Deimos takes a wide arc across the flatlands, purposeful to avoid the ravine and its inhabitant. It's been weeks but he still remembers her strange face. Part of him thinks maybe she was a ghoul, a figment contrived of his overactive and starving imagination.
He's got no plans to revisit that place of death, so he stays to the flatter lands and travels along the smooth back of a gently sloped prairie. He's not anywhere he recognizes, but it's almost sunset and before long he's going to be in the open at dark. There's a grove of bushes not so far from him and he starts towards them, thinking they'll be a good place to bunk down for the night.
A speck of gold was she upon the green seas of summer grasses - lost within the wavering heights that reached ever upwards to the sky.
A prickling discomfort curdled beneath her flesh, setting over-long ears to pin fitfully against the slender curve of her skull and lending hesitance to the soft tread of snow-dipped paws. It was borne of the abandonment of the trees which provided some notion of security.
Any might find her within the steppes and she would not see them coming.
Twilight was oncoming, heralding the night that would soon sweep over Teekon and plunge it into pitch. Rosy pinks and soft blues that reminded her of @Sherigrim's gentle gaze collided overhead - a soft purple produced like that of the most beautiful bruise, left by the frenzied touch of a lover.
The first stars had appeared, contested by the glow of a sun over the horizon that would soon dip beyond to the places where wolves could not go.
Elve found herself stopping amongst the cool blades of grass, expression and posture turned towards the fiery orb - lost.
If they had truly cast death upon her, why was she still wandering? Why had she not been admitted to the lands of the unknown and unseen?
"What do you want of me?" Elve addressed the gods in a rasp of emotion, a plea, a prayer, a beg for answers.
She had given all. Obedience, worship, effort, love.
They had taken everything, even Laisse.
And now they doomed her to roam, unable to make sense of their mutterings.
For a moment, she hung suspended in wait - poised as if on the precipice of some void.
But the spirits remained withdrawn. They too had turned away from the besmirching of Sapmi, from the wolfdog's fall from grace - if ever her existence could be considered to be held in such a light.
Only the wind answered, stirring the grasses so that they tickled against her eyelids - which had fallen shut with her refusal to grieve.
It was quickly approaching nightfall by the time Elve summoned the will to continue on, filled to the brim with weariness as she searched for somewhere to make her bed for the night.
hope you don't mind Elve (she's also into stars despite being a bit morose rn) sorry for the novel (tags for visibility/reference)
Deimos looks forward to the night, provided there's little cloud cover. He's not been able to see much of the heavens these last few days, and wonders if he's gone off-course. It's still too bright to see Antares, so Deimos settles down in his makeshift bed for the night.
He's almost off to a brief nap when he hears a scuffle of footpads. His ears perk, and he brings himself to full attention. There's a wolf nearby, likely passing through. Deimos couldn't afford to take risks as a lone wolf, so he steels himself for an unwelcome visitor. He expects its a pack wolf of one of the neighboring territories, come to chase him off. Ready to defend himself, he's surprised when a willowy wolf materializes with goldenstrand hair. Interest piqued, Deimos offers a low chuff and sits upright, but doesn't move from his cover.
The soft tread can only be described as a plod, cream shoulders bowed beneath the cover of a caribou pelt as if weighed by stone. She could muster no energy to glance about her in admiration of the land's exotic beauty and thus misses him in passing by until he rasps a soft noise.
Straightening in surprise, a single pale paw lifts not unlike a pointer hound, as the wisp turns towards him.
For a moment, she cannot discern shadow from beast.
He is night personified, shadow cursed into flesh by the doing of a crooked and bewitched crone. The storm looks something like the men of her homeland but even in her nightmares, Raikseiû was not of a size to compete with the wraith before her. Of all the men Teekon has proferred, he's among the most intimidating.
For a prolonged heartbeat, her mind stutters in fear and she remains transfixed in frozen suspension.
Her manners come back and with a sense of chagrin, the bird's golden head ducks demurely - oceanic orbs trained carefully upon her paws as her ears fall to her crown.
"T'is woman greets you," the gypsy lilted softly, head dipping slightly as she waited for permission to approach.
so sorry for wait!!
So, Deimos sees Elve .. but she doesn’t see him. There’s a big stretch of awkward silence where it looks like her brain is misfiring, or maybe she’s startled - neither of which Deimos knows how to handle. He’s about to clear his throat and relieve the weirdness but Elve speaks, her voice heavy with an accent Deimos has not heard before. He wonders if she is not native stock, or if this was not the preferred language. He hopes that’s not the case because he only knows one language, and not very handily either.
Elve’s way of greeting was odd, but Deimos pushes it aside with a smile that shows he’s joking.
Well, this man was asleep.
Come to think of it, he couldn’t complain if his nap was disturbed by company of Elve’s likeness. It’s been some time since he’s had much civilized interaction and he’s in sore need of it.
The flaxen elf's ears twitch in contriteness - despite the tone of jest - even as her face crumples vaguely in confusion. "I apologize," she murmured uncertainly - wondering silently why he had drawn her attention to him if he would only be bothered by her presence. Elve chalks it up to his joke and her unfamiliarity with the locals and the ways of the southerners.
She dared to dance a few steps closer, curling her golden haunches upon the earth and leveling the soft-spoken shadow with a curious blue stare.
"T'is woman is called Elve," she introduced herself, the words followed by a gentle curl of amusement across her lips. "Does ta sleeping man 'ave a name?"
She's uncertain, and Deimos can't fault her. His humor is often lost on people, especially strangers. He's quick to give a light smile to chase away her doubts. He's friendly, see?
Deimos watches as Elve lightly steps close to him. He notes her steps are nimble, but they're also cautious. He's wondering what makes a wolf step that way. Almost like she expects being struck any moment. His posture is way too relaxed for that, it radiates a looseness that says he's far too invested in being lazy to ever rise again.
His smile must have done the trick, because he can detect a faint grin of amusement wrapping the corner of her lips. "Of course," Deimos purls, canting his head to the side. "The sleeping man's name is Deimos." He's quiet long enough for that to sink in. It's surprisingly satisfying that Elve was keeping up with the game, and Deimos doesn't want to ruin it. "Does the woman who wakes sleeping men have a pack?"
Though it had taken her a moment - the wolves of Sapmi were not very big on jokes - she soon caught on that it was a sort of game to him. Bemusement met his name, which she nodded to as if to deem it an appropriate fit for the hulking shadow.
Her smile faltered slightly at his next question though she kept it plastered on for politeness. "No. I am Elve of No People," she listed softly in return, trying to maintain the same upbeat revelrie.
"Does Deimos have a Clan?" She asked in return after a moment, though she could smell that he didn't, to keep the game going.
Elve of no people, the woman answers. Well, add Deimos to that list. He's never been a wolf to conform to packlife if it inconveniences him in the slightest, but he shares a smile of kinship with the golden wisp. They were two travelers on the road, and there was no deeper community than the community of wolves with no people. "Deimos has no people." A crying shame, but he's not sad about it. It would have been cool if she had a pack and could feed him, but he'd take her as a lone wolf too. Company on the lone road was better than loneliness and empty stomach.
"That's a fun way to put it, 'No People'." Deimos responds in quip, the grin still lingering. "I like it. It sounds better than saying 'nah, I was kicked out'. It's fancified." He declares, tilting his chin up a bit to look at Elve with a playful smirk. "How did the Woman-Who-Wakes-Sleeping-Men become the Queen of No People?"
She smiles back - unable to restrain herself in the face of his subtle, but doubtless infectious, mirth. Dread curled around her heart, stuttering as his next question came.
"When a man asks a question, you answer."
"I disobeyed my 'usband," she answered softly, hesitantly. "I brought ta spirits' anger upon my Clan."
For some reason, she feels the need to explain - something that hasn't occurred before.
"I protected my daughter. 'E would 'ave 'urt 'er too."
Elve went from a sunny smile (which Deimos very much appreciates) to a dispairing frown, which Deimos does not appreciate. He's worried he said something dumb, or maybe broached a taboo topic.. Sure enough, his joke has unintentionally speared her and likewise, Deimos feels something hard and guilty curl around his chest.
It gets worse, apparently, with Elve mentioning a husband.. a husband that apparently had tried to hurt her daughter? Deimos feels his eyes narrow, the crimson of his gaze intolerant. "Sounds like he was a piece of shit husband." Deimos cant help his tongue sometimes, it really gets the best of him.. case in point here, where he spoke before thinking much of it. Call Deimos what you will, but he's always one to speak his mind.. which means he's very unlikely to be anything but transparent. "You're better off without him." He asserts, nodding almost sagelike. "Your daughter okay, though?"