The Sentinels i was late like thunder; i’m regretting it now

@Deirdre ♥

A storm had been threatening for the better part of the afternoon, and Szymon could feel the unseen crackles of electricity as if they’d crawled into his bloodstream and under his skin; his salt-crusted pelt, wild and unkempt, seemed to bristle in a prolonged flare of his fiery hackles. He had a sneaking suspicion that a certain foul-mouthed, paltry tangle of flesh, blood, venom, and fur would seek Donnelaith’s aid next, denied the sanctuary of the bay — and he feared for the wolves of the wood, who were, to his knowledge, a trusting and perhaps naïve group of pacifists. His scarred, sand-dappled paws moved swiftly to the verdant borders, where sulphureous eyes regarded the new sprigs of plant life with referred pleasure. Though the regrowth of the wood meant little to him on a personal level, it would please Doe — and certainly Deirdre, who dearly loved her father’s legacy and guarded it with great care.

It felt empty and wrong to approach the pack territory empty-mouthed, so he spared a moment to return to the bay and pull the reasonably fresh carcass of a rabbit from one of the pack’s reserves. When he reached Donnelaith the second time, he shook out his haphazard pelt — which did little, if anything at all, to improve his scruffy appearance — and tipped back his head, his resonant bass timbre calling for Deirdre in particular. He believed from her visits that she was the primary healer of Donnelaith, and the thought of her gaining some kind of infection or malady from the wandering plague wolf was horrifying to her brother-to-be. Though only a few moments had passed since his first call, he threw his head back and howled again, more loudly — a heavy, whipping gust of wind slashed against his body, causing him to set his teeth stubbornly. The storm was upon the bay now, but Szymon bore its wrath in the virulence of his eyes and the desperation in his call.

by the ocean shore she lingered, calling to lasher in a melodious tone. 

her circle was cast, the elements present. she felt them surround her, dancing--she thrust a foreleg into the makeshift well she had created, rooting herself in the moment to the liquid. 

rains ama do cad is fiú folamh dún do shúile nuair a thabharfar an domhain. she paused for the moment, feeling the moisture laden-air and watching the thick clouds overhead begin to open--first in the distance and soon, o'er her! she relished in it, and continued onward: her foreleg moved in a circular motion, stirring the water as the wind would when it would come. she knew her fathers name, thought it--lasher!--before speaking: déanfar gaotha a leanúint effortlessly, tearing trí gach géag ar chrann! she continued this, feeling the wind around her as she always did, but here it seemed concentrated, ready to lend itself to the storm she called for. the days had been hot, and this storm would cool the world again. she called to it to feed the thirsting plant-life, and to also bless the shore of the bay with carrion. a witches gift! and the storm would be no small thing; her senses were veritably filled with it, and as she focused, she could see it growing in the distance. vehemently, she spoke: stailc lightning tapaidh agus fada - a dhéanamh caite, go mbeadh sé láidir! and there, in the distance, came a branch of white-hot light, touching the ocean and rippling electrically through the waves. the thunder that came afterward was distant and rumbling, but foreboding nonetheless. there was no stopping this storm, not now. she breathed, finishing: ag chumhachtaí trí huaire trí lig sé a bheith! cloud-to-cloud lightning illuminated the wide-sky in the clouds that had overcome it. the drenched deirdre was overcome with the joy of seeing its imminent approach, though moved to place some enchantments upon donnelaith to protect its trees and its plant-life from damage. she would use the proper wards for things such as this, and rest.

when storms like these came, she felt her father most. the electricity within the air warned her that it was unwise to lurk too long in places the forked light could reach, but her father--this eve--carried to her a song he felt she must heed. 

she had never thought the scruffy man to be unattractive. he, and his kindness, had warmed her. he had been something akin to anxious the day they had met, but it seemed that as he had found skellige he had also found a stronger sense of self. deirdre was only glad to see this, wanting only for the happiness of others so long as it did not cause any harm. those with malevolent intent she had yet to meet, though she did not fear them. she did not think herself unable to be harmed--the witch had no god complex to speak of--but she knew that any that might hurt her would be dealt with, whether she wished it so or not. 

the wind was kind to deirdre, not lashing cruelly against her; it seemed to play against her features, though perhaps it was because the sentinels took the brunt of the gales that came. deirdre was something to behold as she moved proudly toward szymon; she would soon come of age, and by the day she was coming into herself. though she was soaked, it did not detract from her otherworldly appearance; she blinked past her thick lashes to see the man before her clearly, and hummed. i did not expect any visitors this eve, she was apologetic; she had summoned the storm, after all--else i would have delayed in requesting for such weather. come inside--it will soon get much worse, the thunder rolled in the backdrop, as though the heavens themselves applauded her extended hand.

A maelstrom of impatience churned within Szymon’s gut as he awaited the advent of the girl who would one day be Skellige’s queen; a billowing curse clawed his throat, burning with the bile that was his enforced silence — something told him to tread with caution here. The alliance, while affirmed by both packs’ leaders, was fragile and new; it could so easily be unmade that he feared to breathe on the towering sentinels that guarded this place lest they topple and the blessing of the Sea be jeopardized in the aftermath. Anxiety caused the ever-present twitch of his tail to flicker at fever pitch like an agitated cat’s might; he drew breath between clenched teeth to call again for her, but quite suddenly, there she was.

Deirdre’s boundless green eyes, limpid and wise beyond her time, settled upon Szymon with a kindness his tarnished soul felt almost ashamed to accept; he would never know how he and his brother had come to befriend such a pure and absolutely unsullied creature. Still, he was relieved to see that she was unhurt — the corners of his ink-limned lips shaped a smile around the body of the rabbit he’d brought for her even as his narrow skull dipped with respect. Battered and whipped by the stormwinds, still the youngest Cairn stood firm and tall — he had put on weight and muscle since arriving in these abundant wilds and meeting Doe. Deirdre bore the grief for her father’s passing in the shadows of sorrow that glistened within her bright, keen eyes — but she, too, was a changed creature. There was newfound purpose and dignity in the way she walked; though he remembered her as a graceful creature, as careful and deliberate with her words as she was with her body, this version of her was something new entirely.

The wind seemed to billow about her in an impossible way, and though she was soaked to the skin, the glimmers of lightning casting a halo about her strikingly feminine form, she was as poised and warm as he remembered. Szymon listened quietly to her apology, and his sulphureous eyes widened faintly — she had done this? Having believed in the mystics and witch doctors all his life, Szymon could not doubt the magick that lay within the marrow of Deirdre’s willowy bones — but he could not have predicted its magnitude. He bent his head to her, taking a step toward her without touching her, careful not to soil the immaculate whiteness of her fur with the brine that sharpened his fur into a series of porcupine-like quills. A whisk of his tail told her that he would willingly follow where she led, and a wary cast of his eyes behind and around him swore that he would protect her.

they need not move to deep into donnelaith to find shelter; there was a risen hill with roots embedded within it, like fingers holding something upright and firm. there would be no flooding, here, and the ground was downy and warm. deirdre had many old furs within her, and in the corner were old items she had in her possession from lasher, willow, casmir, and eilidh. antler tines, animal furs--they had lasted her, because she cherished them and cared for them. animals that had passed and she had cared for she honored by laying their furs neatly upon the earth. there were feathers of nearly every variety in the corners, and assorted furs lined the floor. she shook herself to the best of her ability at the makeshift doorstep, a thick, sturdy tree-arm giving her ample cover to do so before she slipped into the roomy, cozy space. there was plenty of room for the brother of skellige to fit, even despite her own size. she was no petite woman, but curvaceous, tall, and full.

Despite the storm that sundered the sky and the ample amount of space afforded him, Szymon was loathe to enter Deirdre’s den — he had only just become accustomed to sharing a den with Doe and this, somehow, seemed even more daunting. He cared for the witch of Donnelaith, but they had not yet achieved a closeness befitting ease of physical contact; in some regards, the golden-eyed Cairn had placed the younger female on a pedestal and dared not touch her lest he mar her with his bloodied past. Still, she had invited him, and he made an attempt for her happiness — he found it hard to deny her inviting gaze, and inched his way in little by little, ceasing when he was elbow-deep into the cozy space. Rain pattered the length of his back, but he did not mind; he only hoped that she would understand his reluctance was no fault of her own. Fastening his gaze intently on hers, anchoring himself in the emerald of her eyes, “D-D-Deirdre,” he stammered out, his anxiousness making speech difficult despite the serenity he found therein. “A p-p-plague w-wolf c-c-came to the b-b-b-bay.” He had no other name for the female.

The Cairns had seen battle on all fronts, and it was not unheard of for a crafty wolf to roll itself in toxins or poisons in hopes that an enemy would ingest it and perish — though the wolf who had approached the Blackrock Depths borders was clearly stupid and incapable of intelligent thought, Szymon bore a natural mistrust toward strangers and did not wish for Deirdre to come to any harm. “P-P-Purple eyes, white f-f-fur, b-b-broken right f-f-foreleg,” he rattled off, the description still clear in his mind; his kohl-lined lips curled in a snarl of memory at the stench of her, covered in purulent discharge and the Sea knows what else. “Sh-She is in — f-f-fected, D-D-Deirdre, but you m-m-must not t-t-treat her w-wounds,” he commanded in a rumble like the stormwinds that battered the shore. His golden eyes blazed with the conviction of his words; absurdly, he longed to grip the sweet, innocent girl by the scruff and shake her — force her to understand and sway to his will. She must not be injured; she belonged to his brother.

Drawing a deep breath to calm himself, his lean-muscled body shook as he looked upon her. “P-Please,” he entreated, loathing the word; it had been akin to crying “uncle” when Jagoda and Jaglon had set upon him, “she m-m-mentioned p-p-poison, D-D-Deirdre.” In desperation he sought to touch her, something he had not dared to initiate so boldly before now; his scarred muzzle reached to brush the pads of one hind paw as he looked up at her. She would be his queen one day, he thought. He would use everything in his power to see it done, if it was Skellige’s will.

she noted his brief aversion, her intuitive nature to thank for this, of proximity; she, caring much for his comfort, shifted without upset or anxiety, wishing only for him to be at peace here. she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the energies of the tree clear her mind and feed her, and she felt renewed as she opened her eyes when he called her name.

his words were cause for fear! but deirdre feared not, perhaps naive in her youth; she responded with marked interest, her ears a veritable moth to the flame of his words, leaning nearer to him and flitting. plague: sickly, and terrible. plague: the locusts that had come and taken her father from her, inadvertently. her heart twisted at the terrible thought! he explained, elaborated, and at his forceful command deirdre did not balk. she dipped her head to show respect toward his words, but her eyes were bright.

i do not fear poison. there is an old owl who is teaching me how to aid others, when they ingest things they did not know would harm--even kill--them, she informed him; twas the next and natural step toward mastery. she would become a toxicologist and a botanist, as well as a true medic! at present she was an apprentice, but a greatly skilled one. she sought there was more he did not say, and she waited for him to speak it. she was greatly moved by his care toward her, and she did not balk from his tender gesture toward her. it was brotherly and sweet, and deirdre warmed even further to him!

it means so much to me, that you would come to warn me of such. as it is the warriors way to fight, it is my way to heal and help when i am able, she breathed the words in a sigh--but healing truly was her passion!

Szymon listened and watched raptly, his every fiber canted toward the girl’s response — and when it came, he was both pleased and displeased. She was wholly unsullied and pure; she could not see what he did. Even the forest creatures, wont to flee from the appearance of a predator, approached the witch of the wood with warm familiarity — and she saw the spirits that dwelled in their bodies and did not draw a line between predator and prey. He listened when she spoke; he would not discount her conviction, for it was clear that she was meant to heal and help in the same way that it was Doe’s way to mother and nurture or Skellige’s way to conquer and claim. Szymon could not speak to his own nature — he did not know it well, for it seemed to vacillate between the violence beaten into his flesh and the affection that burrowed deep within the marrow of his bones. She had not understood his warning and therefore, would not be able to heed it in good conscience.

Grasping for words, his tongue working fitfully about his mouth to fasten syllable to syllable in a workable, understandable way, “This p-poison you sh-should fear, Deirdre,” he intoned quietly, the bass timbre slow and deliberate. He locked his gaze steadfastly upon hers, tricking himself into a sense of calm security he did not truly feel in an attempt to still the stutter. “It was n-no accident. It was d-d-done to her — if sh-she is per — per — permitted within D-Donnelaith’s borders, she m-may w-w-well bring harm upon it. Sh-She is a w-w-wanted wolf.” Perhaps not all of this was true; Szymon was drawing this conjecture based on her furtive desperation and her stupidity in attempting to burden another pack with her injuries. Her attitude had been such that he wouldn’t have doubted she was being followed. “W-We know n-not if there were others f-f-following her. She — ” These were more words than Szymon had spoken to Deirdre at one time before, and he felt his throat lock briefly over them.

“She c-could b-bring h-harm — t-trackers, f-followers — to Donnelaith,” he insisted quietly, willing her to understand, wondering how he could see it done. “W-We Cairns are to b-be Donnelaith’s p-p-protectors — I w-w-want — ” Frustrated and ardent, he again brushed his muzzle against her tender pink paw pads. “I want — I am t-t-trying to p-protect you.” Perhaps his attempts were clumsy and frail, but he was doing his level best.

his warning, continued, was listened to well by deirdre. she was quiet, for a moment, as she digested the meaning behind it all, and after a few moments she nodded. who could do such a thing? she murmured to him, and then, i will aid them--surely no one else will, and i cannot simply let a wolf die, no one, likely, had the ability to. and perhaps the wolf would be beyond saving! but if she did not try, she knew she would never forget it. but they will not be welcome here. donnelaith is a sanctuary, yes, but i will not knowingly endanger it, she loved all within its ranks, and she wanted no prodigal poisoner coming to accost them insidiously for it! 

she could not ignore his words of protection, either. she moved to sniff him, to ensure that no poisons had come in contact with his person that would come to harm him. seeing none at all, she withdrew again, and her warm emerald eyes held him fast. i am thankful for your coming, she hummed to him, i know that the cairn brothers do not wish ill to donnelaith, and no ill shall befall it under our dutiful watch, for though the brothers were protectors, deirdre was an observant woman herself, and would do her due diligence! she moved to nose his own foreleg, the gesture soft and full of fondness for him. she looked to his patterned fur and thought of his brother, and felt a distinct longing for the mahogany eyed man. 

she wondered if skellige thought of her, idly. any time she saw a man with the coat of raven, her heart raced and her emotions lifted, only to fall victim to disappointment when it was not him! the man was unmistakeable, but she wished to see him upon donnelaith fiercely, and so tricked her mind into thinking he had come to her day after day. did his heart meet his throat when he saw a woman fair of complexion? 

her muzzle draped over her own forelegs, now. the storm was drawing nearer, and she heard the thunder rumble. how do you and yours fare? she queried, truly interested to know.

It seemed at last that Szymon had made himself understood; the tension in his body relaxed with a weak shudder as he dropped his muzzle to the earth and looked obliquely up at his green-eyed sister-to-be. He could not dissuade her from doing what came naturally to her, and though he would have liked to spare her the company of the plague wolf, he understood it was an important part of her development as an adult and as a healer. He was sure she didn’t like knowing that Skellige and Szymon had seen — and would see — battle, but she could not stop them from partaking in it. A shrug shifted his shoulders at her question — he had no information on the wolf’s followers — and he contented himself with the knowledge that Aria and Constantine would surely agree with the decision to keep Donnelaith safe, free of pestilence.

Bemused, he did not flinch away as she sniffed at his salt-crusted form, reassuring herself that he had come to no harm. “T-Tetsubō and I drove her away,” he clarified, trying not to sound gleeful or triumphant — but, in truth, that was what he felt. He was an imperfect, occasionally base creature; sometimes the monster won. This time the monster had kicked his golden nature to the curb. He felt a fierce joy in protecting his territory, especially with his brother watching, and felt a great sense of accomplishment now — for he had not been too late, and the jewel of Donnelaith was safe and sound. His devotion to Skellige was paramount, but he thought perhaps Doe would be proud of his ferocity. Deirdre was something else entirely, and he dreaded her rebuke. “We did not lay our teeth upon her,” he hastened to add. No harm had befallen the wolf at the hands of the Blackrock Depths pack, and no harm had befallen Skellige’s warband as a result of the poison she may have carried.

He sighed gustily as her nose brushed his scarred foreleg, fastening his intent gaze upon her lovely visage. The longing she felt, open and bare before him, filled him with a sense of wonder — how was it that such a flower had come to love the black-hearted titan of the sea? A good brother — a good wolf — would have whispered comforting words to the tender-hearted girl, but the Cairn brood rarely spoke of feeling and even less of love, which was an unknown quantity altogether. “We th-thrive. The b-b-blessing of th-the S-S-Sea is upon us,” he intoned quietly. “D-D-Doe — ” his voice was touched with a deeper, more enduring warmth at this single syllable “ — has been very busy.” He was silent a moment, gathering his thoughts with ponderous care. He did not discuss the intruder or the cub that the Sea had returned to them, feeling that if Skellige wanted this information shared, he would do it himself. “And y-y-you, D-D-Deirdre — how are y-y-you and yours?”

deirdre smiled warmly upon him. szymon was as much a protector as skellige himself was, though perhaps he did not know it. she trusted him and his judgments, and did not speak against the choices he made to defend his home. though violence was certainly not her preferred alternative, nor one she knew as he did, could she argue against it when it was necessary to defend? he was quick to clarify his teeth did not touch her, and deirdre was glad for that, though perhaps not for the reason he might think.

it is good that your fangs did not dig into her--if her blood held poisons within it, it may have carried into your bloodstream, should you have swallowed any, and as they did not know what, precisely, was given to her... well, it might have been a fatal error. she was relieved to tell him this at all, now; in the future, surely he would be able to be aware of this.

he spoke of the seas blessing, and there was further relief upon her features. this was important to skellige, she knew. i am pleased to hear this, she admitted to him, and as he spoke of doe's busyness, she smiled. she enjoyed doe, trusted her, too, and thought that perhaps in the near-future she would visit her. as he asked about she and hers, deirdre informed him of all that would be important for him to know. they talked with one another until the storm passed, and when he was on his way, the girl wished him well.