Wolf RPG

In a daze she followed @Skáld back to Kvarsheim, unaware that her father had already been there, had asked after her, and had left without her. Mae wasn't thinking about Akavir or Swiftcurrent Creek just then. She thought mostly of Moss, and that other voice, that other name.

Hadn't she heard it somewhere before?

She finally broke her silence sometime before the borders, when Kvarsheim's tall stones were just barely visible in the distance. You saw her too? Moss? Mae was solemn as she looked to Skáld.

Solemnly, he led the pup back to Kvarsheim, convinced now that the world beyond the borders was cruel, unpredictable and scary. He felt pale and cold as he moved, incapable of erasing the macabre figure from his mind's eye no matter how he tried to distract himself with other thoughts. Nothing seemed to work, and everything paled in comparison to the sight of the corpse. Even the smell remained in his mind, lingering as though something within him had begun to rot as well. 

Mae asked a question, and he turned to look at her. He realized, then, that no matter how shocking it had been for him, that she was just a kid- and that wolf seemed to be someone that she had known. He nodded, shakily. "Moss?" He asked. Maybe she knew more.

She was my dad's friend, Mae explained; that was all she really knew about Moss. Before today. Her ears fell against her skull as she continued. She's dead. Right?

But, She went on without waiting for a response. But I heard her. She - she was talking to me. Mae shot a glance over her shoulder, shivering a little; what if Moss followed her? Or the man?

Somehow the thought of never hearing them again scared her more.

Skáld could hear both grief and empathy in Mae's voice. He knew loss, though he imagined that the death of a friend was much different from someone simply disappearing, especially when the last image remaining of them was so grisly and ugly. He reached out to exhale gently, hovering his muzzle near Mae's crown where his warm breath might fan over her ears reassuringly. To her question he nodded but was not given the time to reply.

Moss was the name of the child's mother, then. As far as he knew, the baby had been brought to suckle at Inkeri's side and still lived. he'd not known that birth could be so dangerous- but he also had no idea what it was that had killed the giant wolf, whether it was childbirth or something much more sinister. 

He didn't understand that Mae believed the corpse had spoken to her. He interpreted her words to mean that at some point in the past, Moss had spoken to her. He seemed unshaken by this statement. "What say?"

Mae wasn't used to this kind of closeness. Uncle Arric was affectionate with her, and close contact with her brothers was merely a fact of life — but beyond that, she was not a creature of touch. She hesitated when Skáld moved closer.

But his presence was soothing, and the lack of shock or disbelief in his reaction settled her somewhat. It didn't make any sense, She admitted. She said I w-would die. Like her.

And I'd really rather not, Mae added, distressed.

Moss didn't seem like she had been a very kind wolf at all, telling little Mae that she would die some day. Of course, it was the truth- but it wasn't as though children needed to be told that. He frowned softly, though he reminded himself not to think too poorly of those who were deceased. Moss wasn't making things easy, not with the horrible way she looked, and what words she had apparently passed on to Mae at some point. 

"You not die," He said, reassuringly, "No time soon. I make sure." He said. She hadn't responded terribly well when he'd reached out to touch her before, so he suppressed the urge to nuzzle her again. "You want come find flowers with Skáld?" he suggested, hoping perhaps a distraction might ease her anxiety.

Skáld reassured her; she would not die, not yet, and he would make sure of it. She didn’t really believe him. But she wanted to, and besides, she found his promise endearing. It wasn’t often that anyone made such promises to her.

Mae nodded. Flowers sounded nice. She would follow Skáld wherever he led her, quizzical about the flowers when he brought her to them. Most plants were boring, Mae had found, but flowers were pretty. And Skáld’s company, she thought, would make even the boring plants nice to look at.