An endless field of plants covered in a sugary dust. Perhaps it was beautiful in summer, but for the winter had come and barricaded to what it could've previously been. A black figure stood amongst the snow dust, smilingly idly while she said,
"Oh, poor old Stormy's dead and gone
Storm along boys! Storm along John!
Oh, poor old Stormy's dead and gone
Ah-ha, come along get along
Stormy along John!"
When Wylla descended from the mountains, driven from Diaspora's claim by the need to recruit, she wasn't expecting much. For whatever reason, most of the souls that crossed the mountains didn't find themselves to Diaspora's door, nor did they make a pledge of membership to Mahler's pack. She chose to leave the mountains altogether.
She wasn't expecting for her ears to perk at the sound of singing in the meadow below, and when she found the source, she was taken aback. Stereotypical as it was, she usually expected to find small, sprightly, dainty wolves at the end of hollered songs. Wolves like her in build, but soft in personality. Instead, the voice belonged to a heavyset she-wolf with a white-on-black coat who looked like she would be more at home in a sparring ring than singing in an open field.
What're you screaming about?
Wylla called, waving her tail in greeting but keeping the smirk from her lips. She knew Norsamu wasn't screaming at all, but far be it from her to acknowledge that someone had a good singing voice.
"Screaming? Nay, tis' folk singing!" Norsamu took no offense and simply corrected the confused lassy, and laughed it off. She had coloration much like her own, grays, whites, black, but thy' eyes were of different shades. Despite similarity, there was quite a difference, she the Pirate was large and strong, and this one was scrawny and weak. It was clear with the smirk on this face, she was looking down on this stranger.
"Who be you?"
Wylla was struck with the immediate feeling that she was going to regret approaching this bawdy she-wolf. It wasn't Norsamu's response because that was perfectly reasonable. It was the cocky grin and the way her eyes seemed to gleam with some kind of superiority that put Wylla on edge. She was born to be a head bitch in charge and it never sat well with her to be smirked at that way.
I should ask you the same,
she stubbornly responded, hitching her black ears forward and affixing a scouring stare on the loner. After all, you're the one shrieking so loud you woke my pack.
Was it a bit of a power play? A bit of a strange flex? Probably.
henlo im retiring norsamu but thank you for the thread!!
id love for wylla to meet any of my other characters
"Aye? Spunky ain't cha'," Norsamu chortled loudly, "but dont be matterin' I gots to go either way." She heard the calls of treasure somewhere south, yet it was only a rumor, she did not know to be true. However that was her purpose regardless, imbued to her bones to follow said rumors and find the beauties! As much as she was a beauty, she was no rumor to have fun in finding, but a real wolf.
"Cya!"
You'll never meet anyone moreso,
said Wylla with a pointed squint at her companion, but as quickly as Norsamu mocked her, she dismissed herself. K then, said Wylla's baffled expressions as the bawdy she-wolf made to depart. She wouldn't have been a good fit for Diaspora anyway. Much too impertinent, and Wylla didn't need any competition for the rank she sought.
With a snort, she turned around and headed for home.