@Mona - didn't wanna wait
The silfessi ventured out beyond the pack borders that day in search of the peace and quiet that he had only found in the heart of the nearby glade. His long limbs carried him swiftly from the edges of the valley and into the stretching pasture. Once through, he found the murmur of the dale and felt his rigid frame find a quiet amity with the terrain. Tadec preferred the fox’s hideaway to the valley that he shared with the wild wolves, but he knew that it would have been frowned upon for him to remain there when he had promised himself to the Rah of the Bearclaw wolves.
Picking his way across fresh snow, the smoky hound searched the glade for signs of prey, or for the red-furred predator that was known to haunt the surroundings. The burning of his bronze sight was a startling contrast to the pristine white that coated the earth and rocks. His dark frame, too, seemed out of place in the unspoiled clearing. It seemed that he was one of the first to cross into it since the fall of snow.
Each step was placed gingerly atop the snow, and Tadec moved so that he might not be caught in the dale. The deeper he wandered, the more the creatures came to life. His ears swiveled to the sounds of birds chirping overhead and the cool running of the water as it babbled past. It would have made for a suitable home if he were still traveling on his own. There was a pang within him that reminded the moonlighter of his intentions, but he felt as though his ventures were well spent.
Drawing himself forward on stretching limbs, the halfling caught the faintest end to a desperate cry. With a thin-lipped expression, the dark-plumed crow peered through the brush in search of what might have sounded out in such soft and broken tones. When he caught sight of her beside the rock, he felt himself stirring. She was cloaked in a pelt that had been touched by the grace and love of Firth, just as Indra had. The dark coyote did not believe that this could be a coincidence. He pushed through the shrub and latched his bronze sights to her sad figure.
“Hush, éneer eth,” he breathed to her in a soft timbre. There was an encouraging fluttering of his tail as he closed some of the distance between them. Tadec remained as unimposing as a lapin searching for greens.
The moonlighter drew his ears forward at the sound of her voice and was shocked to see the cool green of her gaze widen upon catching sight of his long-limbed and rangy appearance. She was truly a stunning thing, cloaked in sharp scarlet and rich gold, with a gaze that whispered an age not belonging to her. If Indra was of the summer – Fritheer – then this red woman must have been of the thayrte. For he could not understand how one’s eyes could so closely resemble the color of mossy waters on a warm day.
The question hung in the air for a moment before she asked for forgiveness. Tadec cast a ghostly little smile before parting his lips to speak. “This one is called Tadec,” he told her in Hedgerow, hoping that she might understand. He had not fully grasped her inquiry had required specifics to his blood instead of his name. She seemed kindly, though shattered in a way that he could not comprehend. “Why does the wolf cry?”
Ah, she had run. The thief dipped his crown in a knowing fashion and cast his gaze to the side as if to offer her a moment of privacy from the depths of his bronze optics. To him, the concept of running was not unfamiliar, and he imagined that his home would applaud her choices. The phrase of his birth still held true to him, so he may well have feigned his understanding. Fixing her once more with his sights, the crow canted his head to the left and cast a thoughtful frown to his thin-lipped muzzle. “All the world will be your enemy,” he breathed to her. Inlé was a cool and tricky creature to have left such a thing with the likes of Tadec. Still, the thief carried it well and lived strictly to the life that had been intended for him.
“Why run?”
To survive, he had hoped she would say, but the red girl instead inquired what his warning should mean. The halfling met her with a curling smile and his ears drew forward. “A reminder,” he told her in a simple tone, but his features were graver than they had been before. “Inlé offered Tadec this when young,” he then added, hoping she would understand. It was often difficult to help others understand the messages of the seers.
“All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand Enemies,” he started again, but this time he continued with, “And when they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you; digger, listener, runner, Prince with the swift warning. Be cunning, and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed.”
Once he had concluded, Tadec’s smile had faded away and he was left with a solemn burning in the very pit of his stomach. She seemed to have been spurred by life and the unfortunate circumstances surrounding it. She spoke of a deceased father and he could see the heartbreak that was wrought on her young features. In this, he shared a similar experience, for he had continued after his mother’s life had been ended prematurely. The thought still scorched him like wildfire.
Then, the girl introduced herself as Mona. Tadec offered her a spreading smile and bowed himself in a graceful and sweeping motion. “Mona ol u los?,” he asked curiously.
The Hedgerow was challenging for him to hold lengthy conversation, but he willed himself to continue with the girl before him – Mona – so that she might find a sense of peace. Tadec knew that her blood was that of a wolf, but he could not fault her for such lineage. He too had been thrust into a similar pool of unfortunate stock. The two of them were as different as they could have been, but he knew there was something within her that had been fractured. Unable to fluently point to the precise thing that had been riven, the thief was drawn to the desolate green that so carefully clung to her soul.
Mayfair, had been her second offering of a name. Her voice carried an interested tone at the mention of the Prince of a Thousand Enemies, and Mona made mention of the story that she anticipated was attached to such a title. Tadec could only smile at her and nod softly; he was not certain how he could tell her that she was correct and very wrong in the assumption. For the story had not yet concluded – the ending was still dark.
“Many stories, Tadec has,” he said, pleased with the collection that had gathered beneath his skin. “Mona has stories also?” the moonlighter sought to delve deeper into the green-eyed woman. He fixed her with a quick, but miniscule, tilt of his crown and a questioning glint in his lantern gaze.
The thief tried with valiant effort to understand her; he longed to know what she was weaving for him through a flurry of language he was not altogether fluent in. The dark half-blooded creature watched her through the embers of his gaze, smiling in an encouraging manner. She wove a tale of magnificent beings he could not fathom on his own. Still, Tadec was enthralled with such words. There were few things that he managed to clasp, and he held them with a fevered delight until she had concluded her speech. Then still, the red girl turned to him with a desperate cry and he scooted toward her to press his nose against her cheek. The spindly creature’s eyelids fluttered over his lantern optics before he opened them to peer at her with shared passion for her vexation.
The coywolf shook his head softly at her inquiry, but he was not entirely capable of comprehending the meaning of a witch. She had spoken of magics and he had hoped to combine the two together to form a clearer understanding. “Not witch,” he ushered in a hushed tone, “strong girl.” It was clear in the lines that had printed to her youthful features; she had known difficulty and had clawed her way through it. Tadec could admire this for being a feat most could not accomplish, and his compliment was spoken with a soft sincerity.
The dark Prince moved back a step or two and plucked his paws from the earth in a soft stepped passage before halting. “Mona know magic? Show Tadec magic wood,” he urged her with curling lips and a swift tossing of his muzzle for her to lead them away from their meeting place and into an unknown land.
The breath that fell from her lips still carried the weight of her worries and strife, but she was trying. Even he could see the effort that was made to bolster the strength within her. After a moment, she had agreed to lead him to the magic wood, and Tadec found himself so stricken with delight that his nimble frame seemed to jitter before her. The dark coal of his tail came to life in a twittering motion that managed to climb upward and offer a shimmy of his hips. As she fell into her own pace, he moved behind her with a low head and a curious, watchful stare on her scarlet coat. Tadec was inspired by the number of wolves who had seemingly been touched by Frith; many of them had seemed to hold the very rays of the sun in the thick hairs on their backs. He, of course, belonged to Inlé and the moon, but his mother had always told him that there was a piece of him that had been graced by Frith and that it showed in the embers of his eyes and the russet hairs of his shoulders. The nimble moonlighter knew that he would never carry the same golden radiance as Mona or Indra, but he was fortunate to know them.
The mystic mentioned the spirit of a fox. Tadec’s lengthy ears drew forward at the word and he found himself to be entirely enthralled with the prospect of such a thing. “Homba,” he spoke in his native tongue and his pace quickened. There was a breath of questioning in the single word that had left his lips, as though he were asking for her to elaborate on the spirit that she spoke of. “Mona summon homba?” the moonlighter then inquired to her, clearly lost in the prospect that had been presented to him. Tadec imagined that if she were truly a witch of the wood, she would have some control over the matters there; she would be able to call on the spirits around them.
In that moment, the crow belonged to her – the witch of the wood – and he did not mind it one bit.
There was a sweet peace to her damaged state and recovery. The rawboned thief was eager to see her reach out with divination and touch the earth with her thaumaturgic skill. Surely, he lacked any such skill or power, but he seemed to dance with belief in her. Mona spoke with disbelief in her spirit and her own faculty. Around them, there was a zephyr from beyond the gates of their corporeal world. Even the moonlighter could feel it as it tossed the fire of his shoulders and back through the air. There was a tempest of life that rattled the woodland.
An inquiry struck him, and the crow fixed her with his ardent gaze. “Homba is fox,” he answered her with a shriveled smile that curled the narrow features of his face and revealed the sharp glint of his incisors beneath his coal-colored lips. Tadec met the murky jade of her eyes, and he felt himself fall into the emerald pools that existed there – only there – as they searched for the spirit of something he had never seen.