Wolf RPG

It was fitting that they would celebrate Samhain near Lasher's grave, its fairy circle visible through the trees at Emaleth's back. She had gathered an altar— a blanket of fallen leaves, dark stones, the skull of a deer the pack had eaten long ago— delicately placed to the side, where others might come and offer their gifts and pray to their ancestral spirits. It was a cool night, with dusk coming swiftly, and Emaleth felt at ease. This was her element, the missing piece of herself; what she thought she had lost with her father's passing. She expected to be nervous, to lead these wolves that were yet strange to her in a sacred ritual, but the dark witch felt wild energies alive in the wind and a cool confidence.

She lifted her head, calling forth her sister's wolves; the new generation of Donnelaith. Not of blood, but perhaps of bonded souls and spirit. She bid they come with their gifts, and gather here with her, for there was magick to be worked and ghosts to speak to.

she had not been far from her fathers grave. she could feel the breath of death, but it was not so terrible as it had been on the day that the mayfair patriarch had been taken from them. it had come to take its harvest, and deirdre watched much of what she had grown fall into a wintersleep. it is not the killing blow, she heard the wind whisper as the reapers scythe brushed o'er the heads of her flowers, they will keep warm beneath the earth, as the bears would; they will return! and on this day, the day so recently near to their passing, she imagined the song of all of the dead coming to her with the autumn wind.

her sisters summons was heeded by the witch queen, who moved through the wood silently, slowly. she had betwixt her lips dried herbs to offer those that had passed and for those that lingered. she carried also with her a small wreath that the birds had fashioned for her; autumnal things lined it, and it was but a small trinket that expressed the devotion of the woodfolk. these she placed near the alter emaleth had created, and then moved to stand alongside her. deirdre's emerald eyes were warm, but she kept to her silence. this eve, emaleth would lead this ritual--her younger sister harbored no doubts in her heart toward her sisters power, that had been, until now, obscured, by her sisters own will, to others.

Flaris, not unlike Cas, was neither a wolf of ritual or of sound religion. He believed in physical things— of affection and love and the duty that accompanied such feelings. He minded the spirit and treated souls with tender thoughts, but he had never worshiped anything, or believed too much that many things existed beyond the corporeal. Still, being a part of Donnelaith, he would respect their "traditions"; their wishes. And when asked to bring something, before at last being called as a pack to observe the pagan ritual, he obeyed without protest. It was not his position to judge, only to ensure their desires were achieved.

He arrived, tentative and slow, with an uneaten rabbit clutched loosely in his jaws. In his head there was no true significance for his choice of gift, but he was a decent hunter and thought that his most useful skill put to use was blessing and thanks enough to whatever spirit they honored that evening. He deposited the body at the altar, to rot there and be returned to the earth; to run forever in a realm none of them could see. Bobbing his head to Emaleth, at the helm, and then to Deirdre, he pressed himself backwards, giving them a soft girth so that he could sit back and listen.

Deirdre joined the space at her side, as Emaleth knew she would, and the pair waited for their wolves to join as silence fell over the forest once more. Her heart thrummed nervously in her chest, suddenly paralyzed by fear that none would answer her call— she was not queen, nor was she particularly close to their followers— but the first arrived, and then the second, and for a brief moment she relaxed. When more minutes passed, and no more came or sang of their intent to join the group, her mismatched eyes glanced at Deirdre in uncertainty. Should she continue, or should she wait a few breaths more...? When a fourth— Lotte— joined in silence, the dark witch was decided.

"It is Samhain night," she began, "a time to honor our dead and usher in a blessed new year." This was Deirdre's blood, her blood, the teachings of Donnelaith's patriarchy, their father. It had always been present in them, and they would hold tightly to it even with the influx of new blood. She would not demand they believe, but she would demand that they respect the past and the pack's origins. "The gifts you have brought are in remembrance of those we have lost; fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, lovers and friends. You honor their memory, and on their behalf, I thank you. Hear these words, and remember those you have loved and lost. Feel their breath in the wind, their voice in the whisper of leaves, their heartbeat in yours." She was not an orator, like her father or Deirdre— but she knew song, and after allowing a moment for those before her to consider those words, she began to sing.

"Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you,
and welcome you to join me for this night.
You watch over me always,
protecting and guiding me,
and tonight I thank you.
Your blood runs in my veins,
your spirit is in my heart,
your memories are in my soul.

With the gift of remembrance.
I remember all of you.
You are dead but never forgotten,
and you live on within me,
and within those who are yet to come."

When the last note fell from her lips, she fell silent for a moment once more. She was young, and she had never led a ritual before— especially not before those that were not raised as she had been. Her nerves would be clear, but still she pressed on, for who could deny the importance of remembering one's past? "If you are comfortable doing so," she invited quietly, "please share the names of those you remember tonight, and perhaps some words so that we might know them, too." There was only one name on Emaleth's heart, and she knew that Deirdre would share it— and so she fell to silence, allowing space for others to speak up.

Eilidh had been far removed from pack life for many months now. There was little that could return her to the previous spark of herself, and she knew it. Communicating with the dead was not one of those ways, try as she might in the darkest corners of her den. But as she was a creature of habit, she gathered a squirrel skull she'd been hoarding and delicately carried it toward her father's grave. She was late, but that did not bother her; nothing seemed to bother her anymore. She heard the tail-end of Emaleth's speech and subsequent prayer, but she did not join in.

Instead, the wraith deposited her skull upon her father's very grave, bent to kiss the earth with a quiet prayer of her own, and retreated. She paused at the edge of the clearing, standing in shadow, and turned to look at her siblings. They were young and untried, untested against the world. Whatever had Aria and Constantine been thinking? These girls were just that: children. They knew nothing of the world, of the hardships it offered, of the ways in which wolves would ingratiate themselves into your lives, and leave you broken. Eilidh dipped her head to her sisters before turning and never looking back. She walked through the woods of her youth one last time. When she reached the edge of the Sentinels, she pressed herself against the tallest tree, and breathed in its beauty one last time.

Then Eilidh Mayfair left Donnelaith in search of something else. Something new to fill the void that had grown within her heart.

flaris had come, as had castiel. deirdre was thankful for them, as well as the robust lotte who had arrived soon after the warrior had. starbuck she did not see, and this worried her--she had been meant to return this day, and now it was past that time. perhaps tomorrow she would come home to them, she hoped and fretted. emaleth knew of starbuck's brief departure, and so likely would share her fretting.

laerke and winchester had not arrived, and as emaleth spoke of what would be occurring this day, deirdre observed eilidh's ghost enter into the fold. her own emerald eyes brightened significantly at the sight of her--the last of the elder mayfair brood, the one that had decided to remain with them--and she solemnly observed her place the skull to the earth in offering. deirdre was happy for her being here, happy for--

eilidh turned to depart.

deirdre watched, and understood. she had in her no willpower to encourage her sister to remain here any longer. eilidh had endured enough, and had not emaleth herself left when she could not stand it here after their fathers death? not for an instant did deirdre allow herself to feel abandoned by her elders each. she was a child, true, but oh, certainly not untried! her mother had gone and had never returned to her, and next, her father. before even that casmir had left of his own volition, and after all this constantine had chosen to go with aria. deirdre knew plenty of hurting and loss, but those that had left her would never define her. her pain would not make her into who she was this day. for despite those losses, deirdre loved. she trusted. she kept her heart and mind open, and even as eilidh crossed the threshold, it remained this way. heal, eilidh, she encouraged with her mind, heal.

the eyes of her sister fell unto her. deirdre knew she must go first, and looked to her fathers grave with a deep sadness contouring her features. lasher mayfair, our father... she paused for a moment, looking to emaleth before continuing. he founded this place, and wished for it to know only peace. he was a good man, a kind man, who loved many, and who was loved in turn. she was silent, then, not wanting to say too much and wanting to hear the words of others. to know her wolves better would bring them closer, she hoped.

Her heart soared upon seeing Eilidh join them, and then faltered -- along with her words -- as the white ghost of Donnelaith disappeared through the trees. Emaleth felt her heart shatter, turning her head away from the small group that had gathered and to look upon Deirdre. As she knew her sister would, the forest's queen spoke of their father; simple, respectful. She could only bow her head in response, for there was little more to say, and allowed a few beats to pass for others to join if they wished.

When none did, the dark witch spoke once more, this time with a quiet intensity, "Though you do not speak of them, their souls and memories are welcome in Donnelaith, so long as they bring no harm with them."

She pushed a leaf forward from where it had been hidden in the shadows of her legs. It held a small gathering of seeds cupped within, and she offered, "This, too, is your choice. These are seeds of the morning glory, and their effects will aid you in seeing the spirits of your ancestors. You only need but a small mouthful."

Emaleth bowed her own head, taking perhaps a teaspoon of the seeds, and moved to allow others to come forward. "Remember them, honor them, and they will protect us. So mote it be." She knew her words had grown stale, choppy; her confidence had been shattered, her heart broken once more. With a bump of her muzzle beneath Deirdre's chin, the dark watcher of the forest left its wolves to do what they would.

whomever was with them offered their silent prayers, whose energies she felt in the hours air. she was thankful for those that had come to celebrate with them, and noted emaleths departure with disappointment filling her belly. still, she did not let that sour her own remebrances. thank you all, for coming, she said to the few that remained, once you are finished, you may go; i will stay a while longer... and she moved toward the alter, whispering words of closing. perhaps her father would go beyond the veil today, or perhaps he would decide to remain!