Wolf RPG

There was much to see, much to learn of this place, even when there was nothing but empty spaces and shadows to greet him. He was diligent, investigating every nook and cranny as he came upon it, even clearing out some of the dead insects when he caught sight of their bodies; the thought of eating them did not grace his mind, but Renoir was no so squeamish that he would avoid them. After gingerly gathering them together the boy would then dig a small hole. The digging bothered him more than the bugs, actually — as much as he loved the warm tones of the soil, he was less interested in the disheveled look of his paws afterwards. He deposited a small pile of bugs in to a fresh hole and was beginning to cover it, eager to get this finished so that he could go and soak his toes somewhere, and work the dirt from them.

the little cub rest among the gnarled roots, and was sufficiently hidden by them while the forest nymph watched the pretty man work. a pile of the things that had scourged the land were sent into it, and the sylph tilted her head in wonderment. deirdre had witnessed her father bury prey this way, and she wondered why the frenchman brushed them into the hole in the very same manner.

she was patient, but her quest for knowing things would have that be put to questioning. though the wood whispered and sang to her, deirdre withdrew from the nook she had lay within and drew toward him. are they to eat? asked the youngest witch of donnelaith, her verdant green eyes shifting from the locusts place of rest—as decided by renoir—and the frenchman himself.

He had grown a bit impatient as he worked, and almost did not see her pale figure as she coasted near. Her voice roused Renoir out of whatever concentration - or perhaps concern - which held him there. A smile briefly flit across his golden face but when he realized the question, he looked appalled. Non! I would not eat 'dem. Dis is... He wanted to be plain spoken and just say it, it was a grave, and there were many more like it dotting his path. How morbid, though, to speak of such things to a child! A place for 'dem to dòmi. With that he shuffled the last of the pile in to the hole, and began to sift dirt across it.

she looked upward at him, slender jawline and tender throat revealed as he told her what he was doing. deirdre looked again to the earth, to his paws outlined from the soils dark kisses, and she let out in a sigh, i wish they would not dòmi, as my flowers had... they do this, where my flowers might have grown. i wish they would never have come at all! she mourned the loss of her friends, felt it too much, and it showed in her great passionate display. she knew nothing of hate, but the shadow of the feeling haunted her as she looked to the plague that had come for her loved ones. even so, the cub knew her flowers were not gone forever; their roots ran deep! they would return to her, and they would see one another again, some day.

deirdre moved to help renoir, sweeping her paw across the soft ground.

Her sadness was palpable, and Renoir's heart felt as if it were about to break for her. What friends did she speak of? Had the locusts been more volatile here than anywhere else? Ah, but at the mention of flowers, he gives a solemn nod - a bow of his head in reverence - and listens until she begins to aid him.

yo pral retounen. nou pral ede yo.

While the locusts did take away, their bodies would feed the earth, and give back to it. He would eagerly make that promise if it meant returning a smile to the cherub's face, for witnessing such a thing was like seeing his beloved Monet again, and Renoir only wished her happiness. 

Once this fresh pile was dealt with, Renoir paused above the freshly covered grave (as it was a grave no matter what creature had been buried), and watched the girl with a fondness that was, perhaps, unsuitable for the situation. Ou te gen anpil zanmi?

his tender words did bring a smile to her lips, though it was watery. that they had to go at all! but it was the circle; winter would take them, later, but now they were gone too soon! together they would have grown and felt the summer sun upon their bodies alongside one another. the flowers had spoken of the cycle, of remembering and of knowing that great and [occasionally] oppressive warmth... they had promised to be her guide, and she had promised to be their guardian! though she had been told this failure was not her fault, deirdre felt that she had done nothing to save them but realize too late what occurred.

oui, she responded softly. they will return, as you say... i just... i miss them. i wish i could see them again, only today, now... the mayfair witch looked to him again, and the trees sighed with their own quiet yearning. perhaps they, too, missed looking upon the faces of flowers, and the lovely cherub asleep in their embrace!

She felt things as he did, an untempered soul with great feeling for all things. Though he had been molded to suit his father's court, this child was still a wild thing, free to do as she wished in this wilderness. Renoir found himself feeling envious of her; yet he squashed that as he listened. So far this place, this Donnelaith, proved to be an open and accepting place. Perhaps he would learn to accept himself here for who he truly was. For now, he focused on the girl.

Nou pral kòmanse kounye-a, lè sa-a ! Ann jwenn sa ki rete nan zanmi ou yo. petèt nou ka pote yo tounen. He would say anything to make her smile, to bring that sadness out of her. But he knew it would be difficult. Maybe even impossible? What destruction these little beasts wrought - yet maybe they could find something, anything, to start the process anew.

Renoir thought of all the places where they could find things untouched by the bugs, and began to move through the forest, looking for any sheltered spot that could have gone overlooked. At the very least they could find seeds, and they could tend the garden together.

she knew much of what remained of her friends was down beneath the earth; their roots were hidden and tucked in, and she felt the energy, their fortitude, and had been told of it by those who held the gardening wisdom. but perhaps there might be more! deirdre had searched high and low, though knew she still had so much to learn.

so she obliged him without question, thinking that perhaps he could guide her as eilidh and herself would guide the budding flowers to grow and flourish! hope was a seed renoir watered within her, that her father had planted; the flowers would return to them, as emaleth had! though perhaps, they might bring them to life sooner!

Her silence made him wary, but soon they were off together, and Renoir felt his nervousness ease from him. To even walk with the child was a blessing. To have her full attention, and be basking in it! Together they would search high and low for things which could aid the transition of the forest back to it's rightful state; he hoped they could bring about a blossoming, and though he told himself his desire was solely to see the pale girl happy, he coveted this time with her. 

Come, Monet, he thought wildly, Let us adventure together like we used to! I shall bring you flowers and you will love me again - his thoughts were caught by a sudden jerk of his leg against a tree root, and down went Renoir, a bundle of sunny limbs and flying fur, as he lost his balance and tumbled in to a dip of soil. This was not what he hoped to find — and to have the adventure cut short so soon! As he flopped uselessly to his side, the boy looked for the pale girl as one might seek the moon, watchful from the small pit he had discovered.

she frolicked ahead, as she was wont to do within donnelaith, and looked back to him with a delighted little grin and a giddy laugh; to bring her friends around so swiftly would be lovely, and the thought did bring much happiness to her heart and soul that longed for their soft touch! deirdre smelt of lavender, still, but there was no lavender left within the world they moved in. but together, they might bring some back to this place, and ignite donnelaith in the flame of their color.

the trees whisper to one another. the trees see things before others do, but deirdre could not heed the redwoods as they caused the kind renoir to fumble. she looked bewildered as one moved against him in the way they could, and a softly accusing look was offered to the redwood—how could they do this, when they knew he sought to bring back their beloved companions, their most beautiful of brethren?—and drifted over the spot he had fallen. she gasped worriedly, and asked, are you alright?

Perhaps the trees knew of his many thoughts, and hoped to drive such things from him before they festered for too long. He could not know this. Renoir felt the ache of where he had hit the ground and while nothing appeared broken, he knew that his soft skin would bruise easily. From up top, where the roots spanned the small pit's edge like some sort of halo or crown, he saw her little face again.

Oui, I must be more careful, he struggled to his feet and noticed with a slanted gaze that his golden pelt was tarnished, the gold made in to a muted bronze by the dirt. He sighed softly, finding his appearance more unpleasant than the sharp feeling in his foreleg or the tenderness of fresh bruises. Climbing out was easy enough, though it caused more dirt to be dislodged, and once he stood beside Deirdre's pristine figure he felt utterly improper,

I must wash — he thought aloud, his accented words further distorted by a vague unease, — then we shall find da flowers, Renoir had not meant to break his promise to her, yet he was overwhelmed by the sensation of dirt in among the hairs of his pelt, and he briefly put her happiness aside.

deirdre spoke nothing of his [lack of] carefulness, only assessed him briefly with learned eyes. eilidh had taught her to catch breaks, but there was nothing that revealed such a devastating fact to her, and she was relieved. as he spoke of washing, the cub tilted her head. deirdre herself did not mind to be covered in the earth, so at peace among it, but was consistently well-groomed out of her mothers preference.

the cub knew of a nearby spring, and gestured toward the direction she knew it to be in. come, she urged gently, and went in the direction of a slow-moving waterway.

He was about to shake off the majority of the debris, but then with her patient voice came a soft command, and Renoir forgot about himself for a moment; his thoughts vanished, and he observed her plainly. Such a delicate child, she would no doubt grow in to a full-figured woman of great beauty; he then took to following her, silently charmed, until they neared a tiny brook.

deirdre remembered this book when it had been surrounded by flowers. she drew nearer to it, and whispered, there were once lilacs here, and tulips, there... lavender bordered this very stream for miles. a soft smile, and to hide the tears that threatened to come, she moved into the water herself; she dipped her head beneath the cool liquid, and when she lifted her head she felt her eyes prick with a separate wetness. small diamonds emerged, but from her thick lashes water seeped, and any tear at all was truly hard to distinguish. but she did not account for her forlorn eyes, misty in their sadness, and distant with the faraway memory. she emerged from the water, still having the height of a growing child, and yet her soaked furs clung to already voluptuous hips that foretold of the woman she would become. she drew toward a redwood to lean against its supportive weight, thinking only of her lost friends, then, and painfully aware of their absence.

and then she remembered the frenchman! she glanced to him, abashed that her mind had drifted so, and swallowing her sadness. deirdre took to grooming herself slowly, throwing herself into the task with such gusto with the intent to forget, and think only of this.

She spoke fondly of this place, of her friends, and Renoir thought of the beauty the world must have once held for her. As she slipped freely in to the water he continued to watch, holding still by the edge, transfixed by her. She dipped in, and when coming up for air he traced the contours of her young body with his eyes; he did not mean to, but was lured by her display. As if this was the intent she had all along — goading him, tempting him, for what purpose he was unsure. Then as she turned and caught his eye, Renoir's attention flit away from her (or seemed to), and he felt a warmth in the pit of his belly he had not felt since Monet.

As she began to tend to herself, Renoir silently approached the brook's slow moving waters, and descended. The fluid stripped him of his grime, his golden pelt floating out in the water as if to halo him, and then he pulled himself out - dripping as Deirdre had been before - and took up space beside her. He watched her with unabashed adoration while she groomed, then a heartbeat later turned his attention to himself. He was quick, so as not to alert her to his gaze, though Renoir felt a great desire to reach out and touch her damp fur or even help with her cleaning — he worked the dirt from his paws first, and then the rest of himself, hiding away all that he felt.

deirdre did not once feel his eyes, innocent and oblivious to the desires of wanting men, and worked away at herself. she thought nothing as he drew alongside her, continuing her own administrations to herself, removing small branches and unknotting burrs from herself with a practiced and wise gentleness. there were some out of her reach, but her father usually attended to those, or her mother, or her adored emaleth, who was her sun and sky, its all-encompassing warmth.

deirdre worked at everything in her reach until she was nearly pristine, each fur neatly in place that she could touch. her emerald eyes looked dreamily toward him as she thought of her flowers, and as she blinked the tired sadness away, she wondered if he wished, now, to continue where they had left off. she wished for comfort, but the comfort of her family, or of tachyon, or her friend, osprey. she did not yet feel comfortable enough with the man alongside her to lean against him, and the redwood was there to support her, her scaffold.

Once he was clean enough - physically at least - they would go off together. For a few minutes he only watched her, studying the back of her head or the areas where she could not reach, and was urged by his desire to aid her for his own sake, purely selfish in his want, but he did not. As soon as she started to move he would follow, ever present as her watcher, with hardly an eye for the flowers they sought — only watchful of her, and the perfection, the woman, he saw within her.

deirdre, when noting he had finished, rose and smiled wanly. together, they would search for whatever they could, and harvest anything they found.