Chimera Fields slow burn
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#1
All Welcome 
It was most peculiar, Olive thought often, the lovely relationship between the sun and the moon. One was a light-bringer; the other preferred to work her magic in the dark and like ships passing in the night, it was not often that the two met — they, knowingly or unknowingly, worked in tandem and reveled unquestioningly in their divine perfection. How could two things, so diametrically opposed, also be cut from the very same  energetic cloth — and how was that something she never, ever doubted, not even once? It was as absolute as it was uncertain, as exquisite as it was mundane, and through the balance, there was life.  


It was these kinds of things that petered about Olive’s in mind as she moonbathed, laying amongst the winter grasses and letting the glow of the stardust illuminate the world that surrounded her; cushioned her; cradled her.

 


and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

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#2
In all her years, Forrest had never managed to properly place herself. She'd gone through friends and lovers and kin alike, but there hadn't been one instance where she'd become so attached that she couldn't say goodbye when the time came. It was troubling when she found herself to be alone which is why she always made an effort to have someone around to keep her company. 

It had been a quiet night; despite the myriad of scents and tracks, every other wolf in the Wilds seemed to have disappeared. Forrest huffed in disappointment and settled down beside the base of a tree to rest her aching joints. The gray streaks and wisdom that came with age were irreplaceable but everything else? Forrest would've been just as happy sans the physical pains of time.
"Life is a winking light in the darkness."
Hayao Miyazaki
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Ooc — Rosie
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#3
It hadn’t been snowing — hadn’t in a while, actually — and the night air was bright and crisp. It was invigorating and the woman found herself entirely engrossed in the act of simply breathing that sweet ether, feeling the air run past her inkblot nose and deep into her belly. Her feathered tail gently swayed and twitched upon the ground at her side in the grips of her most earnest concentration, and she tried to count the stars but eventually her mossy eyes would always slip closed and she would return to that easy act of breathing and appreciate the sensation of moonglow upon her mottled pelt.

Olive was quick to discern when another’s scent clung to air and ceded her supine posture for one of piqued attention; Olive no longer trusted others for the simple reason of their innate goodness — who knew if that was even real, really — and if this was how she regarded wolves she did know, then consider it to be tripled when it came down to those she considered strangers. From her belly, the fae pushed to rise upon willowed limbs and drifted across the fields, the winter zephyrs running their fingers through the golden grass threads and creating a path which Olive used to weave her way towards the scent. Up until now, she thought she had been alone.

Eventually, Olive could see it was a woman reclining upon the roots of a tree and, almost immediately, she deigned it to be no threat. “Oh, hello!” the doe called out, taking light steps to close the distance between them. Then, with a glimmer of hopefulness writ across her pointed features, Olive found stillness and waited to be invited closer. Perhaps this wolf was not looking for company, and that would be very sad for Olive indeed!        
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

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#4
The girl had given Forrest quite the startle, that was for sure, but the innocence behind her greeting put her somewhat to ease. She beckoned her forward when she stopped, letting the nymph know that it was alright to come a bit closer. I could use the company, Forrest sighed as she leaned further back into the tree, Always thought that watching the stars was something you should share.

It was a spiritual experience, Forrest thought; seeing how the skies painted themselves and watching the show that they put on for the audience below. She thought that when she died, she would like to be one of those dancers; that way, she'd always have the chance to make children laugh, even when she couldn't see it for herself.
"Life is a winking light in the darkness."
Hayao Miyazaki
775 Posts
Ooc — Rosie
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#5
The woman might have been surprised, but she was friendly anyways so the sylph surged forward and planted her narrows hips firmly upon the ground just a few feet away. Olive had been so thirsty for friendship, after spending all that time that alone and sullen and hoping to die, and she now she appreciative that this stranger had the same penchant for sisterhood as she.

She appreciated brotherhood too, of course, but Olive found her relationships with women to be far more authentic than her relationships with men. She didn’t know what to make of that, either.

The woman, leaning so easily upon the tree, mentioned the stars and Olive’s eye brightened just a little bit more, her ears pushed higher upon her crown and if Olive’s mien could appear any more piqued, then it did at that moment. You stargaze? she chirped, ultimately pleased with this learning. It was always such a simple pleasure, to indulge in her love for the stars with others! She used to entertain the belief that all astronomers [or anyone who simply held fascination about them] held a certain kinship, even if they had never met before — that idea had since been proved wrong [her and Charon had never been anything but acquaintances, after all], but there was hope yet and this time, hope came in the shape of a pale wolfess, pushed up against a nighttime arbor.        
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

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#6
The question was a fair inquiry considering the circumstances, but it still made Forrest laugh. Her ear swiveled around as she listened to the soft woman's words, then fell forward again with a friendly chuckle and a nod. In old age, folks tend to find an appreciation for the things we once ignored, then, looking to her companion, but you seem young. Life must have aged you a bit too quickly. Forrest allowed her compassionate gaze to settle on the femme's face, studying her features and trying to search for some sign of confirmation. 

She sighed. Oh, don't mind me. I tend to babble a bit. That's another less savory part of aging, I suppose. Forrest's laugh was a bit louder that time, a bit more encompassing; she hoped that her companion wouldn't be insulted by all of the space her presence took up. My name is Forrest. Forrest Evergreen. Yourself?
"Life is a winking light in the darkness."
Hayao Miyazaki
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#7
Olive listened eagerly to what the women had to say, until the moment she made mention of life aging her to quickly. Without meaning to, her ears hugged close to the curvature of her crown and her gaze dropped from straight ahead to the ground just beneath her paws. The comment had, undoubtedly, struck a nerve. Had life aged her too quickly? The answer, Olive knew without even thinking about it, was yes — and not even because of her life falling apart, or the loss of her mate and children! It’s because Olive had been born into this world as an indigo child and cultivated an intuitive intelligence seemingly from the womb. She always had been more serious than either of her brothers, both of whom played and wrestled while she learned to identify plants and studied the many astronomical arts. She had aged quickly, but it was a good thing because it meant that she would only more quickly reach nirvana.

Olive would not squander this friendship with her solemnity, though! The woman against the tree was happy, talking on about aging and Olive bobbed her head in subtle agreement. Yes, she understood — the sylph had a tendency to babble, too.

My name is Olive, she chirped when prompted. I was named after the color of my eyes, the woman noted, suddenly delighted with the upbeat realization that both of their names could, potentially, represent the same color. They were so alike! You were named for the woods, no? Forest Evergreen and Olive… As if they needed no further introductions, Olive tipped her chin back to look at the shimmering sky and muttered, almost absentmindedly. Do you have a favorite? she asked about the constellations, but the druid did not feel the need to elaborate. 
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

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#8
The lapse in conversation was expected. Forrest adjusted herself once more, this time to alleviate the pressure that'd been building on her rump. Well, she groaned, settling back in, I've always believed that without the hard-to-swallow parts of life, we'd never know just how beautiful it could be. You have to live in darkness to appreciate the light. It was something that her grandmother used to tell her when she was a child, something that'd helped her get through a lot of life's ugly.

The thought that she might be a grandmother herself by now drew up a chuckle, for which Forrest quickly excused herself. And what beautiful eyes they are, my dear, she cooed, taking note of the shimmering emeralds she'd so carelessly overlooked. Ah, my parents were hippies. All of their kids, and there are a lot of us, have names like that. I guess I liked the theme so I kept it going with my own children. It was rare to find Forrest so freely mentioning her own offspring, scattered as they were, but something about it kept her grounded.

The Pleaides, I think. Not sure if you can see them tonight, though...
"Life is a winking light in the darkness."
Hayao Miyazaki
775 Posts
Ooc — Rosie
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#9
Olive nodded as the woman, Forrest, adjusted herself again the tree and spoke of the yin and yang of life. The druid could not have agreed more than with any statement Forrest might have said, for she believed the same thing — that the sweet parts of life were so sweet only because true despair existed, too. True, innate goodness did not exist; not even within herself.  It helped her not to take advantage or remain oblivious to her situations, easily recognizing the good times when they were happening. That had never one of her faults.

The druid allows the conversation to flow on easily to the next subject [and then the next subject after that], not convinced she wanted to discuss the duality of man at that moment — not when the stars shined so brightly, and the night was so beautiful! How could anything else matter, other than this? Oh, the seven sisters? she suggested knowingly, recognizing the name of the constellation immediately. The astronomer knew it well, and considered the astrological force to be something of her patron. 

It’s so bright, you can see it from almost anywhere. I’ve heard wolves from very, very far away know The Pleiades.

Olive lifted her inquisitive, lively gaze to search the sky for the telltale cluster of stars. She read the stars as if it was a map — everything static and its place, even though they moved constantly as the earth pirouetted beneath their paws. When Olive found it, she tightened her eyelids to look more closely, and then let out an oh! when she realized this was indeed it. yes, you can! Look… Olive lifted a pointed paw and drew it into her chest, as a bloodhound might when it caught a scent. Yes, she had caught the celestial scent, and it was intoxicating to her! Those three stars are Orion’s Belt — which is next to Taurus, the bull — and then, right there. Pleiades. she explained, guiding Forrest’s attention with a twist of her charcoal-tipped nose.

Flitting back to the previous topic, Olive turned to look at the woman and asked sweetly, but abruptly What are you children’s names?
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

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#10
You're very bright, Forrest complimented after Olive's explanation. The passion that the sylph had in explaining the heavens, it was something that our midwife could relate to. Not many had that same intense draw to their paths of life; Forrest felt sorry for them, as she didn't know how she would live without the love that she had for what she did. 

It was a question that Forrest had been expecting, though not quite so out of place in conversation. With a chuckle, she turned to Olive and began with, There are a lot of them. And probably even more, now that they'd begun to grow up and find mates of their own. Forrest hoped that they were all safe — her children, their families — wherever they were. 

Summer, Maple, Thorn, those are my youngest girls. Daisy and Blossom are a bit older, maybe around your age, I suppose. And my boys, well, I've got Branch, Journey, Leaf, River, and the baby of the bunch, Winter. I haven't seen them in ages, though. It wasn't a sad or touchy topic, the seperation of Forrest from her children. She saw it as something that needed to be done, and she didn't resent any part of that process.

What about you? Children?
"Life is a winking light in the darkness."
Hayao Miyazaki
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#11
“Oh, thank you!” the sylph tittered, trying not to show how pleased she was to be referred to as bright. Olive had come to believe that she, herself, was only of average intelligence; and that anything extra has been gifted to her from the gods. All of the bad things — the dumb decisions — resulted when she forsook divine their advice and omens and harbingers. It was nice to hear that someone could see past all that — not that Forrest knew anything of her past yet, but it was nice all the same.

Olive’s head bobbed along as the older women rattled off the names of her children, all eliciting vivid imagery to the flora they were named for. Perhaps, should she ever have a litter again, Olive might steal this naming tradition and live amongst a bustling hodge podge of Gingers and Hollys and Petals. The thought, for a moment, brought a sweet smile to Olive’s maw — but the expression was lost when Forrest asked after her own family.

“Well,” Olive began with a stammer, gaze dropping as she considered her answer. “Yes,” she replied. “Three. Sirius…” her beloved first born, whom she hadn’t seen since the boy was only a month old. He was a stranger to her. “Aries,” still a stranger, but not so much. She could only imagine what he looked like now, a grown man — if he was alive to be a grown man at all. “and little Cassiopeia.” She finished, thoughts flitting to the dark face of her only daughter. There was something special about her; something that Olive also had identified within herself. The only two girls of the small, broken Svartell family were one in the same. And those were all her children, named for the stars. With a tired sigh, Olive admitted softly “I miss them.” and looks up at Forrest, silently begging her to say the right things and make the memories float painlessly away. She was not able to compartmentalize these things as Forrest was able to, it seemed.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

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#12
Named after the stars, Forrest thought, It fits. I do, too, she admitted with a sigh. There wasn't much that could heal a wound like that, a mother losing her child. No matter how many herbal remedies and wise old tales one was prescribed, that pain would linger. Sometimes, like it Forrest's case, the pain mellowed into a dull ache that was only really noticed when there was nothing else to think about. But in Olive's case, so it seemed, she hadn't had that break yet. It was a fresh cut and each step taken without her babies at her side was another grain of salt that she had to sleep with.

I'll tell you a story, she whispered, motioning for Olive to come closer, It might not have a happy ending, depending on what you're looking for. But it might help. Through her life, Forrest had seen just about everything a wolf could see. Midwifery had its perks and plenty of good days, but a lot of them were bad, too. It took her a long time to realize that without that balance, her work would be useless. I knew a young woman once, a few years back. The pack that I had done work in after finishing my training, that's where she lived with her mate. They were in love, I mean, absolutely enamored; I couldn't seperate them if I tried.

Well, she began again after a short pause, one thing led to another and she ended up pregnant. Of course, I worked with her through the entire thing, and when I tell you that boy did not leave her side once! Even when she was too sick to stand on her own, he was right there beside her. That was something that Forrest didn't understand. Of all of the love that she had in her (and she had a lot), none of it was romantic. She'd had flings, obviously, but the love was never reciprocated. Maybe that's my weakness, she thought.

Back to the story. Her pregnancy wasn't easy and neither was her labor. I told her that it was dangerous, carrying these babies. As soon as I noticed how fast they were growing and how weak she was becoming, I told her to reconsider. Forrest knew things. She knew how to terminate a pregnancy, and though she didn't like to, she always did when she had to. But that girl, there was no changing her mind. I guess love will do that to you, make you put someone else before yourself.

The pregnancy wasn't easy and neither was the birth, but after she finished, she had four healthy little babies to call her own. Forrest looked at Olive and pursed her lips, hoping that she was prepared for what would follow. I guess her mate didn't get the memo. You let things travel along the grapevine, stories get a little jumbled. I think that's what drove him crazy.

That night, he came into the whelping den and killed each one of those pups. If I hadn't walked in, he might have killed the girl and the poor thing wouldn't have fought back! She was so -- so dazed, feverish. She didn't know what'd even happened until he told her. A few moments of silence passed in recognition of those lost lives before the story started back up again. And, my God, I've never seen any as devastated since. Her cry was one of those cries that no matter how many more other ones you hear, it sticks with you. Sometimes, when everything else in the world was silent, she could still hear it.

She wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink. Nothing. I couldn't even get her to get up and use the bathroom outside of her den. All she wanted to do was cry and wallow in her own sorrow. If I didn't do something, I knew it wouldn't be long. So one evening, I snuck into her den and I wrapped myself around her, not caring what I touched or smelled or any of that. It was just her, only her. And I told her the same thing I want to tell you.

Forrest looked at Olive then, wanting to make sure that she was being heard. Our babies are better at living than we are. You get older and life becomes about survival. When you're a baby, all you know is love. That's it, dove. Just love. It doesn't matter who it's coming from or why it's there; only thing that matters is that they know how to feel it. You grow up and you learn how to hunt and fight and you spend time memorizing the names of the stars and the herbs that grow and when they grow — you do all of this, but you start to forget how to love.

So maybe we're better at surviving, but is there a reason for it if you can't live, too? I told that girl, I said, I'm sure you miss your babies very much and if I could bring them back to you, I would, I promise you that. But those babies didn't know any hate. They didn't know any pain, any wrong. They only knew love. They knew you.

I told her that keeping all of that love pent up wasn't gonna do her any good. I told her to live like she knew they were watching. How would she want them to think of her? I told her that the best thing she could do for herself and for her babies was to keep going. And she did.

Forrest didn't say anything after that. Her eyes were trained on the stars above; she was afraid that if she met Olive's gaze, she would see too much of herself.
"Life is a winking light in the darkness."
Hayao Miyazaki
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Ooc — Rosie
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#13
fuck man  ;___;

he sage woman dove into a story that she claimed might alleviate her pain; but for the first few parts of the stories, Olive began to seriously doubt that. Olive’s attentions hung on her every word, stricken by the similarities between herself and the unnamed mother in the story. Love. Support. Family. Heartbreak. Depression. Revival. Though her own experience was not nearly as brutal as the one danced upon Forrest’s tongue, she felt it just as keenly. 

Still, Olive hung onto every word and her heart rose and dipped as if upon the waves of a song, letting her imagination steep in the vivid imagery, even though much of it was painful to witness — and, for a second, Olive could not help but muse of the uncertain nature of death. Which was easier to deal with: the knowledge that the storied woman’s children finally knew peace, or the many unanswerable questions left in the wake of her children’s separate disappearances.  There was a certain finality to death that she envied.

Yet, as she listened earnestly, ears straining forward to capture Forrest’s every word, Olive could not help but feel tears prick at the back of her eyes. Her throat tightened and she struggled to swallow the emotions that inevitably welled up in the twitching and struggling of her facade. When the parable concluded, weaving into the end a lovely message of love and innocence, Olive held a long silence while she let the tenor settle between them. 

Finally, the druid picked up her gaze and realize that Forrest had not been looking at her either, clearly encumbered with the gravity of the tale. Tasting the words on her tongue before speaking, she commented “I have never heard anything more awful, yet so comforting, in my life.” and fell silent again. There was not much that words could express at that moment, and all of her carefully-chosen syntax could not seem to do it justice.

One dainty paw in front of the other, the sylph drifted forward and placed her nose upon Forrest’s shoulder. She breathed in her scent; sweet, maternal. “You have an amazing perspective…” Olive whispered into the woman’s feathered shoulder. “I am so happy to have met you on this night.” In case Forrest [whom Olive no longer considered a strange] was not as open to touch as she was, the pale one moved back a step with a shimmy of her hips. “Tell me, the mother from your story… Where is she now?” Her eyes glinted and glimmered, enamored with the woman from the story and the woman who leant against the tree before her. “Does she thrive still?”
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

101 Posts
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#14
Fade!

The story had touched them both, albeit in different ways. When Olive pulled herself away from Forrest, she pulled her way closer, so that neither of the two women had to vulnerable and alone. At least, not for the time being. That's another story, she whispered, Listen closely...
"Life is a winking light in the darkness."
Hayao Miyazaki