings with an open maw. Growling playfully, he raked his teeth through her velvety fur, taking in the scents that tangled there - some familiar and some very strange.
It had always been this way. And her voice had always spoken in songs that invited his own - this day was no different. He could hear her rising alto before he could even catch fresh scent of her, and his own thrumming bass reached out to catch the chords she offered. All song failed them, however, when they finally caught sight of each other. Dagfinn stood his ground, mindful of the border, but his heart seemed to swell in his chest each time she stepped near to him. Her words, though a trifle dramatic, seemed a fair description of what had happened to his own organs.
After nearly two months on his own, it felt like coming home.
"Good! Jos olet kuollut, sinun täytyy olla tukala!" he proclaimed, descending on the silliest of his siblings with an open maw. Growling playfully, he raked his teeth through her velvety fur, taking in the scents that tangled there - some familiar and some very strange.
September 12, 2016, 07:24 PM
Quick posts to get all of my threadlogs up to date. ♥ I am sorry for the lack of quality and length.
The twins had always shared an uncanny bond, and although their time apart had been a necessary evil, Lotte felt for the first time in months that she was finally complete. Her soaring songs were incomplete without Dagfinn’s deeper register to ground her — her lyrics were incomplete without his humor and wit — and her heart, the great and swelling beast in her breast that had bade her to love and mourn without reservation a complete stranger, was missing beats where his drumming cadence normally cut in. In a flash, Dagfinn was upon her, a playful growl tangling in his jaws as he tickled her knowingly and took stock of the forest scent that lingered in her fur. “Prantumaton poika!” she choked out, her breath catching in her throat as she laughed, tears springing to her argent eyes as she tried to squirm away.
The moisture in her eyes felt good — it was a release of the strange emotions she’d felt after leaving Marbas behind, both figuratively and literally. He was a character in his own posthumous saga now, and she didn’t know enough about him even to sing of him. Snaking out her head with the lightning speed for which she was known, Lotte sought to nip at Dagfinn’s dancing ankles with her incisors, cursing him heartily. “Voi! Mene kotiin! Olen kyllästynyt teitä!” she teasingly chided him, but in the next moment she erupted to her paws and leapt at him, seeking to bulldoze him to the ground that she might cuddle him properly. “Kaipasin sinua,” she whispered, trading her boisterous banter for honest vulnerability.
The moisture in her eyes felt good — it was a release of the strange emotions she’d felt after leaving Marbas behind, both figuratively and literally. He was a character in his own posthumous saga now, and she didn’t know enough about him even to sing of him. Snaking out her head with the lightning speed for which she was known, Lotte sought to nip at Dagfinn’s dancing ankles with her incisors, cursing him heartily. “Voi! Mene kotiin! Olen kyllästynyt teitä!” she teasingly chided him, but in the next moment she erupted to her paws and leapt at him, seeking to bulldoze him to the ground that she might cuddle him properly. “Kaipasin sinua,” she whispered, trading her boisterous banter for honest vulnerability.
September 13, 2016, 06:58 PM
Her half-hearted struggles did nothing to deter him. Dagfinn was adept at this game and knew exactly where his twin was most ticklish, rendering her almost boneless in her laughter. What saved her was not her cat-like swipes, but Dagfinn's own desire to be near to the beloved girl.
"Done," he said in response to her teasing, allowing himself to be gnawed upon. "I am already home."
For he was - she was. As long as he could find Lotte, he could find home. She meant more to him than any one place, after all.
Apparently in agreement, she shot to her feet and tackled him to the ground, her thick pelt tangling with his as they automatically arranged themselves into a roly-poly ball of Dag-and-Lotte. At this, the youth was also adept. He did not have to think to make himself a comfortable bed for his sister, and neither did she in order to accomodate him. His whole attention was on the words she spoke, and they were words he had no trouble echoing. "And I, you," he professed, tail beating the ground. "Tell me everything - Haluan oikea tarina."
Settling down as if to go to sleep for the night, he waited for Lotte to weave her tale. Hopefully, she would not insist on hearing his before she told hers. She was a more talented storyteller than he was, and in any case, Dag was uncertain about quite a few things in his own life. For the first time since he'd been able to speak at all, he wondered just how much he would be telling Lotte.
"Done," he said in response to her teasing, allowing himself to be gnawed upon. "I am already home."
For he was - she was. As long as he could find Lotte, he could find home. She meant more to him than any one place, after all.
Apparently in agreement, she shot to her feet and tackled him to the ground, her thick pelt tangling with his as they automatically arranged themselves into a roly-poly ball of Dag-and-Lotte. At this, the youth was also adept. He did not have to think to make himself a comfortable bed for his sister, and neither did she in order to accomodate him. His whole attention was on the words she spoke, and they were words he had no trouble echoing. "And I, you," he professed, tail beating the ground. "Tell me everything - Haluan oikea tarina."
Settling down as if to go to sleep for the night, he waited for Lotte to weave her tale. Hopefully, she would not insist on hearing his before she told hers. She was a more talented storyteller than he was, and in any case, Dag was uncertain about quite a few things in his own life. For the first time since he'd been able to speak at all, he wondered just how much he would be telling Lotte.
September 26, 2016, 05:17 AM
Brontide has an inexplicable Scottish accent.
A contented sigh spilled from Lotte’s jaws as she smothered her twin in the dewlap-like ruff of thick fur that collared her delicate throat. They huddled together, making up for lost time, and Lotte fussed over him before beginning her tale — her tongue and fangs fastidiously preened his face, neck, and ears while her long, powerful limbs sought to prevent his escape. Smallest of her siblings, still she was a formidable opponent, and her instinctive [s]mothering was unavoidable. “A proper story,” she mused, unintentionally flip-flopping between languages. “Like you, I parted ways with the bear. His kohtalo pulled him here with an arrow’s unerring swiftness, but I was intercepted.” She paused to collect her thoughts, but lest Dagfinn bite her for keeping him in too much suspense, she eased fully into her telling — lapsing into their beloved Finnish for fluency’s sake. “I met a bard — one of three, though I did not meet the other two. His eyes were fire and his fur was bourbon and whiskey and black licorice besides; he smelled of salt and his body was notched with scars. His voice, like yours, was deep — but it was weathered and rough, guttural with the grit of sleepless nights.”
Warming to her tale, Lotte continued: “‘A’m lookin’ for two little wolves,’ he said,” — she dropped her register accordingly, though she couldn’t reach deep enough to hit the stranger’s bass-baritone timbre — “‘m’niece’n nephew. If you happen t’cross paths wi’ a wee quine — tha’ is, a wee slip o’a girl wi’ ears tufted like a cat’s an’ fur like ink — an’ a lad wi’ eyes an’ fur o’ fire an’ coal, A’ve a message t’send.” She continued, blithely unaware that her brother had met the niece in question, “I tarried too long and the bear could wait no more. I sang my songs for the stranger — Brontide was his name — and he sang his for me, but despite my searching I have not uncovered the whereabouts of his kin. When I arrived in these lands, I gave no thought to the matter and joined the forest pack to be with the bear, sure that you would soon follow — and so you have! My paws, though, are restless — and in exercising them, I came across a wolf named Marbas.” She spoke of her charcoal-patterned friend and the way she’d ministered to him in his last hours, shadows gathering in her argent eyes as she spoke of her reluctance to return to the treelord’s borders. And she told her brother of the Den Night she’d attended, and of Constantine’s desire that she glean what information she could from the wolves of Stavanger Bay.
Still in their mother tongue, “I find the Blackrock warband much to my liking,” Lotte confessed, “and were I a man, I would steal the little butterfly from her black-banded beau and keep her as my own.” The toss of her head was saucy as she barked a soft laugh. “I met a man, too — Arturo is his name, and he is quite handsome. He does not dance, however.”
Warming to her tale, Lotte continued: “‘A’m lookin’ for two little wolves,’ he said,” — she dropped her register accordingly, though she couldn’t reach deep enough to hit the stranger’s bass-baritone timbre — “‘m’niece’n nephew. If you happen t’cross paths wi’ a wee quine — tha’ is, a wee slip o’a girl wi’ ears tufted like a cat’s an’ fur like ink — an’ a lad wi’ eyes an’ fur o’ fire an’ coal, A’ve a message t’send.” She continued, blithely unaware that her brother had met the niece in question, “I tarried too long and the bear could wait no more. I sang my songs for the stranger — Brontide was his name — and he sang his for me, but despite my searching I have not uncovered the whereabouts of his kin. When I arrived in these lands, I gave no thought to the matter and joined the forest pack to be with the bear, sure that you would soon follow — and so you have! My paws, though, are restless — and in exercising them, I came across a wolf named Marbas.” She spoke of her charcoal-patterned friend and the way she’d ministered to him in his last hours, shadows gathering in her argent eyes as she spoke of her reluctance to return to the treelord’s borders. And she told her brother of the Den Night she’d attended, and of Constantine’s desire that she glean what information she could from the wolves of Stavanger Bay.
Still in their mother tongue, “I find the Blackrock warband much to my liking,” Lotte confessed, “and were I a man, I would steal the little butterfly from her black-banded beau and keep her as my own.” The toss of her head was saucy as she barked a soft laugh. “I met a man, too — Arturo is his name, and he is quite handsome. He does not dance, however.”
September 26, 2016, 07:10 AM
(This post was last modified: September 26, 2016, 08:06 AM by Dagfinn.)
Dagfinn listened, enraptured as always by his sister's tales. She spoke of an old bard named Brontide, first, who was looking for a wolf he was sure that he'd met. The delicate Murhe Sala would be forever emblazoned in his memories, and Lotte's painted words were a true fit for the little woman. But he'd reveal that in his own time, during the telling of his own stories.
For now, Lotte went on to tell tales of a man called Marbas, and it was clear from the depth of affection in her voice that she'd found yet another innocent young man to inflict herself upon - not that he'd probably minded. They never minded. Alas, it was a sad tale, and ended in death and his poor sister's misery. Dag licked soothingly at her brow, but the next moment, she spoke of Arturo and Doe, and the flirty glint was back in her eyes. The dark male couldn't help but roll his eyes, but listened dutifully with the air of someone who had heard the same tale time and time again.
Distantly, Dagfinn wondered what it would be like to be in love.
"Be careful," he warned his boisterous twin, slipping back into his native tongue as well. "If you blink too sweetly at them, you'll have them falling at your paws."
For now, Lotte went on to tell tales of a man called Marbas, and it was clear from the depth of affection in her voice that she'd found yet another innocent young man to inflict herself upon - not that he'd probably minded. They never minded. Alas, it was a sad tale, and ended in death and his poor sister's misery. Dag licked soothingly at her brow, but the next moment, she spoke of Arturo and Doe, and the flirty glint was back in her eyes. The dark male couldn't help but roll his eyes, but listened dutifully with the air of someone who had heard the same tale time and time again.
Distantly, Dagfinn wondered what it would be like to be in love.
"Be careful," he warned his boisterous twin, slipping back into his native tongue as well. "If you blink too sweetly at them, you'll have them falling at your paws."
September 26, 2016, 09:31 AM
Lotte, despite her innate enthusiasm for interaction with the opposite sex, was as virginal as the ingénue role she assumed before the wolves of Donnelaith. When it came to love, her knowledge was as rudimentary as Dagfinn’s, but her craving for attention — and her willingness to craft herself into any incarnation her audience desired in order to get it — gave her the upper hand when it came to romantic experience as a whole. She could do wondrous things with her voice. Like a particularly skilled operator of risqué aural liaisons, she could flow between octaves and accents to make love to the ears of her listeners. Too, her foray into espionage had taught her the importance of controlling her body to its finest pitch — she could accurately feign a limp, a faint, and various neurological abnormalities at will. Even those things she could not change — the color of her fur or eyes — could be altered in such a way to make her unrecognizable from one role to the next.
It was perhaps because of this chameleon-like ability that Lotte merely laughed at her beloved twin’s warning. In their mother tongue, “Falling at my paws?” she repeated. “If they so lose themselves, their kills are forfeit to me!” Her blithe insinuation, that she’d pick the pockets of those wolves foolish enough to weaken themselves before her, was in some ways inherently true. Her wiles had been used as battle tactics in the past, whether for the purpose of diplomacy or infiltration — and perhaps it had all started too young for the still-developing female, who’d learned how to be a variety of others before she’d completely learned to be herself. Still, Lotte was content with her lot[te] in life — so long as she had enough reach to turn the limelight in her direction, she was happy. “And you, terrible plague upon my existence,” she entreated with a loving lick and a fussy little preen to the base of one of Dagfinn’s ears, “when are you going to start blinking sweetly that I may scold you in return? And do you not owe me a story in turn, my twin?”
It was perhaps because of this chameleon-like ability that Lotte merely laughed at her beloved twin’s warning. In their mother tongue, “Falling at my paws?” she repeated. “If they so lose themselves, their kills are forfeit to me!” Her blithe insinuation, that she’d pick the pockets of those wolves foolish enough to weaken themselves before her, was in some ways inherently true. Her wiles had been used as battle tactics in the past, whether for the purpose of diplomacy or infiltration — and perhaps it had all started too young for the still-developing female, who’d learned how to be a variety of others before she’d completely learned to be herself. Still, Lotte was content with her lot[te] in life — so long as she had enough reach to turn the limelight in her direction, she was happy. “And you, terrible plague upon my existence,” she entreated with a loving lick and a fussy little preen to the base of one of Dagfinn’s ears, “when are you going to start blinking sweetly that I may scold you in return? And do you not owe me a story in turn, my twin?”
September 26, 2016, 02:33 PM
Dagfinn laughed warmly at his sister's jibes, tapping his chin firmly on the crown of her head. Truthfully, he didn't know if he would ever blink sweetly at a girl - such things just didn't interest him yet, and sometimes he thought that if it hadn't already happened, it wasn't going to. He thought, fleetingly, of the Murhe Sala and bright, beautiful Asherah, but even those infautuations had not been the kind that he knew Lotte to speak of. He admired mountains and river and the endless plains of Enok for their beauty, and the women he favored with song and story were one in the same.
Lotte, he knew, had other things in mind. Still, he thought to tell her that he'd met her bard's niece.
"This old bard of yours - did he tell you his niece's name?" Dagfinn asked, casting his eyes slyly toward his brat of a sister. "Because," he continued, wanting to speak over any rekindling of his sister's story, "I met a wee slip of a girl with tufted ears and cat-like paws and fur like ink. She didn't speak, but she was a friendly sort."
Asherah had been friendly, too, but something made him hold back his memories of her for a while longer.
Lotte, he knew, had other things in mind. Still, he thought to tell her that he'd met her bard's niece.
"This old bard of yours - did he tell you his niece's name?" Dagfinn asked, casting his eyes slyly toward his brat of a sister. "Because," he continued, wanting to speak over any rekindling of his sister's story, "I met a wee slip of a girl with tufted ears and cat-like paws and fur like ink. She didn't speak, but she was a friendly sort."
Asherah had been friendly, too, but something made him hold back his memories of her for a while longer.
September 26, 2016, 03:55 PM
Argent eyes widened, bright incredulity glittering like stardust as Lotte listened to her brother’s description of the girl he’d met. “He said she would not speak!” she breathed, completely unaware that she, too, had been in the girl’s vicinity — and had, for a time, loved a wolf she had loved. As agile as her mind was, Lotte could not connect the wet, doggish creature from the Blackrock Depths with the otherworldly picture Brontide’s words had created; the grizzled bard had described his Seelie as vibrant and sweet, bright and occasionally too innocently appeasing for her own good. The skittish siren lurking in the ocean shallows had been dismissed as a reluctant pack wolf — perhaps an omega — part of the scenery, but not an active player in the scene. “Coelacanth was her name,” she said, her low, rich voice still hushed, “but the bard — Brontide — told me she would willingly answer to other names, so long as she found them pleasing to her ears.”
Fixing Dagfinn with a petulant glance, “I gave you a story,” pointed out the girl, forthright as was her wont. She did not wish to press her twin, for he was not without his own reservations, but she could not help asking: “Did you blink sweetly at her? Did you give her a name?”
Fixing Dagfinn with a petulant glance, “I gave you a story,” pointed out the girl, forthright as was her wont. She did not wish to press her twin, for he was not without his own reservations, but she could not help asking: “Did you blink sweetly at her? Did you give her a name?”
September 26, 2016, 08:42 PM
Coelacanth. A name as strange and exotic as the girl herself. He could not imagine calling her by such a name, though it was no stranger than Murhe Sala, he supposed. What did Coelacanth mean, he wondered?
Alas, Lotte was already pushing for more details! Dagfinn heaved a great, theatric sigh and glared down at his sister. "Be patient," he barked, turning his nose up and rapping her on the head once more. "I'm telling it," he insisted, more kindly this time, and took a moment to gather his thoughts once more.
"I did not blink sweetly, though she did when I sang for her - and I doubt she would begrudge me her kills," he boasted, though he did not clearly remember whether or not she'd done such a thing, and thought that while she might well share her kills with him, it would be only out of the kindness of her own heart. "And I did give her a name - Murhe Sala, I called her..."
He went on to tell her of their short adventure, and then all his lonely wanderings, and how he'd found Asherah in the woods - though he left out the parts of what they'd talked about, unsure he wanted to get into it just yet. Finally, he told her about the pack he'd joined, and because it was his sister, he told her all about it - the name, its location, and the dangers it might pose to her, should she seek it out. "If you visit," he warned, "You must howl from afar. I will hear your voice and come to you."
He thought she'd find the secret pack to be terribly exciting.
Alas, Lotte was already pushing for more details! Dagfinn heaved a great, theatric sigh and glared down at his sister. "Be patient," he barked, turning his nose up and rapping her on the head once more. "I'm telling it," he insisted, more kindly this time, and took a moment to gather his thoughts once more.
"I did not blink sweetly, though she did when I sang for her - and I doubt she would begrudge me her kills," he boasted, though he did not clearly remember whether or not she'd done such a thing, and thought that while she might well share her kills with him, it would be only out of the kindness of her own heart. "And I did give her a name - Murhe Sala, I called her..."
He went on to tell her of their short adventure, and then all his lonely wanderings, and how he'd found Asherah in the woods - though he left out the parts of what they'd talked about, unsure he wanted to get into it just yet. Finally, he told her about the pack he'd joined, and because it was his sister, he told her all about it - the name, its location, and the dangers it might pose to her, should she seek it out. "If you visit," he warned, "You must howl from afar. I will hear your voice and come to you."
He thought she'd find the secret pack to be terribly exciting.
September 27, 2016, 06:37 PM
Lotte endured her scolding with mischief and eagerness yet dancing in her argent eyes; there were times she was a terrible listener, truth be told. Fortunately for her, Dagfinn was there to keep her in check — she dipped her muzzle humbly with an apologetic lick to the sharp, masculine angle of his jaw as he gathered his thoughts, and when finally he spoke she beamed with pride. “Of course she did!” cried the soot-stockinged rogue, having the utmost faith in her twin’s romantic prowess despite his lacking experience. “A wolf would have to be dead and rotting not to respond favorably to you,” she reassured him, bumping her muzzle enthusiastically against the underside of his chin. She sobered as he uttered the name he had given the girl — Murhe Sala, she mused, ai, Brontide, your niece is lucky to have met my kaksonen — and intoned with rich solemnity, “It is a beautiful name you gave her,” she praised him.
Unless vulnerability was a mask to be used to her advantage, few saw this quieter, softer side of Lotte. Around her siblings, she was completely honest and unafraid to admit those niggling things she feared or disliked. She listened, enraptured, as Dagfinn told of his adventures — but a stinging desire to leave this forest and join him for the rest of them caused her restless paws to flex involuntarily. As Dagfinn could always be counted on to protect Lotte’s secrets, so too could she be trusted to keep his safe and sound. She did not dare repeat the names or information Dagfinn gave her, not even to taste of the words and their foreign, exotic flavor — she merely locked them away to think of when she was alone. “If I visit,” she said with utmost respect and precision, “you know that I will take care. I need not even be your twin, if that would arouse suspicion.” He knew of her usual aliases — Kaniini and Kitku were most commonly used, but there were others.
For a time, Lotte was quiet — she, too, had concerning thoughts that perhaps only Dagfinn would be able to solve. They were secrets, too, and she leaned forward to whisper them in his ear, a twist of her dark lips betraying her indecisiveness regarding the whole thing.
Unless vulnerability was a mask to be used to her advantage, few saw this quieter, softer side of Lotte. Around her siblings, she was completely honest and unafraid to admit those niggling things she feared or disliked. She listened, enraptured, as Dagfinn told of his adventures — but a stinging desire to leave this forest and join him for the rest of them caused her restless paws to flex involuntarily. As Dagfinn could always be counted on to protect Lotte’s secrets, so too could she be trusted to keep his safe and sound. She did not dare repeat the names or information Dagfinn gave her, not even to taste of the words and their foreign, exotic flavor — she merely locked them away to think of when she was alone. “If I visit,” she said with utmost respect and precision, “you know that I will take care. I need not even be your twin, if that would arouse suspicion.” He knew of her usual aliases — Kaniini and Kitku were most commonly used, but there were others.
For a time, Lotte was quiet — she, too, had concerning thoughts that perhaps only Dagfinn would be able to solve. They were secrets, too, and she leaned forward to whisper them in his ear, a twist of her dark lips betraying her indecisiveness regarding the whole thing.
September 27, 2016, 08:52 PM
His heart felt lighter when he'd shared his burdens with Lotte. This was always the case, and he was eternally grateful that the gods had given him a being so close in heart and thought to himself - And thanked them equally that he could be a comfort and a boon to his twin, his dearest friend in all the world.
Where would we be, without each other? he wondered as he listened intently to Lotte's own woes.
"It's a good thing I came," Dag said somberly, affecting their father's voice and cadence as he smoothed firm kisses over his sister's brow. "Otherwise, you might've lost yourself entirely, and then how would we ever find our Lotte again?"
He knew it was a very real fear of hers, though she rarely articulated it so. Dag wasn't sure it was a true risk, but understood that fear could make anything real enough. And it was true that Lotte more than anyone had grown up and into their stories, living one or another as if it were a second skin. It'd been a game when they were children, but those times were past, now.
"You're as real as I am, Lotte," he said, slipping into Finnish to tell her this great truth. "Be whoever you want - only do no evil deeds, and remember your brother. Remember the you that you are with me."
For a while longer, they laid together and shared truths and dreams, knowing that very soon, they would be parted once more. It was enough, though, to know that they would be thinking of each other no matter where they went. It would be enough to keep Dagfinn from succumbing to the loneliness of his travels, and it would be enough to keep Lotte from losing herself in the roles she had to play.
It had to be.
Where would we be, without each other? he wondered as he listened intently to Lotte's own woes.
"It's a good thing I came," Dag said somberly, affecting their father's voice and cadence as he smoothed firm kisses over his sister's brow. "Otherwise, you might've lost yourself entirely, and then how would we ever find our Lotte again?"
He knew it was a very real fear of hers, though she rarely articulated it so. Dag wasn't sure it was a true risk, but understood that fear could make anything real enough. And it was true that Lotte more than anyone had grown up and into their stories, living one or another as if it were a second skin. It'd been a game when they were children, but those times were past, now.
"You're as real as I am, Lotte," he said, slipping into Finnish to tell her this great truth. "Be whoever you want - only do no evil deeds, and remember your brother. Remember the you that you are with me."
For a while longer, they laid together and shared truths and dreams, knowing that very soon, they would be parted once more. It was enough, though, to know that they would be thinking of each other no matter where they went. It would be enough to keep Dagfinn from succumbing to the loneliness of his travels, and it would be enough to keep Lotte from losing herself in the roles she had to play.
It had to be.
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