Each day Witchhazel's curiousity grew and grew until it was no longer able to be contained within her tiny little body. She was a girl mature of mind and experienced in the ways of drama and stress: wandering too far down the beach one day was the least of her worries. Finding her way back might be hard, but as long as she kept the mighty ocean to her left, she knew she need only follow it back to her right. Right?
She stopped when the scent of a border smacked her in the nose, a ring of black drawing her blue-ish-eyed gaze curiously. What was this?
As if looking for the answer, Witch turned that gaze to the sea. She felt a strong pull to the water since the day she'd arrived here, and though she was smart enough to know that a dunk in the icy depths did not bode well with her tiny -- even however padded she was with baby fat and a thick double coat -- she wished to be submerged. It didn't exactly click her mind she may need skills to do this, but that was an adventure for another day.
Vague about wounds and things.
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The black-banded angler, battered and weary after his hunting mission through the taiga region, had gone for a long swim in the roiling Sea upon his return. Splashing ashore, he shook the water from his fur — he was accustomed to Her chill, and She would remain warm for far longer than the rivers and their thinner tributaries would. Frost had already begun to gather on the river rocks, especially those at higher altitudes, glossed over with rime from the mountain snowmelt. Szymon was exhilarated as he blew water from his nose and mouth in a heavy chuff, a fine spray of saline fanning out before him. It had been his intention to bring the sheepdog back with him — Doe, he knew, would be even more delighted and relieved to see the tuft-eared creature than Szymon himself — but in her doggish way, the selkie’s daughter had apologized and made promises to return as soon as she was able.
Blinking the saltwater from his golden eyes, the new father’s focus was immediately drawn to the tiny cream and russet creature who stood at the ring of black rocks as if awaiting permission to enter. Her resemblance to his own children piqued his curiosity — surely he hadn’t been gone that long — and he approached her at a measured walk. Inexplicably, his stutter was absent as he spoke gently to the child; perhaps it was because of her resemblance to Julep and Whiskey. He followed the steady line of her crystal blue eyes to the Sea and, breathing deeply of her scent, realized that she was one of Deirdre’s wards. “You are a child of Donnelaith,” he remarked, his deep bass timbre tinged with a questioning note. “These borders are open to you. This bay is also your home.” Still, what was she doing here? If she wanted to swim, Szymon would not deny her the judgment of the Sea — she was walking, and therefore she was old enough to endure the Drop.
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The sea took her attention from the ring of black for a long while, and eventually her little eyes fell on the shape, bobbing and weaving in the water. She didn't know what it was, of course, until the Blackrock wolf had padded to the shore and shook out a coat as unique as her own. Cooing softly in amazement towards the beast who skimmed the ocean, Witch allowed him to come close.
His deep voice, somehow not as soothing as Cas', washed over her like a wave, and the red saddled girl nodded to show she understood. Donnelaith, she'd come to think of as a home, the mighty trees that guarded her as Castiel did and the crashing waves that captured her soul.
The word "borders" was new -- the pudgy flower knew the scent marks very well, knew that one was not supposed to cross them -- going in or out -- unless somebody was with her. Why, she didn't know, unaware that as she aged, this rule would fade. "Home" however was something she knew very well, and this new fact brought her brow furrowing. If Donneliath and their ancient trees were her home, how, too, was the bay?
"Two home?"
She stood tall beside the rocks, eventually reaching out to sniff at one, even going so far to prod it with a dainty paw in curiousity. After the deep inspection of this rock, her faintly changing eyes set up at the multicolored man.
"You?"
After a moment, she seemed to remember vague manners, intoducing herself, as well, with a beaming smile and a wiggle of her entire body.
"Witchhazel!"
Phone post. Sorry for quality!
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“Two home?”
In truth, Szymon had not expected the child to answer him. His experience with cubs was limited to the following: a. Qilaq, who responded in her own way but rarely spoke; b. Larkspur, who had largely refused to speak for any prolonged length of time; and c. his first litter, just shy of their three week milestone. The small, saccharine voice that questioned him was answered first with an emphatic nod, but when Szymon recovered from his shock, “Yes,” he confirmed simply. Even if she did not end up a warrior, the borders of the bay were open to her in accordance with the witch queen and the salt king’s decree. He watched as the child investigated the heavy black stone, one infinitesimal paw prodding experimentally at it, and met her muddied blue gaze steadily at her question. It must be confessed that he didn’t understand what she wanted of him initially; only after she offered her own name did he catch her drift. Even then, he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what turn the conversation had taken. “Your name is Witchhazel?” he asked, slowly and carefully. “My name is Szymon.” He waited to see what she would do with the new information.
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The sea-wolf nodded, affirming his previous statement that she now had two homes. This was still quite the revelation for the tiny flower, who had now placed not one but both forepaws on the rock, reaching out to sniff it more. Truth be told, she'd forgotten all about asking for his name, and when he repeated words, it brought her innocent gaze back to him with a renewed smile.
"Witch! Siiiiiiizzzeeeee.... Siiizzeeeeeeeeeeemmmon."
Entertained by attempting to correctly pronounce his name, Witch's tongue flicked out as if tasting the wrongness she was saying. The cream toddler fumbled with this for a few minutes before giving up with a final coo of:
"Sizeeeeemonnnnnnnn!"
Seemingly proud of herself, Witch removed herself from the rock and edged forwards, eyeing Szymon as if he would lash out at her as she not only touched but stepped over the scentline. This was okay, right? If it was her home too, she wanted to explore it -- would Szymon allow this, leave her to her devices, or follow her? Hopefully, he wouldn't revoke her freedom, send her back into Doonneliath before she found herself ready to return home.
"'Kay?"
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Szymon watched the precocious child with marginal interest as she explored the rock beneath her infinitesimal forepaws. She offered him a sunny smile, gazing up at him with bright eyes, and came up with a new name for him — one that was only slightly preferable to Sneezemom. “Sure,” he said, for she seemed to be proud of herself, and he worked hi stoic expression into as gentle a smile as he could manage.
The red-tailed cub edged forwards, her eyes slanting cautiously toward Szymon, and a genuine smile tipped the corners of his scarred mouth. He could appreciate a cub as respectful as this one seemed to be, though his own children were well on their way to becoming quite the little pair of hellions. “You’re okay,” he reassured her verbally, using body language to reinforce his claim. Turning his head, he glanced toward the choppy ocean waves, his lean musculature relaxed and his tail held in a neutral position. He was patently unfazed — and he went so far as to meander further into the territory, glancing over his shoulder to watch the cub explore her second home.
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He seemed to like the way she pronounced it too, and this brought her cardinal tail waging so fiercely that it wiggled her slightly pudgy body. At this, she celebrated with his agreement, chirping it like a higher-pitched echo, each more excited than the last.
"Sure. Sure! Sure!"
He didn't mind that she was over the border, either -- at this, snowy sea wolf gave a brighter smile, edging her one and spuring her paws to a more liesurley stalk, head low to sniff the earth closely and her slightly bicolored eyes darted around curiously -- so many new things to explore, and she was allowed!
Szymon moved a little further down the coast, and suddenly the proud little girl didn't want to be in this new land on her own -- at Easthollow, she'd had her family, and in Donneliath, she had Cas, but here she had no siblings or parent figure, or even friend, other than the man before her now. When he glanced behind him, she was skipping along a foot or two from his heels, beaming in joy and following in his steps.
"Where go?"
Sizzle is like the mama duck! XD
This post is short and kind of silly; I’m delirious with tiredness.
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It surprised Szymon when the red-tailed cub began to follow quite literally in his footsteps, though it probably shouldn’t have. “Where go?” she wanted to know, and he hesitated. By Cairn standards, the Drop would have been an appropriate next step for the growing girl, who was sturdy and surefooted despite her small size. She was a ward of Donnelaith, though, and bound to the forest’s customs — whatever they were. Just as Deirdre and Doe had yielded to the Cairn way of doing things when Julep and Isengrim had been born, Szymon would have to yield to the witch queen and not chuck her tiny friend headlong into the Sea. “What do you want to do, Witchhazel?” he asked. “Are you hungry? Do you want to learn how to swim? Or would you rather just explore?” He didn’t have any particular agenda for the young cub — his idea of caring for cubs was basically to follow them around and keep them from being eaten, not actually lead the parade.
For the rest of the afternoon, the unlikely mother duck was trailed by the fox-tailed youth; afterwards, he led her back to the ring of black rocks and watched as she wandered back to the shelter of the sequoias.
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