Wolf RPG

She would have reveled in the chance to forget her woes, immerse in the wondrous sensation of revelrie and camaraderie that Aurëwen's visit wrought but the alabaster dove was a mother - she had beloved, cherished bairns to return to for which she had a measure of the woman's jealousy. She did not linger long in the Seelie's company and the night ends early; the grey morning finds her well rested, a langorous tug of muscles and sinuous yawn greets the dawn. 

Amethyst eye scans the still meadow - not even the bird's have risen to chirp their songs - searchingly, seeking opportunity. With a small heft, the nightwisp finds her feet - padding to the stream for a morning sip - and abandons her spot amongst the grove.  

A smattering of tracks drew her eye as her head lifted, droplets trailing from her lips. They appeared to belong to a small mammalian creature of sorts though Rhælla could not be certain if the game was at all similar to that of the Lirean (or even the Icadearian for that matter) territory. 

Trailing after the pattern, Rhælla slipped amongst reeds - tall enough to reach well over the tiny nymph's height - weaving her path to a cluster of minute warrens mired in the musk of prey. 

Her stomach would rumble at the proximity of a meal, a gnawing and nauseating ache that squinted her flowery eye briefly. 

Hovering on bunched haunches, fixed over the burrows like a bear waiting for seal to emerge for air, she would wait. 

And wait. 

Until at last a scurry was heard somewhere within the dark depths, accompanied by muffled squeaks and chirps. A small head popped out, beady eyes darting and whiskers twitching warily. 

Pouncing, Rhælla dived for the weasel and thudded, rolling onto her side as she crumpled against the earth. A puff of dust dissipated, curling into the air as she searched for her target in vain - the weasel having pulled back into the security of its tunnels.

Damn, the girl cursed inwardly, rising and taking inventory of her latest bumps and scrapes.

Sherigrim had spent some time in the early dawn to eat, arriving before sunrise to start investigating the expansive meadow with Elve, though he suspected she'd want to tag along later. He'd caught himself a plump partridge without too much bother, carrying it out to find a spot to watch the last of the brightest stars fade and the clouds illuminate with orange.

He saw a black form dive up just before him, taking him by surprise. If he'd been running he would've crashed into the hunter. He barked softly in surprise, dropping the partridge. Concern overwhelmed him, stepping over the bird to see if the meadow diver was unscathed.
"Are you hurt?" His voice held his concern, watching the hunter stand.

[i]Skittishly she rears back, dancing away with pinned auds at his sudden appearance. Her head tips to the side, angling him with a wild orb of pale violet - teeth bared slightly in agitation. 

His question - and concern - stall the defensive display, confusing her momentarily. It's clear she wasn't expecting kindness. 

"I'm good," the Lirean replies after a beat, shifting into a position that more resembles neutrality, somewhat embarrassed by her reaction. 

"I'm Rhælla," she introduced awkwardly, spinning a half-smile his way in an attempt of reconciling the friendly demeanor.

whoops site is being fucky so it's all in italics now lol

[/i]

His eyes widened, muscles tensing at her reaction, expecting her to snap at him. Though it didn't come and he was certainly glad for it. His tail waved softly, showing that he was friendly. 
He offered her a good-natured smile, "That was quite a bump you had there." He commented, knowing full well he'd had his own share of lumps and bumps. Especially whilst hunting.

"I'm Sherigrim." He replied, thinking for a moment. "I'm sorry I caught you off guard. I just saw you fall." He smiled kindly, his face warm. He wondered what she thought of him. Either way, she didn't seem bad. Like Elve in a way but in many ways far from the Sapmi maiden.

She grimaces, vaguely sheepish at the reminder of her tactless failure. A damning purple orb seeks the weasel's threshold - cursing the small creature for its quick reflexes, for embarrassing her such. 

"There's been worse," she comments, neither protest nor agreement. (She recalls distinctly an occasion where Rhaelyx had tumbled through a briar patch as a pup, mercilessly teased by his sister as a porcupine for moons.)

"Oh, that's alright," she waves away his apology gracefully, with a kind smile, "I'm sorry for acting like such a heathen; you just caught me off guard." 

"Are you a curative?" The night wisp asked after a moment, somewhat randomly, as she nestled her flanks against the earth; head listing to the side as she examined him with a curious gaze - cataloguing him as such based on the plant matter woven into his ragged ruff.

He gave a fond smile, his eyes shone with his understanding. One may never guess what the druid had seen in his relatively short life but he’d never come out of it for the worst. His heart was naturally soft and he interpreted death as a part of life and grieved little. 

“It’s fine, we’re not hurt.” His complexion maintained a picture of relaxation and his tail still waved with friendliness. 

Curative? “I’d like to think so,” he let a soft laugh pass his lips, “I am, by nature, a Druid but I am also a practicing Shaman.” Indeed, he was handy with plants and knew enough about medical issues to be useful. “Are you seeking a cure for some ailment?” He pondered. She didn’t look sick but many illnesses could be hidden.

An easy smile settled upon her dark features, finding herself relaxed in the presence of a kindred soul. The Dryad was a bouyant light; despite a tense start, it was hard not to lower her walls in the face of friendly conversation. 

"No, thankfully," she joked softly, head canting to the side as her muzzle wrinkled in amusement. "Just curious."

"What does being a Shaman entail - what must one study?" She asked next, intrigue glinting in her gaze.

He nodded, glad too. He'd hate for her to have something he couldn't find a cure for. He hoped he'd never be in that position. 
Her question intrigued him. No one had asked him what being a Shaman entailed. Though, he hadn't used the title long.
"A Shaman practices using plants for medical uses as well as Divination -- the art of telling the future. Perhaps you'd like to have your future told?" His gaze held wonder at the possibility of learning what the woman could do in her life. What she could see and what she will do. It was fascinating to him.

A skeptical tilt of her darkened dome met the Druid's definition, a faint wrinkle of perplexion forming between her eyes (or eye and eye socket anyhow). Divination was not amongst the teachings prescribed in Lirean, it was a wholly new concept - not one she was certain she would put much stock in. 

"Our fates are never predetermined though," she countered, not unpolitely, "wouldn't your future be determined by what choices you make? The packs you join, the leaders you serve, the wolves you meet?"

Still, at his offer she felt a tingle of intrigue within - despite her doubts. "I'll bite: what's my future hold?" She questioned mirthfully, leaning back on her haunches in wait with a quirked brow of amusement.

He chuckled softly, regarding her with a look of wonder. She was quick, for sure.
"It's never exact. No future is set. You talk of fate. No, a future can be changed, I tell what is proposed if nothing changes. Fate cannot be changed."
By saying that, future can be defined by ones actions. Fate is outside the control of even those of the Supernova of Arenraith. 
Arenraith. Gone.

He raised a brow, "Of course. I'll find some stones and see what we can have." He moved around, picking stones from the grasses. After a sort time and he'd gathered the best sones he could find, he flattened an area to cast. "Your question is what your future holds, correct?" His cornflower gaze watched her, his face placid.

This time there was definitely more confusion than doubt. Fate and future - were they interchangeable? Fate was the unseen happenstance, the storm on the horizon that hit before you could prepare. Future her sister, the circumstances yet to unfold in as few as seconds or lengthy as years. 

What's the distinction? She wondered silently, watching the Fae search for stones with furrowed brows - she hadn't the slightest clue what rocks he was searching for so she determined just to stay out of Sherigrim's way. 

Of the instances in your life, what could you have changed? 

Not her birth or upbringing certainly. Her betrothal to Lucavon? Arranged when she was but a babe. Had he been her fate? Could she have spoken out, fought against it, changed it? 

Perhaps. 

But it's giving her a migraine so she doesn't bother protesting when the Druid reseats himself and presents his stones. She pushes both from her mind and nods, "Aye."

He gave her a curt nod and sucked in a breath, thinking hard of the question: What does Rhælla's future hold? He stared at the stones, picturing the one-eyed shadow. Slowly, he released the breath and cast the stones away with a flick of a paw. He watched them cast, remembering each of the runes he'd pictured them as. "You imagine their interactions as a story and it is up to one's interpretation." He murmured, explaining the method.

Algiz sat in a way that the Shaman saw as leading to Ehwaz then to Laguz. Elk (protection) led to the horse (balance) and water (life.) He spoke as he interpreted the first three to her. 
"Then comes Teiwaz whish means Tyr, the sky god. He represents a warrior and rationality. Next to it is Jera which is a year. Rewards, the cycle of nature, happiness." He looked to her for a moment, gauging a reaction.

"On it's own but still close is Perthro which is change. Perhaps the former events will bring change." He continued on, talking as he interpreted to create the story for her.
In an arc was Dagaz which was dawn and power to change one's self, next was Mannaz which was humans. The two-legged furless creatures that terrorized. His face fell solemn when he spoke of this to Rhælla. He'd never met one but he knew they were bad. The last in the arc was Raidho which is journey. Sometimes the humans took wolves and took them to other places.
"I don't know what you make of this. Strange times are upon us." His face twisted with concern, trying to decipher a new meaning but couldn't. He carried on with the last stones.
"Sowilo is the sun. Good and guidance. Close is Hagalaz which is stone. Disruption and change." Well, from his point of view it started good and perhaps, for a while, it would be. But after the good would come the humans and the change. He worried for her, but it could be changed. The reading of the stones can always be changed.
He studied her, wondering what she made of it.

She made nothing of it. 

It was nonsense to her: titles she'd never heard, symbols she couldn't see, vague interpretation's she couldn't follow. Though she tried to be polite, he seemed nice truly, she was left to eye him with crumpled features of bafflement and wondering silently if he suffered from some mental ailment. 

"So...," she began after a long moment spent gathering her thoughts, "someone is going to protect me...which will balance my life? Then I will meet a warrior whom I will spend a happy and fulfilled year with?"

"After that, something will change and a new dawn will come in which I can change myself? Then these...creatures, you called them humans? Anyways, they'll arrive and a journey will be at hand?" 

"Something good will happen on this journey but will be disrupted by change and that's it, I guess. Did I understand that all correctly?" The nightborn asked, careful to keep any judgement from her tones as she clarified. Perhaps there was something she just wasn't grasping, maybe it was beyond her. Either way, she wasn't anymore certain about her future than she had been before her reading.

He held sympathy for her. She'd clearly not been associated with the divine workings -- he'd been baffled too when he'd first met them.
He laughed softly, nodding.
"You did well. The reading is whatever you make of it." He gathered up the stones, making a neat pile with a paw.

It would make him think for days. Always did. Usually, talking to the stars settled his mind and he could move on. Sometimes, he'd found the readings to come true. Though, the readings are interpreted and applied to a situation. Of course, he believed in deities, though not taught by Arenraith. 
"I hope you do not feel troubled by this."

Despite the Druid's praise, Rhælla cannot help but feel she's done the opposite of well. A great deal of it is confusing to say the least. (She hasn't even the faintest clue what a human is or where they might take her.) 

Some part of her is comforted by the fact that it is only what she makes of the tale, the events can still be altered. (She wasn't going anywhere against her will, she was certain of that.) 

"No, it was interesting," she rebutted, not untruthfully, with a kind smile. "Thank you, Sherigrim."

"Is there anything I might do for you? To return the favor?" She asked after a moment, disliking the notion of being in his debt.

He raised a brow, shaking out his ruff gently.
"I don't need any repayment. Your health and peace of mind is good enough for me." He grinned, his tail waving softly in the grass.

"Where are you going to travel to now?" He questioned, intrigued by the dark stranger. She seemed to be almost his opposite. In truth, he'd not met the worst the world could offer.

The nightwisp canted her head curiously, a faint curl of her lips playing upon nymphish features. "Then I must commend you for your kind outlook," the fae murmured with appreciation. 

Dark auds pricked to life at his question. "I think I shall take to the steppes, travel north to the sea," she mused softly, gaze drawn to the mountains fencing her west wonderingly. 

Her lilac gaze returned to the shaman. "I have plans, vague ones to be sure, but plans nonetheless. I would like to build something my own," she divests with a slight shrug. 

"A shaman would be welcome," she offers with a smile, though there seems to be an implied undercurrent of only if your pack can part with you and only if you want to come. 

He nodded in agreement. Her travel sounded like it would bring her much joy.
"The mountain are nice. I know of a pack there and some try to claim the Vale, but they come and go." He smiled fondly, knowing Erianthe wanted to claim there too -- or at least close to it.
He'd seen the ocean and thought it to be wild and harsh in ways other lands were not. In truth, it scared him a little, but he'd not had enough experience to comment on the ecosystem.

When she subtly asked him to join, he smiled apologetically with a soft shake of the head, "Swiftcurrent Creek needs me for my medical knowledge. However, one day, if my heart so desires and the stars beg me I will venutre from them and find you." He chuckled softly, glad to have met this woman.

This tidbit draws her auds to flutter with interest, nodding slightly to herself. "I shall keep an eye out for them," she vows - whether friendly or hostile. 

"May we meet again, then," she murmurs to the Druid, rising with the intentions of securing a meal, as she pads by. "Seven blessings upon you, Shaman," she calls softly over her shoulder, melding with the forest.