The Sunspire don't call home

@Olive

Screech decided to spend some time scouting the territory. There were numerous areas he could not reach; others which had been visited by members of the pack (and thus marked with Rannoch's scent) and he learned quickly where the meeting points were located.

The pack must have formed only recently - Screech couldn't find many caches or dens, and decided to descend along a southern ridge on the hunt for a cave or something for himself. He wondered as he went, pondering if Rannoch and Liffey had found something suitable already, if there might be somewhere communal that the wolves roosted, but in the end was content to spend his time alone in idle speculation.

When the boy came upon a narrow gulley in the rock face he knew to go no further. From this height he could look down across the jagged tree line as the forest vanished in to the mist of the lower reaches, but there was no path leading anywhere unless he did a suicidal jump. He wondered if he could see further if the weather was clear - maybe spy the Caldera on the horizon - but that just made him frown and grow sullen. With a grunt he carefully turned around and began hiking back up the slope, feeling a bit light-headed from the altitude.

The mountain was quickly becoming home, and her paws had become used to rocky elevations once more. The ashen druid felt happy and connected to the earth beneath her, supported by it, and relished the opportunity to truly understand quite a spectacular part of it — in a way that could only be achieved through an investment of time, in a way her solitude and vagrancy had not let her. 

So, Olive wasted no time and set about in learning the Sunspire’s myriad of plants and fauna and mircoclimates. Here and there, she picked up seeds and specimens and to add to their garden. The garden she cultivated didn’t necessarily had medicinal value — rather, she gathered whichever seedling spoke to her, whispering of their need of her nurturing, and she loved them for enjoyment’s sake alone. 

Though she could not say that the weather was warmer, it certainly wasn’t winter any longer. It was evident in the fecundity of the earth — and of her — both of which delighted the tiny shewolf greatly. Olive found it easy to wake up in the morning, bright-eyed and ready to take on the world. So, she did! That day, for no reason in particular, the woman darted down the newly worn path that lay before her, moving at a rather fast clip, towards a destination unknown! Certainly one day she would remember the spire’s topography in its entirety, but for now she relished the familiar strangeness, and let nothing more than the earth’s energy to guide her movements. Her gaze quickly bounced about the landscape as it moved from background to foreground, attempting to assess the fauna and flora, but not truly committing this all to memory. It was just nice to move, and her fluid gait felt divine. 

It was not long before she happened upon a packmate; albeit, one she did not recognize. She was immediately stricken with curiosity and decided to lean into it. She slowed to a halt, coming up and around his side as to not surprise him. A chuff and a smile heralded her arrival, but that was it.   

He had to be slow and careful as he went. While he could still discern some depth with one eye, there was a distinct disadvantage to losing the other, and Screech had learned to notice the signs quickly. A step too far to one side, and he would feel the sway of his bodyweight getting too close to the edge; a stumble and he'd overcorrect or kick himself lightly, and nobody needed to see that. His issue would take more than a few weeks to adapt to — he'd managed fine on flat land, even adapted to the forest of Ravensblood, but the mountain was another story. It was dangerous, and no matter what he did there was always the feeling that he was in peril.

Perhaps that wasn't the mountain, though. Maybe the mountain was only part of it. He felt eyes upon him; a shiver took up temporary residence on his lumbar spine, as if someone were walking over his grave. When he turned his head, out of the darkness of his bad side was a shifting figure and he caught sight of the pale woman after. The boy stopped, and his ears shot forwards at the sound of her chuff, but he was silent and retained a sullen expression. The stranger didn't seem to be perterbed by Screech's face (perhaps the opposite, she was gaining on him with fluid steps as he just stood there). 

She looked -- not familiar, because he would've recognized someone with such kind eyes if he ever met them, like he could tell Seelie would never harm him versus any other darkie he'd encounter in his life. No, she looked familiar for other reasons - and then the scent of Cassiopeia hit him. She carried it upon her own coat, which made his expression fade almost instantly. Screech regarded the woman with a look of bright curiosity as he murmured, You know Cassiopeia. It wasn't a question, but the inflection of his tone hinted at another - who are you?

I are the worst
In truth, Olive hadn’t seen the man’s grisly exterior until she was much, much closer to him. Often, the druid liked to believe she could see past exteriors, humble or ornate, to glimpse at the soul that lay underneath. That’s why she prayed to gods, to ignore the physical in the search for something more meta, right? It’s why she resisted all impulses to hunt and kill things that were different in here only in form — for what was a prey animal, if not something that nurtured the same divine soul as she? Bodies were nothing more than a vehicle, and appearances were nothing more than the luck of the draw.

Despite this, when Olive realized she was speaking to a comrade with only a single viable eye, Olive drew back mentally, emotionally and energetically — but not physically. She continued to surge forward, swallowing the nonplussed questions that formed thickly in her maw. The ash-and-bone druid would treat this being as she treated all beings: like family, because he was.

He seemed to be as intrigued about her and she was about him. The nameless man regarded her silently, critically, before speaking the name of the constellation in the northern sky— and, of course, her daughter. Inwardly, Olive braced herself. The only person to ever randomly mention her sweet child had been Dakarai, and that was only to announce that he had brutalized his daughter and left her for dead. Somehow, Olive understood that this connection was likely not so egregious, but it seemed the Cassiopeia had a most interesting life that her mother was only beginning to uncover.

“Cass is my daughter,” she stated, not unkindly. “You know 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

Website