Hushed Willows reaching up to the maze of light in the sky
dreamer trapped by your desire
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@Dawn
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The scent of the sea drifted between the willows, and she filled her lungs eagerly with the bitter salt taste. The inkstain moved silently among the dangling verdant tendrils, feeling their touch feather-light against wild midnight fur. Sunlight broke slowly through the trees, a creeping golden glow in the early morning. Around her, the forest whispered gentle nothings with each caress of the breeze.
She paused to taste the air again, taking in the smells of greenery and life mingled with hints of seawater. Prey scent permeated the air around her, but the serenity of the place had wrapped her in a peaceful lethargy of sorts. The day was young, and she had no desire to feel a life end between her teeth in such a place. An infidel, a cynic, and an unrepentant sinner to boot, she nonetheless felt it a sacrilegious act for herself; it bothered her little if another chose differently, however. Removed from her own sentimentality, the forest was simply a quiet place with trees and food.
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the serenity, the lightness, seemed at odds with the grief snared tightly around her chest. the huntress pushed through the fronds reverently, their leaves dragging across her pelt lightly, as once a lovers touch might have. prey scent saturated the place; already she found herself walking a gametrail. mind having been set to a single purpose, she found it difficult to stray from her ritual of hunting far outside the territory long after the sun had slipped behind the horizon. routine gave her meaning, and meaning was all that stood between her and a dark, angry void she did not want to slip into. 

when her next breath pulled in to subtle hint of wolf-scent, foreign and female, she paused. it was with hardly any thought that she shifted her own trail so that theirs might intercept, offering only a low chuff that warned of her intent to the stranger, glimpsed now through the verdant fronds.
dreamer trapped by your desire
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She scented the sylph of argent only moments before her appearance, and paused to take in the sight of her as she approached. The wild-furred yearling moved to close the remaining distance between them, ears pulling forward slightly at the stranger's chuff. A girl near to her own age, wreathed in the scent of pack and an aura of heaviness; yet, there was also an air of confidence about her. She halted a few paces away, allowing several breaths to pass in silence.
I feel the heaviness around you, jolie fille, She studied her closely, speaking in soft tones. There was always a chance she had guessed incorrectly, yet she never posed her assumptions as questions. If she was mistaken, she would learn from it. Little else mattered. Why?
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wild-furred and sharp-eyed, her gaze skipped over the girl who could surely not be far from her own age. her inkiness reminded her then of seelie, but the stranger was wolf through and through. she was almost surprised when the stranger spoke; her words wielded deftly and without hesitation, doubt. the latter words reminded her sharply of kieran, yet she hardly dwelled on them when the woman was so blunt and so interesting. 

"I've lost a great deal." hawkish gaze traced the woman, finding there confidence (surely she wouldn't be so bold, otherwise) "and done things I regret." the wildness of the stranger's fur was reminiscent of her own, dense, unruly, and wholly unsuited for the Teekon's summers. "you're curious. why?" she echoed the woman's own line of question, to a degree, easing quickly into her preferred bluntness.
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The answer she received satisfied her in a way, yet predictably left more to be desired; it was nonetheless a foot in the door. Many of us have, She offered, finding herself warming by fractions to the stranger. Loss slept close at her side, and regret had long haunted the space above her. The world often held nothing but ice for their kind.

A smile tugged at one side of her mouth at the returned questioning. This girl was not soft or dull, and she sensed she would not be content to allow the inkstain to prod without some return. You're intriguing, And clearly her interest had not been misplaced; some faint glimmer within her whispered hopes of a kindred spirit. It had many times before, yet often she found herself mistaken. She rather disliked being wrong. And I'm often curious.
I've traveled far, and for a long time. I've heard many stories, but many choose not to share, She peered at her curiously, wondering how her own honesty would be taken— and the offer to follow. My place isn't to judge or reveal these stories; I only hope to understand. I may be able to offer you something in return. A story of my own, or advice maybe.
She added roguishly, For you, I would consider other requests.
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the woman's response might have been demeaning, yet Dawn understood that it was very much not so; rather, perhaps an attempt at empathy. she let it fade with no contrary words nor agreement, allowing her gaze to fall to the inkstain's muzzle as it twitched into a half-smile. 

the girl's interest in her was explained by a simple sentence; vague and curious, met with a quirk of the sterling girl's brow. the girl was most certainly interesting, and Dawn signified her willingness to entertain her intrigue by reclining neatly on her haunches, ears pricked atop her skull. she listened carefully as the wildling explained - a wanderer, then - of her stories; and her trades. 

she did not miss the suggestiveness of the girl's final remark, and at once some part of her was taken aback. her first thought was of Aditya; but nearly a fortnight of anguish had passed since they'd separated, and the thought of him ignited less of a painful spark in her chest, fading faster than it had in the first few days after they'd separated. she did not know if she would dare press further, but was suddenly struck by the knowledge that she could, if she wished. Fen had been a release, a test off the edge, something new, spurned by grief and guilt and a wish to be free of it. she'd not pressed, merely given in and allowed to happen what she regretted bitterly.

but she could choose, now, to push and live and maybe outlast all the hurt. and so she grinned, reminiscent of what and who she'd been long before the start of all her mistakes. it was touched with wildness, fleeting, yet there. "I have stories, wanderer. It depends on what you'd like to hear." she canted her head a fraction, intrigued in turn. she already had an inkling of what she might ask in return, but waited first for the inkstain's pointed words.