Wolf RPG

in the witching hour — the hour that vaermina's whispers are their most potent, calling out to saint across the veil; summoning — saint steals across the sandbridge to the mainland.

burnished gold eye peered over their shoulder, rotten heart aching for the only thing that they love: their siblings.

sweetharbor had been good to them but saint does not belong with the godly folk there; a surpris! that they have not yet been smite'd with holy fire. the darkness that writhes and wars with justice within the saint sings in the very marrow of their bones.

no prayer could vanquish it.

and!

there was their missing brother.

loathe as they were to leave behind their sisters; risked a soft whisper nudge of affection to @Ava Amara and @Anathema before saint slipped into the welcoming embrace of the night.

a risk!

they could alert everett to their departure ... or perhaps one or both might be inclined to follow them. or perhaps the whisper soft nudge would not be enough to wake either of them.

eyes; blind and seeing focus upon the mainland; the stink of saltwater clinging heavy to their coat, their paws cold from the iced nip of the chilly air and more chilled saltwater.

a deep breath is taken before they break into a run along the cape's sands; unsure where they were going but trusting the whispers acting like a lighthouse:

saint, saint, saint. find me —

Tzedeq slipped away —

And Ana could only follow with a soft plea for Ava to join them. Abel was gone, and the darklings would not be whole again until he had returned to them. This she knew for a certainty.

There would be no goodbyes, no parting words of affection for the wolves of Sweetharbor. Though it was mother's love she had been denied, mother's love that she craved, Ana spared only a somber glance in the direction of Heda and Caracal. She did not belong here. There was no room under God's light for one such as her, who spilled blood without thought and shook with the force of every breeze.

Still she mourned what might have been. Her heart ached as she joined her sibling on the mainland, sprinting along after their dark figure. Finally she called out; to Ava, to Abel wherever he was, to the family-but-not left behind on the island.

And though she did not know it, some part of her was calling too for home. For Blackwater.

A youthful voice rang out over the sands. Ptolemy heeded the call at once. Though he did not dare to hope that its source was one of the children he sought, he knew the value of youth. A child could be taught, molded, a new Druid made of them.

So he searched in the night, nose low to the ground. He did not yet see the shadows flitting across the beach, the darting figures of wayward Druids. But he felt their presence.

anathema joins saint.

and darkheart swells with affection; with love even if it is a dark and obsessive thing.

their sisters and brother were fragments of the saint themself. a spliced piece of a greater whole.

and yet, their heart still aches for accipitra, harboring a flame of hope that she, too, would join them.

there is no thought of foolishness, no thought spared to the fact that they were young and vulnerable. they were together and saint wholly believed the darkness would protect them; that the whispers like a lighthouses' glow guiding them safely to harbor would not fail them.

do you hear it too, sister? asks saint between puffs of breath; determined not to lose their stride lest any of the adults of sweetharbor were following. they believe distance will be enough. do you hear the whispers? free to talk openly of such things outside the thumb of a lighttouched god that saint could not believe in.

terrible things had come to the island.
and now two of her brood were gone.
it took far too long to discover this, and when she did, the golden eyes widened with strange fear to see the trails fading along the landbridge.
but she followed all the same, calling for no one — saint had come this way, and not so far off, she heard — "ana?" voice trembling;
heda began to run, not knowing someone else lurked in the nightweave, someone who meant to take these children from her. from god.

He would not hear, for he was not there, not upon the shores of Sweetharbour. He had left the island when they could not find Abel in any cleft or shallow grove; when he had not come to the calling of his name; when it had become apparent he was not on the island at all.

Go.

And he went. As the Shepherd had found him at the Gilded Sea, so Everett would follow. Searching for and seeking out the one they had lost. Entrusting the rest to the oversight of the pack --

Unawares that the others followed his nephew into the quickening night.

Morga was not far behind her brother. The voice had summoned them both even though the search for the children was new to her. Everything was new to her here, aside from her home. But things had changed in her absence. She would not waste time mourning the past, not with the future that awaited them. 

Pale front paws sink into wet sand, followed by two dark as the night around them. Her coat, which always seems damp, clings to her lithe form as she glides through the night toward the sound that drew them here. She had no idea what awaited them but she knew it didn't matter, not if there was a chance they could find what they had been searching for. 

No sign of Ava — but from the darkness bloomed a pale figure, no, two of them. Ana stopped abruptly, nearly tripping over her own paws, not hearing Tzedeq. She barked once, half to alert her sibling and half in inquiry of these strangers.

Then Heda's voice; Ana whipped around with a low growl of warning. She did not want to be followed. Yet the sight of her softened the darkling, who had always secretly craved the attention of the golden-eyed mother. She glanced back over her shoulder at the two strangers, suddenly torn.

This night felt fated.

But Ana saw no need to bow to fate.

But Ptolemy heard what was said; he heard the words of whispers, and through the darkness saw those mismatched eyes. Then the patched face of the one he knew to be Anathema.

Yes, I hear the whispers too, Saint, He called out as he approached. Anathema - But then the voice of another called for her, and the hair along his spine rose. Ptolemy glanced over his shoulder in search of Morgra, soothed to see her indigo eyes through the shadow of night.

He stepped forward, inviting the children with a sweeping gesture. They belonged to Blackwater. But it had to be their choice; no one else's.

it is chaos; the thundering of paws beyond their sister's and their own.

at first, it is startling. the saint's ears splay flat against their skull, teeth bared; clicking together as spittle flies from their lips with each pant.

quickly!

the adults have the advantage on them and the thundering of paws pounding against the ground tell saint there is several in pursuit.

and several ahead!

they stop; skidding, kicking up small pebbles and leaving a cloud of dust as strangers approach.

hackles bristle along their spine; uninviting.

but they speak the name! the name! their name!

saint!

and they respond to the words of whispers meant for their sister.

a glimpse is spared towards anathema.

but not a glimpse spared back.

a tremble in their lips before they push forward, following the sweep of ptolemy's paw, though he is a stranger to them.