she's skeletal thin, now, and her thin coat hangs off her ribs like an oversized coat. besides the overwhelming exhaustion, all the other emotions that at times threatened to overwhelm her have vanished. she is comfortably numb as she wanders into this wood, understanding that, like all the other territories she's moved through, this is not her home. what threatened to destroy her most was the loneliness, but she's no longer alone, now. the woman who walks beside her isn't flesh and blood, but Clem knows she exists - she can see her in the scattered sunbeams, now, and she knows the woman is watching her, waiting. "it's alright," she whispers, as she always does, and this time Clem listens. the woman pauses and so does she, and there before her is the same hollow she'd left the morning, at the base of a fir. somehow, the knowledge that she's been walking in circles doesn't upset her, anymore.
instead, she steps easily into the hollow, her own scent still lingers, and folds in on herself as she becomes another motionless body on the forest floor; distinguished only by the careful rise and fall of her chest.
She hasn't been home for very long, but the forest feels different. Maybe it is Ibis that has changed after her trip back to the willows? She feels a strong sense of guilt; maybe she should have visited with her mothers after all? Her sadness has ebbed somewhat, but not fully abated. Perhaps she will never be over the loss of Lily - but she is trying.
The woods are quiet, and while the trees always retain a golden glow, they appear to be a little closer to red right now. Transitional. Ibis is watching the trees shift in the summer air for a few minutes, wondering where her brother has gone off to - and Mal, since she hadn't seen him since her return - but was too distracted by her own thoughts to really focus on her surroundings.
Something moves in her periphery, and catches her attention. At first Ibis cannot discern what is moving in the forest; it appears to be small, and is rustling among some of the more stout bushes and trees. The girl decides to investigate (it would be nice to have a distraction) and as she draws closer, she thinks she can smell -- wolf?
Hello..?
She calls out softly, crooning with innocence.
the hello, however soft it may sound, succeeds only in activating Clem's failing stress instinct. she draws and holds a breath, the rise and fall of her chest increasing slightly as her oversized ears rove atop her head and point towards the source; a wolf she can't quite make out from beneath the canopy. right now, the fir branches above feel very much like an added layer of protection, and so she remains rooted beneath them.
her gaze, ears, attention remain fixated on the stranger, but she remains folded up and not exactly out of sight. she'd learned pretty quickly that rushing out to meet strangers ends oft with yelling and more running in the opposite direction, and she's too tired to run.
Whatever she's found is alive, and shifting in the undergrowth, but it doesn't spook like prey. Then again, whatever or whoever it is appears to be too nervous to speak. Ibis doesn't know what to do. She is reminded of Cam in that moment; of finding the child and hearing the bad news about one of her caretakers - and is struck for a moment with a sense of deja-vu muddied by foreboding. The scents of the forest are strong; however, the salt-heavy aroma carried on the stranger contrasts enough to be notably different and easy to discern from the rest.
Ibis slinks closer. She makes herself smaller by squatting down and then, laying on her belly, she does a caterpillar shimmy beneath the hanging boughs. It might not be safe for her to pry too much in to this stranger's safe zone and so she is trying to be careful, but Ibis cannot help the nagging feeling that this creature - or wolf, this person - might need help.
Are you alright?
She murmurs in her soft little voice, feeling the chill of the shadows as she probes the dark with her snout. You don't have to come out if you don't want to.
she continues, settling in place, propping her chin against her slender wrists.
whoever lurks outside her hidey-hole grows near, and the panic she should be feeling is strangely absent. the closer the stranger comes, the more clem leans away, but she does not run. when finally the stranger - a woman - pauses and speaks, clem runs a worried tongue over her lips, gaze fixed on the stranger. "ok," and then, in elaboration, "I would like to stay here, please." maybe it's the crushing loneliness, or the way things have become unreal, detached, but she dares lean forward in an attempt to investigate the other, flinching back when her dry nose collides with a forepaw.
"oh!" slips out, and then a soft, "sorry."