the keeper draws in a breath, the salty tang lingering in his black, leathery nostrils as he patrols the main island's shoreline. it is the closest thing the druids have to a border. the morning is clear but there is a nipping chill in the air that has little to do with the salty brine. though he has yet to reach adulthood, he is not ignorant of the change that hangs in the air. the season prickles beneath his flesh, but with it a change. no doubt, the wispmother would be giving birth to the newest and youngest of druids.
and the others that carried cubs within their wombs as well.
unsure if he will have much, if anything, to do with them he tucks whatever uncertainty he feels about young, vulnerable life away; for now.
his steps remain purposeful; steady, and he keeps a weathered eye on the shifting horizon, peering towards what he could see of the mainland's shore in the distance.
As the weeks passed, Bridget mainly focused on rebuilding her stamina. She could move more easily now, though the swim to the mainland still seemed risky. She'd taken a few shorter ones... but never gone far. It bothered her and, training or not, one of these days she was going to at least try it.
She hadn't met the wolf yet who she'd promised to help train. Most of that was likely her fault - she hadn't asked. Was she even back yet? Had she met with Brecheliant? Was Teya even still there?
Fuck. Bridget stared at the plants she'd shredded a little too well. They might still be useful for something, but she'd have to start over. She looked over and spotted Ingram in the distance instead. Maybe a distraction would be better. Hey!
She began to approach as she called out, smiling in an openly friendly way. None of the wolves here seemed to radiate that kind of energy but Bridget had never really bothered before to make sure it was returned. No point starting now.
hey!
ingram's attention is diverted from the outline of the mainland to the wolf who had called out to him. he recognizes her, though cannot recall her name. perhaps he had never been told it, or perhaps it was his tendency to simply call all acolytes acolytes. either way, the why did not seem to matter much and ingram spends almost no time contemplating it.
the keeper watches her approach, seaglass gaze taking in her friendly demeanor with a small quirk of his brow. if anyone had any right to be aggressive, surely it was her. he hadn't exactly been gentle the last time they'd met; using force and his weight to hold her down ...even if it was to help her.
acolyte.
ingram greets gruffly. what can i do for you?
he inquires, assuming that she approaches him for reason. it does not occur to him that she might just want to talk — probably because he was not the most sociable of the blackwater clan.
Fuck, he was a stiff. Bridget shot an amused look his way as he asked what he could do for her. What, did wolves only come to him when they needed something done? No hey, no how are you?
She wouldn't give him too much shit about his conversational style. What, you want to lend me a paw?
she asked, then broke out into a laugh that she couldn't help. No, seriously though. I just wanted to meet you. Feels like I haven't actually talked with much of anyone here. What's your deal?
Part two of this - she also had little clue what any of the rest of them did. The Listener was clearly the de-facto leader here. Morgana was a healer, though it felt like there was more to it now. Was he one also?
no,
ingram replies tonelessly, intentionally making it hard to discern how he felt about her joke — a fact that he only grasped when she bust out into laughter. inwardly, ingram was trying to connect the wolf he'd met when the wispmother and listener had been attending to her to the one before him. were they the same? or different?
his tail flicks against his hocks.
what's my deal?
the question could've so easily been taken as an insult. ingram tries to puzzle her out, thinking she is too brazen for an acolyte. he preferred the ones that didn't talk ( to him, at least ). or maybe today he just wanted to recede into his shell.
the fact that someone wanted to meet him was a bit baffling to him because, well, his job was to protect them. he was their iron guardian: to be seen but not to be heard. or, rather, this was how he wanted it to be. i am the keeper.
he tells her, as if this simple title explains everything; nevermind that it was rather vague in and of itself. but like the others whom had let their titles shroud them as an identity: so, too, did ingram.
This wolf had NO sense of humor. Y'know, my mom always said when a wolf frowned too much, their face would stick that way. You don't have much fun, do you?
She prodded him verbally, and good-naturedly. He wasn't alone. She was starting to get the sense there weren't many here who were fond of fun.
Sounds interesting though. And really vague. Keeper of what?
The titles here were odd as hell too. The Listener she guessed kind of made since since, by now, Bridget had mostly figured out that they were heavily religious. The Speaker she'd never sorted, but Morgana wasn't around anymore to ask. She'd been tucked away with kids on the way. Keeper of lore? Of secrets? Of religious practices?
her attempt at humor does not slide over ingram's head but he doesn't react on it; mostly because he doesn't find it funny ( but then again, he's rather like a stone ). of a wall of kevlar that he only lets down around the listener. either way, her statement in regards to what her mother once told her is met with a simple blink. no.
fun isn't something ingram necessarily aspires to have; and even if he did, he doubts their ideas of 'fun' would be copasetic.
i am the listener's keeper,
again a vague answer that is truthful but not forthcoming. iron guardian of the druids.
another title that didn't particularly answer her question. but he is not sure that she, as an acolyte, should have that knowledge. she is unproven.
become a druid and you will learn more.
but until then: his lips were sealed.
Well. She decided to let the smack-down of her humor roll off her back good-naturedly. If she felt like it was personal she'd likely have escalated, but she'd already surmised that nothing about this pack was personal. They were just an odd lot. An odd lot... with an awful lot of healing opportunities.
This was her first hint at a progression path and her ears perked. Wait, hold on. Become a Druid? And how would a wolf go about doing that, if they were interested?
She was already set to train someone, potentially, and she had some recovery time left here. She had no idea when she'd make it back to Brecheliant. While she'd like for it to be sooner than later, it was a long ass trip to make on three subpar legs.
though ingram planted the seedling of consideration: become a druid; he had no words of wisdom for her on how one went about it. though he was nearly inseperable from the listener, his role was not that of a speaker. he was not close with the unnamed god in that respect; and certianly not able to advise any on how to become a druid. even so, a small twitch of his lips is given.
i am the keeper,
he repeats; again, as if this despite it's vagueness, explained everything. if you are interested in becoming a druid you should speak with a speaker or the listener herself.
it was all the advise he could presently offer her ( as unhelpful as it no doubt was ).
Very helpful. Bridget held in a smart remark and realized that this conversation wasn't likely to get much further than this. Seemed like some wolves were perfectly fine just doing their own thing. How they did it without dying of boredom, Bridget wasn't sure, but to each their own.
Cool. I will... ask them, then.
She gave him another searching look and then shook her head with a small laugh. Alright. I can take a hint, or twelve. You keep doing your thing, Keeper, and I'll see you around.
She could find something else to keep her busy, something she wasn't likely actively annoying by being there.
Without another argument, she left him to his business for the day.
while ingram does not mean to be so dismissive, he can see in the aftermath, left to the lingering prickle of her words and her departure, how they could've been taken as such. but he'd told her nothing but the truth: it was not his job as keeper to guide her to become a druid. it was a ritualistic art that ingram did not know: anointing and training was the department of the speakers.
perhaps his title of keeper and nearly constant presence found tethered to the listener gave the illusion of leadership: but that was not the case, either.
still, if his words came off cryptic, he offers no apology and turns to continue on his 'patrol'.