She’d been foolish to think she could convince her brother to go with her this early in the game. Hasty, nervous, mistakes made that she typically wouldn’t but the lack of back up in the face of the other, even with the famine they’ve stumbled upon. One thing to go wrong and the scar on her neck would be met with familiar teeth and, this time, with no one to pull him away. Why she hadn’t chosen to bring someone along with her left her at an impasse, still in the territories surrounding ones he frequented, but no more prepared than she’d been the day he stumbled upon her.
Keeping her tracks mostly hidden, erased from view once made, she hovers by the lake to keep her scent clean. She’ll do something each day to try and alter it, whether but something dead or newly budding berries or, today, mud. If only an attempt to keep her brother from finding her, or anyone else, she slips back out of the lake soaked all the way to the skin. It isn’t the ocean, the sandy muck she’s used to, but it’ll do and will be enough to keep her tucked away while she begins her own plans to try and lure him back home. Ksenia shakes out her fur, turned brown from the muddy bank, and she glances around to find an empty landscape ahead while she remains tucked back into a curve of mountain where it meets the lake.
Find Skellige.
Szymon ached, from his weary paws to his habitually curved spine to the base of his clenched jaw. He had to get to the coast — he had to get to the sea. If Skellige was here, oceanside would be the only plausible place to find him — and if he wasn’t, Szymon would at least be able to breathe without feeling the asthmatic weight of claustrophobia clamping down on his lungs. The woodland he traipsed through wasn’t terribly dense, but the monotony of trunk after trunk after trunk — aftertrunkaftertrunkaftertrunk, sourly thought the youngest Cairn boy — had set his already frayed nerves on edge. Would he never again taste the tang of salt or feel the press of sand between his toes?
Panting raggedly in the summer heat that seemed merciless despite the smatterings of shade, Szymon broke free of the treeline, oblivious to the picturesque tableau that cast him in a golden silhouette as he dove headlong into — goddamn it — the next set of trees. He followed the river upstream, if only to get to a higher elevation and find a cliff to fling himself off of scout the area with better success. Motes of plant matter or dust drifted lazily through the air, filling Szymon’s nose until he sneezed — it felt too loud, and his sulphereous eyes glittered this way and that as he flinched reflexively, loathing the soft sound of his hitching breath. A shiver ground its way down his spine as he shook his head with forcible intent and pushed forward again.
Find Skellige.
Yes. Okay. Find Skellige.
A low, guttural rattle midway between a whine and a growl chattered its way between Szymon’s fangs as he edged his way out of the distasteful copse and flung his head high above his shoulders — a rare gesture, and one he wouldn’t have dared if any onlookers were present. Breathing deeply of the air, his scarred muzzle quivering as his tongue flicked nervously out to heighten his sense of smell, Szymon allowed his tattered ears to swivel this way and that. Water. It was freshwater and lacked the brine so loved by the Cairn brood, but he could hear it talking now — falling water meant elevation, and elevation meant a greater line of vision. Large, capable paws spurred into a sprint, air spilling more easily into the young wolf’s lungs now that he was free of his tree trunk prison; lean shoulders rolled beneath his pollen-dappled pelt as he reached the base of a mountain littered with waterfalls.
Up. Find Skellige.
It took a fair amount of time, but soon the lake loomed just before Szymon. Made careless by his exhaustion and the belief that he was alone, he stumbled like a sailor drawn to a siren’s song and crashed to his elbows, his hind legs holding him up as he dipped his entire head below surface. It was the briefest of moments before he lifted his head again, tossing it high and blinking rapidly to clear his golden eyes of water. Then, feeling slightly refreshed from his unceremonious baptism, Szymon parted his muzzle and drank deeply.
short post, sry~
Ksenia shakes herself out a few more times, water and mud flying everywhere, and she doesn’t look so much like a drowned rat, however she’s distracted easily enough when a crashing sound crosses the lake. She snaps her attention across the way to a wolf diving head first into the water. Grey eyes narrow but from her distance, little can be made out, but she watches for a few more seconds anyway. When the wolf has backed out enough for her to consider they weren’t drowning themselves and relaxes enough to drink, Ksenia makes up a few steps to a sturdier part of the bank.
She looks away, the tree line of the lake and the mountain merging. It would be easy to back away and keep her distance but the famished wolf dowsing himself in water holds her attention for a little bit longer.
I fell asleep midway between writing this. I’m sorry if it’s not good! ;-;
Having quenched his thirst, Szymon settled back upon his lean haunches and licked his scarred lips with a heavy sigh. With the welter of woodland a good distance behind him, he felt calmer — freer. Raised beside the yawning expanse that was the ocean, he disliked the crowded feeling of being surrounded by trees; it created for him the miasma that a claustrophobic individual might feel if forced to ride on a crowded subway. Powerful jaws parted in a yawn that was cut short at the brief flicker of movement from the white wolf that caught his eye.
Szymon watched cautiously as the creature looked away. The pallid fur put the youngest Cairn boy immediately on edge, but with the woman’s head turned it was impossible to know for sure who he looked upon. Dipping his muzzle with silent indecision, he wondered whether to brave speech in the face of asking whether this stranger had met a dark wolf with stripes like Szymon’s. It was always so embarrassing to try and to fail, again and again, in his stuttering, stammering way. Find Skellige. If you do nothing else in your worthless life, find Skellige. Spurred by a current of self loathing for his cowardice, Szymon licked his lips a second time, swallowing hard over the knot in his throat.
A low rumble of cordial greeting spilled from his jaws.
The other wolf does not come around the lake to greet her but she can tell he's looking in her direction and she might admit there's something familiar about him. Pale eyes narrow, trying to gather what she can, but he doesn't move anymore than she does, and the chill runs up her mind; Ksenia knows when not to linger around any longer. Her security in the lake has been compromised and so she back pedals a few steps without taking her eyes off him.
When she notes he isn't going to come around to her, she backs away and disappears into the treeline without looking back.
There was no way for Szymon to tell definitively whether the wolf he looked upon was his sister. Whoever it was locked her eyes as intently upon the Cairn boy as he did her — he had assigned her supposed gender as female based merely on the long legs and slender, feminine frame but could make out little else. She was too far away to really discern the color of her eyes and tucked in shadow as she was, it was impossible to see whether a jagged scar ran its way beneath her otherwise unsullied, unmarked throat. Still, he had a feeling — one that intensified when she did not return his low rumble of greeting and began blaring like a foghorn as she backed away, disappearing into the distant treeline without even a whisper of the branches. She moved like a ghost, lofty and graceful and wholly elusive, and he knew. He knew.
At least, he thought he knew.
Half mad with the isolation brought about by his current lone wolf status and the frenzied need to find his brother, Szymon found himself physically unable to pursue the white wolf. He hesitated as if waiting for something, his scarred limbs trembling, as his golden eyes rolled back into his skull and he slumped into a prone position. Silent as was his wont, within his mind raged a roar of static and high pitched screeching feedback that caused him to paw wildly at his face and ears. Ksenia — here — find Skellige — get up — you — failure failure FAILURE FAILURE FAILURE —
“N-N-N-N — ” he moaned, blindly negating the cackling demons that only he could hear. His jaws chattered with the vehemence of his wild trembling, his limbs locked — and he lost consciousness with a heavy, squelching thump as his head connected harmlessly with the riverbank.