Wolf RPG

@Olive!!

Noapte and hanar are those who keep her grounded; so Aure, ever-tethered, albeit reluctantly, spends most of her time caught within the stars. How long had she been kept from visiting them, save for a wistful glimpse or two when she could?

The skayona's feud with Sontés had been of lack of propriety where matrimony was concerned. And then there was the prospect of how concerned she "should be", that her children would remain bastardized without some moral union. The last thing she would ever expect of the minister -- who'd once preserved the dignity of her earlier years -- would be to hold her with prejudice, and judge her for a creation of life meant out of some sort of love. "Love," as he'd put so delicately, "would not bring such worth" to her children.

Needless to say, it hadn't ended in the most gracious of ways; from him, Aure had flown from the fevered gloam of Elysium's festivities, with a resentful head at the words that sounded so much like what the Blood Queen had damned her of.

Her and dragostea's souls had met as their lips had; and although he hadn't attended the celebration with her, she felt him here with her, as if he breathed at her crown, her hip. Since his christening their babes, she'd begun to notice how fervently he had begun to study her own soul. And it was that inquisitive devoutness of him that had begun to turn her love unending.

Was that not matrimony enough? This was what cast long and sleepy veils along her mind, into the little pivot in her back that'd come with maternity, as she found a copse of several willows, as young and alone as she; huddled and hunched and weeping, beckoning forth for company. She couldn't resist the invitation to that deep, dauntless dark even if she wished to.

So Aure, nesting down amidst the frost-limned ferns, curled herself about the rabbit-soft swell of her womb, and began to sing, hushed and sweet, to her children all she knew of that which Rhaesuial had bequeathed as Eä; and she sung of the Celestium in a way that was so achingly whimsical, so fey; uncharted and and borean and far-northern. Here, tucked away within this sacred space, nobody would be able to hear, to know what Aure had too-long refrained from partaking;

Hae ephadron
theri thaur
am na dhû
ias fir i ambar . . .

It awaits her, and she gives herself wholly to the Eä as Aurëwen, She the Undimming; ridding her far-northern soul of this masque for as long as her heart dared to beat here. Her heavens needed to see her as she was once again; her children needed to know in their tender, unmade marrow who held them -- worthy, or no.

She breathes, and Elysium leaves her like a lover who held a moment that was no longer there; she allows all anxiety and delight to tether her once more, and then... she is gone, silver eyes gleaming with the white forever of Eä.

The festival had since quieted, but Olive found the evening’s energy would not leave her. Even after those who wished to depart departed, and those who wished to bed down amongst the willows did so, Olive found it nearly impossible to lay still — even nestled into the comforting form of her wife — so the druid took this as a sign that she was not meant to sleep this night. The gods needed to speak with her.

She stepped away from the cluster of others and sought solitude; but she would not find it this night. She knew this the moment that sweet, dulcet tones of a singing woman’s voice reached her ears and pulled her forth, as would a siren’s song or the sweet nectar of a flower to a bee. Though the willow’s tendrils concealed much, there was no concealing the luminous woman who stood between the arbors. Olive approached, glanced over the woman to realize that she was pregnant, and she knew almost immediately this was the reason she could not sleep this night.

Gliding onto the scene atop a draft of warm air, Olive let her soft demeanor be the welcome and introduction that was needed. As if she might wake a sleeping child, she said in a hushed voice “I see that you are no longer needing of fertility’s blessing.” This woman’s season had come and passed, and seemed to have been very productive. “I must say, I am not jealous of much, but I am certainly jealous of you.” With Eleuthera and Séamus having departed on their wayfaring and their adventures so recently, her home — and her womb — have been feeling unusually empty. Olive [having just achieved master midwife, yah know] felt the almost imperceptible changed happening in her body and knew her time would come soon, as child-bearing could not be rushed. No, at this moment, it was the nameless woman’s opportunity to glow. Olive smiled with the most sincere of joy, and blessed her with “May your pregnancy be healthy, your delivery easy, and your cubs strong.”

Another hushing, this from Below, has her spirit tautening and easing as a half-known shiver kneads the delicate shoulders, the svelte spine. A featherlight ear crescents back of its own decision —

The astronomess knows the words, hears them, and yet her mind is adrift in orbit, numb to the Below. Her body, however, beholds more knowing of the Below than her mind ever could in this moment. The spirit of Aurëwen sears outwards, murmuring through Elysian dim; heralding her bones to follow: Tiria, Undimming.

What re-tethers her once more is the rest of the soliloquy, and she returns to herself with a stuttering, soft gasp and a fluttering of lashes. Her own voice had since faltered, and remained so as Olive introduced herself and went at length to bless the mother-to-be and her yet-delivered children.

”I see you no longer need fertility’s blessing.” Truthfully, she pinked a bit, and took a sudden study in her snowshoe paws. No, her womb was well, as far as childing was concerned; but she could almost feel Verx’s dark simper at her quickening pulse as she thought of how much she still needed him. But—jealousy? Her slim brow furrowed with confusion, but before she could wonder further, the other pale one continued.

The white tuft lisping along her eyes, she huffed it from them as they settled on the... divine? with argent appreciation and modest dip of her head. ”Multumesc, doamna. If they are anything like their father, valiance will come to them naturally.” At the notion of delivery, though, she fell quiet once more. Despite being a new mother, she actually hadn’t thought to, well, think of what to expect... when expecting. ”How, er... ah, um... is there anything I.... anything I should know for ze months to come?” Eloquence achieved.

The misted sylph listened as the woman, in her strange and vivacious accent, supposedly thanked her and then decorated her cubs’ father with laurels such as valiant. Olive listened, already enthralled by the woman’s words, and sat her narrow hips against the earth in a distinctive act of commitment. This was the sanctuary’s land and, as such, Olive felt safe to presume that she could sit and listen to the words that the woman proffered so freely.

Plus, it was the night, and Olive was a nocturnal creature — she found that her mind and soul operated at their sharpest during the early hours of the morning. If the pale, gravid woman was awake at this hour and not drained from the evening’s festivities, perhaps they were cut from the same cloth.

“Oh, isn’t that lovely.” She tittered in response, already loving the stranger’s dedication to her beloved. Here she did not linger, instead moving on to a topic that many mothers asked after —especially if it was their first time. Advice? There were plenty of old wives tales that Olive could pass on, or stories from her career as a midwife, but every pregnancy was unique and to advise one from the other would require tools that wolfkind, unfortunately, did not have access to. There was very little that Olive could actually do or tell at this point. Her true usefulness came during delivery, or if any complications arose in the later parts of the pregnancy.

Olive gave a small laugh, smile beaming just as the stars that glistened overhead. “Though I am a midwife, I can only tell you what you’ve likely already heard from others. The teachings of motherhood can only come from within.” She did not want to appear entirely useless in this endeavor, though the true delight of midwifing came from being at a woman’s side through the entire process of bringing life into the world; and she had a sneaking suspicion that the woman would have understood this. “I feel that, since you’ve come to celebrate the fertility festival with us, that your heart is already in the right place. Therefore, love, you already know everything that you need to in order to thrive.”

Olive gave a small huff, almost imperceptible except for the frosted cloud that exited her lips, and pulled herself from her seated position in order to made a suggestion — and to be closer to what she was suggesting. “When I feel uncertain, I find that the gods can provide a true sense of comfort. They don’t very much like to keep secrets, where innocents are concerned.” The last statement was said with a knowing nibble of the lip and tilt of her head towards the woman’s belly, which bulged in the sweetest manner. The gods never hurt children; after all, it was a sin of sins.

“We can read their whispers in the stars,” the druid shared, not knowing if this was an ideology that the woman prescribed to.

As far as the astronomess knew, there had been none upon the cliffs to tell her all that came with motherhood; there was Rose, but the russet has been previously absent, and thus Aure hasn’t inquired much. Instead, she'd been taking upon herself what Olive now bid: listening to her womb, and the new, heavenly bodies that formed within. However, the oracle spoke of deities, then, and a thin ear curved back of its own accord; not of offense, but of that of a non-believer, and a bit of doubtfulness in this ideology instead.

In Rhaesuial, tenants or no, there had been those who had faith in the northern stars as the souls, embodiments, or otherwise as gods. Being nurtured as an heiress had allowed her to broaden her horizons on such a prospect, and for some time, she’d entertained what it must be like to believe in a higher All-father. Arguments of what had to have created their Eä arose, and still did, and usually simmered down to ”my child, this world works in mysterious ways.” That, it did. But she was no longer a child.

Modesty, bashfulness, unsurety — those were felt, though, as Olive settled some smidgens closer and let the amor for her divinities leave her lips, all while looking at her so unabashedly, as if... Aure were a star that the midwife sought to chart, to know. The astronomess had regarded the world and all its souls in such a way, but had never been taken to in return — undeserving as she was. A sheepish little curl of her lips had her mute, ears flickering back along her skull, eyes treading along her paws. They looked quite dainty from here, she thinks.

”F-forgive me, domana, I am not all too familiar with ze notion of gods,” she admitted, looking back to Olive with flushed humility, draping one delicate wrist about the other. Perhaps she could learn more, disbelief regardless? It was always good to have reserves, after all... ”Might I ask you tell me more, though? What they whisper of, and how I should know?” Ivory shoulders curled forward with meek, diligent interest; an inquisitive adapter, as always.

There were so many godless wolves amongst the Teen Wilds, that sometimes it made Olive feel somewhat heartbroken. There was such wonder and understanding to be had, if one opened the gods into their mind, body and soul. There were many who, upon further investigation, did appreciate the Gods’ splendor and read their words without realizing it, though the turning of the tides, the seasons, weather patterns and, of course, the stars. Olive had a sneaking suspicion that Aure was one of those wolves.

Olive indulged Aure’s curiosities. “Well, to know what might happen in the future, you can look for synchronicities. It is how the Gods speak, and how we can understand them.” Her deities didn’t speak through the stars, Olive had realized after many years, because the map of the sky did not change — it was always predictable. Instead, they spoke through relationships, and physical relation, to the stars themselves.

The dove raised her eyebrows provocatively. “If you love a star, or a group of stars means something great to you, look out for it.” Then she cast a glance towards the sky herself, wondering if she might happen to catch one of her special stars. “My first girl is named after the constellation Cassiopeia, and I oftentimes see her stars appear when times are tough. I like to this it’s an omen that everything will be okay — no matter what.” A dulcet smile had settled over her features at the memory, but suddenly a shiver rang down her spin.

“— but I know that, when I see the constellation Sirius, there are only trials and hurdles ahead.”

Olive did not care to expand or elaborate upon that. She quickly recovered. “You can also read the stars to know about an event that has occurred. If your little ones were born tonight, they would be born under a group of stars called aquarius. You could probably expect them to be strikingly independent and uncompromising in their ideals. Of course, you could interpret different stars for different reasons, and you might get a different answer every time. It’s mostly about what resonates with you, and what your intuition is telling you.” If the Gods were present inside each one of them, then intuition surely must be the link the bound them all together. “To learn about your little ones, I find it best to pray first. Meditate upon them.” Olive demonstrated by closing her eyes and taking three, deep, cleansing breathing.

“Then you wait for the signs to appear, or the knowledge to rush into you.” Her ivy eyes slid open, reflecting the brightness of the night sky. She considered the stars for a moment, then cast Aure a knowing smile. “Shall we?” she suggested, ready to lead the woman in a consultation with the gods, if she wished.

Aure listened to Olive quietly, nodding at her own intervals to show she was still heeding her words. Even if she didn't understand most of what the other far-seer spoke of, the herbalist was able to retain the gist of the allusions. Aure had never heard of plucking a child's name from the stars, much less their attributes, and even less carving out the blessings and the hardships that your Road may lead you.

All of the constellations were dear to the silver as a whole — and at the prospect of a consultation, Aure hesitated. It wasn't that she'd refuse, since this sort of meditation wasn't uncommon to her; only that . "Well..." She began slowly, eyes listing with a bit of uncertainy towards the dark heavens, "I feel as if I will whelp in ze raining month; before the month where everything blooms."

Pale eyes returned to the imploring of Olive's own, feeling a little helpless at the "Shall we?" Aure did lean a bit more forwardly, though, as if she were willing to stumble along regardless of her hesitance. "Of ze Teekon constellations, I have learned of two — named Cygnus? And Draco? But I have yet to discover them with my own eyes." Could these constellations tell of her children? Or, at the very least, why she was drawn to both at all?

I know you’re eager to close this, so I’ll just fade here! Thanks for the extra round :)

Aure listened like a well-trained and gracious student, but there was a sense of not-understanding that Olive easily detected. It was fine, there were very few wolves who could be considered devout right off the back. It had even taken Olive a year of grooming by her mother to be as intuitive and devotional as she was. Most wolves needed to experience the gods and the stars themselves before they surrendered, truly believing.

But within Aure, there was trepidation and fear. Olive looked down her nose at her kindly, listening as she spoke and taking in every word, and every word’s unspoken meaning. “I can show you,” the pale druid offered. “But you must then listen to them, and tell me what they say, even if it is nothing.” Perhaps when Aure tried it for herself, she’d be surprised to hear how loud the stars could whisper. Perhaps she’d even hear the voices of her babes within her belly, or relatives long dead! It always amazed Olive what she might find when she turned herself to the night sky and embraced the energies around her. Maybe, with time, so would the scarred princess at her side.

Andraste

Olive

Andraste

Olive

Andraste

Olive

Andraste

Olive