Silvertip Mountain don't forget from whence you came
All Welcome  May 18, 2018, 02:19 AM
Lone Wolves

dated like May 14? idk lol

Finding @Cortland had been his top priority. Nothing else was more important to him in those panicked few days than that. Mission accomplished--and now he moved on to item number two on the agenda, which was to resettle at his old home. All else could wait until then.

It wasn't a terribly long journey from the beautiful bay to the base of Silvertip Mountain, but Phocion took his time getting there, meandering almost lazily up the coast. He was happy to be in his friend's presence once more, and kept close to him, sometimes walking so close their pelts brushed. He spoke of happy things, hoping to keep the boy's mind--and his--off of Ava: the elephant in the room, so to speak.

They finally reached the foot of the crag around midnight. He was relieved; it had been tough going, for the sky was blanketed in clouds, the light from the moon and stars muted. It was hard to navigate without it. But they made do, and finally, Phocion sat near the trees, closing his eyes and letting slip a long, contented sigh.

"Welcome home," he said to Cortland, opening his eyes and giving the boy a radiant smile.

Item number two was complete. Now Phocion moved to the third priority, the one that nagged guiltily at the back of his mind. @Poet. She'd been in Neverwinter Forest when he'd last seen her; she couldn't be too far away now.

Tipping back his muzzle, he called to her, hoping against hope that she would find them, and soon.
May 18, 2018, 09:06 AM
Lone Wolves


Phocion's hopeful thoughts are true: Poet has lingered close since running into the priest, at a distance but close enough to keep track of their movements. She feels oddly skittish, trailing their periphery, but has not been up to fully emershing with them yet. Mostly she meditates, occasionally dipping into prayer, feeling all the more a heretic (and wondering what Phocion will expect from her and her blasphemer's tongue when she cannot truly offer devotion). 

When his call rings out for her, she rises to meet it automatically. She goes to them, to him, her steps light and her ears drawn back slightly, embarrassed to be caught at their shadow. But if Phocion knew she was close (and she assumes he did) and chose to give her space, well. It makes her all the more appreciative of the charismatic man. 

Poet greets him first with a soft bark, then looks to Cortland and nods, a smile curving her lips. For now she holds her tongue, waiting for Phocion to surely speak: there must be a reason he's chosen to call her to his side now.