It was her favorite place in the mountain top. The highest spire, where she could look down on the lands with a fascination, and a superiority to herself. Felt like she was ontop of the world, a sovereign, a warrior, a guard to the land.. Now she was at the lowest form, with nothing to her name but a previous honor, and a pride to boot.
Nothing could be seen with the constant pouring of rain, nothing could be heard except the constanding downpour against the rocks.
Nothing at all, except her final call to the mountain. A howl of mourning, to what she had lost.
In the end, she still believes she did what was right. She will find somewhere which will appreciate her. Somewhere, she can get respect of what she desired. Somewhere.. Somewhere soon.
Back into the mountains. Back up, away from the flooded lowlands. Back to what is safe, what is comfortable, what is home. Her Ravens were never far behind her. She could hear them, whispering to her, somewhere between real and imagined.
And through the whispers and throaty cries came a different voice, an earthly one. A voice of anguish and frustration.
Curiosity drew the phantom in, and she searched, waiting for another call, another signal of the fellow stranger's direction. She even went so far as to tilt her own muzzle back, an answering response.
I am here...where are you?
Another had joined her call, but it wasn't appreciate from the flaming wolf. She promptly ended her call to the wind, with a glare to the open. The rain continued to pound against her bright fur, while the call of others were sounded to. Sounded pretty, Orlaith had to admit, but she didn't enjoy someone joining in her anguish, when they would not understand.
Now, she sat in silence.
Though she searched, it seemed the other stranger did not wish to be found.
A pity. She wanted to offer them all a home, and if female, a place among the Daughters of the Raven. It was was a dream slowly setling in her mind, a coven, a sanctuary. To learn the secrets of the Raven, the art of talking to spirit.
Now she needed wolves to flesh out the plan. She called again, searching, insisting, hoping...
The calling persisted; and generally, ruined her time at the spire. She only wanted to relinquish her mourning in peace, but it seemed another had thoughts. It was a calling, to find her specifically, but Orlaith had no desire to call back. She only breathed out in a huff, and started to prowl down the mountain.
Her moment was over.
The call, despite her urging, does not respond. Whoever voiced their woes into the storm clearly doesn't want company.
No matter. There are other wolves.
so she braces herself against the storm and continues.
When the second voice faltered and fell silent, a third would rise into the air- a song of mirth sung out over the treetops toward the spire where he hoped it would fall on patient ears. He had recognized the voice- the first one, that is- and hardly believing his luck, had begun to tread in that direction, only to find that there was another searching for the fiery fae. But no response had come, as he marched on, trying to track down any trace of her scent that he might be able to follow, should she deny him an audience. Once the second voice had fallen silent, only then did he speak up- a taunting, but endearing song, calling out for his long-lost friend, hoping that she might elect, in turn, to answer him back.
There was a clear distort of disgust upon Orlaith's face, as she heard the all-to-familiar call of her cousin. Last she heard about him, he had been engaged, and was to spend his life with a new family. Why was he here? She didn't want him to be here either. Firstly her call to the wind had been disrupted by another, but now it seemed like the past was trying to cling to her.
The flaming wolf did not want anything to do with Rafferty. She only hoped he would find himself in Lumiya's court, and way before finding her. She was definitely fleeing from that annoyance.
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