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+--- Thread: Ravensblood Forest the swirling stream of what is and what was (/showthread.php?tid=20449)
the swirling stream of what is and what was - Olive - February 05, 2017
Let’s go home, @Dakarai! Let's forward date this a day, if you're okay with that.
Tagging for awareness, and of course’s everyone welcome :) @Arturo @Chusi @Lotte @Evelyn @Chaska
Tagging for awareness, and of course’s everyone welcome :) @Arturo @Chusi @Lotte @Evelyn @Chaska
Home had seemed so far away for so long.
The pale sylph had somehow convinced herself that she would never see Ravensblood Forest again. Never see the spunky Chusi or the cool and calculated Arturo; if she had known Lotte at the time, Olive would have mourned her too. The thought had entered her mind when Dakarai was in the throes of his fugue state [for who was she to return home to the family, filled with the, and demand their support?] and then again when she witness her lover, stripped of any semblance of peace, baring his teeth and drawing the blood of a wolf once under his tutelage. It had been horrible! Without Dakarai, without Teaghlaigh, the lamb was sure she and her precious babies would have perished a most tormented and belabored death.
But that was not to be their fate; not this time, at least! As the duo crested a small hill to glimpse the darkness of Ravensblood Forest on the horizon, Olive grinned triumphantly at her rehabilitated husband. They had made it; finally, they would be safe. Safe from any wolf or berserker ungulate creature who meant to do them harm. They would be strengthened by the bleeding timbers and support of those closest to them — there they could convalesce and focus on nurturing her growing pups. But now she was exhausted, having completed the very flight Dakarai had taken all those months ago. Or had it been years? Nowadays, it was hard to tell anymore.
Olive’s grin broken into a set of heavy, close-set breathes. She was injured; her ankled twisted and bruised; the pale fur of her light, bird-like limb stained with a smattering pinks and reds. Her customary lithe gate had been replaced with a limp. Dakarai was wounded too; thought they were injured, together they cut a fast pace across the Teekon Wilds. They wanted home more than they wanted anything, including recovery. The enciente shwolf’s condition also greatly impacted her mobility, for almost every morning she was ravaged with nausea and was left weak for hours afterwards. Though she was but two and a half weeks into her pregnancy, it was already easy to perceive. Olive’s petite, waifish frame meant that any sort of new contour showed greatly . Her belly swelled in the slightest, most delicate way, carrying low on her frame. Though she was thin and weak from her sickness, their travel and the harshness of winter — this she was proud of.
Now was not the time to concede to exhaustion; they were so close! Without a word Olive pushed on towards Teaghlaigh, cutting loose a fatigued yet triumphant call at their borders: the revenants had returned.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Chusi - February 06, 2017
Chusi's attentiveness always seemed to be appreciated around Teaghlaigh, and now with the recovering Lotte in their midst, she felt it only natural to pay close attention to anyone coming and leaving. Mentally she had taken note of the absence of Dakarai and Olive, and it worried her at first. They had given the male a caring home, and Olive seemed very happy with her family. It was not right to think that the two lovebirds had left the safe nest that was Ravensblood Forest, but these days; Chusi felt anything could happen. She had gotten a mother, a father and the promise of siblings. She was truly part of a family, and she couldn't be happier; not even with Ingram by her side.
But, when the weak and tired voice of Olive broke through the frosty silence of the warmer winter, she was shocked to say the least. It sounded urgent, and so the almost-adult girl started sprinting toward the border without a second though. Finally there, not even panting, she saw something quite horrific.
Father! Father!She called for Arturo, rushing over toward the pair, worried and afraid.
It's okay, ya're safe now. Where did ya come 'rom? Who did this?She questioned, inspecting the two carefully.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Dakarai - February 06, 2017
Dakarai followed Olive his pace matching hers as the scent of Ravensblood forest filled his nostrils, and he grinned. He had missed it so much, missed everyone including the distant and somewhat cold leader. His shoulder was torn open, the scabs occasionally breaking which caused new blood to drip down his legs and chest. His left ear was missing the tip and he had several closed wounds around his face and muzzle, but most were just scars. All were worth saving his wife's life and regaining his memory. As Chusi appeared and rushed at them he wagged his tail, giving a grateful whimper. He had missed them all so much.
At her question he had the audacity to chuckle "let me give a summary, for it is quite the story. After our...romantic night me and Olive tracked a deer herd and i killed an old and weak doe, only to have the herd leader smack my head in" he bowed his head to show the gash that was still somewhat gnarly to look at. "I lost my memory and forgot everything about Teekon, about Olive, and about...the children she now bears. Never did she give up but nothing worked so she lead me to the Blackfeather Fuckers, hoping that a bad place would jolt my memory." he gave Olive a still disappointed look. They would have to speak on this later for he was disappointed wth her even though he could see her logic.
"A yearling met us on the borders and tried to lure us in, and when i declined Olive ran into the borders. The youth went after her visciously and i retaliated, which in turn caused my memory to flood back. We managed to escape though we need some medicine, and i think they have their Dues now." he finished and gave a small sigh, looking eagerly into the depths of the territory. He just wanted to rest where it was safe, next to his wife and unborn children.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Arturo - February 06, 2017
i am sorry arturo is such a butt. :x
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At first, the urgent call of Olive draws Arturo’s worry, followed closely behind by Chusi’s moments after. His pace is quick as he closes the distance between where the two wayward lovers are and himself. It is heightened by the scent of blood and wounds, though it is Dakarai’s words that change everything. Words of Blackfeather Woods and their plight there and the wounds that resulted and Ceannasach’s worry melts into a silent fury as he shrugs his way through the trees, gaze intense, his pupils narrowing in their pools of burning twin suns as he notices the slight roundness to Olive’s body. “I see you two have made your decision,” He breaks his silence, stopping a few feet away, his posture stiff and commanding. “and you should know that mine has not changed. Chaska and Talewi have left us,” He decided to address Olive’s pregnancy again: to enforce that he had not been jesting when he had made his condition known to Dakarai. With Lotte expecting as well…everything has changed. Though Arturo does not know for sure (yet) that his nightingale is with child he is confident that she is and it has brought out all of the gangster’s harshest edges. “Lotte is expecting as well,” Ceannasach informed the pair, silently assessing their wounds from where he stands, stalwart and unmoving. “Both of you will help me recruit.” He tells them. Not a question, not a suggestion but a command. “Chusi, you can help too, if you wish.” This was not quite a command — though it was apart of her job as heir — he offers her the choice.
“Some medicines Isley had left behind have been used to treat Lotte. I do not know what is left or if it will be any help to either of you but you are welcome to them.” But he was no healer, after all; and though he was glad to see them returned (Tori promises he is glad under that hardass exterior) besides worrying over their declining numbers and his children’s future he now is faced with the worry of possible retaliation from Blackfeather Woods and their children as well and this creates a deep frustration within him. The very predicament he did not wish to be in. “I hope that you have not instigated something that we can not finish." As it was, if a pack showed up on their doorstep they would fall. They were too small and their allies are no more. The consequences if they did would not be kind from the gangster. There was a reason why the name Arturo Fearghal had carried both admiration and fear when spoken about the territories around the Hollow, after all. "Come, let us see what we can do for your wounds." Arturo speaks with a gesture of his muzzle towards the heart of the territory.
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“Some medicines Isley had left behind have been used to treat Lotte. I do not know what is left or if it will be any help to either of you but you are welcome to them.” But he was no healer, after all; and though he was glad to see them returned (Tori promises he is glad under that hardass exterior) besides worrying over their declining numbers and his children’s future he now is faced with the worry of possible retaliation from Blackfeather Woods and their children as well and this creates a deep frustration within him. The very predicament he did not wish to be in. “I hope that you have not instigated something that we can not finish." As it was, if a pack showed up on their doorstep they would fall. They were too small and their allies are no more. The consequences if they did would not be kind from the gangster. There was a reason why the name Arturo Fearghal had carried both admiration and fear when spoken about the territories around the Hollow, after all. "Come, let us see what we can do for your wounds." Arturo speaks with a gesture of his muzzle towards the heart of the territory.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Lotte - February 06, 2017
NOTE: Lotte heard from, “A yearling met us on the borders and tried to lure us in,” just to get that out there. She did not hear anything before that, so she has no idea what pack it was or that Dakarai lost his memory. ♥ She will be back in the next round with Seelie. I apologize for her hormones!
Following her return to Teaghlaigh, Lotte was never far from Arturo — she moved more slowly than her daughter and mate due to her weakened constitution, but arrived at the territory borders in a timely enough manner to catch the tail end of Dakarai’s story. The female — Olive, she surmised — had run into an aggressive pack’s territory borders? It was fortunate for all parties involved that Lotte was more than adept at keeping her expression innocuous even under great duress, because her strategist’s mind blared with how utterly stupid that decision seemed. Moonbright eyes fell upon Dakarai first, appraising his wounds with an experienced eye; the shoulder would require looking at, but the wounds on his face appeared shallow and scabbed over. It wouldn’t hurt to have that ear looked at either, just to make sure he didn’t succumb to frostbite and lose the rest of it. Lotte turned from Dakarai to Olive, noting what appeared to be swelling around one ankle, but she couldn’t be sure — the amount of rust, pink, and crimson that stained her pale fur made it hard to tell where the wounds actually were, but she seemed in good spirits, and —
— and she was pregnant.
In that moment, Lotte knew true jealousy, though her black-masked visage did not shift in any way, shape, or form to reveal her mood. She reached for Solene’s stoicism and Kitku’s charm and held onto them with white knuckles and gritted teeth. “Dakarai, you are bleeding,” she pointed out quietly, her mellifluous alto blandly observant and devoid of the frustration that twisted sickly in her gut. “Blood leaves a trail.” He ought to have packed his wound or rolled in mud — instead, he had left a blaring neon sign for Olive’s attacker to follow. She is pregnant! Very gently, “Are you wounded, too, Olive?” Lotte questioned, her attention turning toward the bay. The sheepdog, she knew, had been trained in botany by Doe and possessed her own store of herbs, which would make identifying what Isley had saved much easier.
“I have a friend who can see to your hurts,” she said, exchanging a glance with Arturo to seek his approval before making any rash decisions. Olive is pregnant! “I will go and fetch her — it may take some time. Will you meet me at the riverside? The weather is warm enough that we can safely use cold water to help clean your wounds and slow the bleeding.” The bleeding that has left a trail. The bleeding that could lead wolves to Teaghlaigh. The soot-stockinged soturi began making her plans, her mind whirring wildly; the call of her hormones clouded her judgment fairly often these days, but the very real threat of retaliation upon a pack with few numbers and three wounded wolves sobered her considerably. Without another word, she gathered herself and trotted purposefully in the direction of Blackrock Depths.
— and she was pregnant.
In that moment, Lotte knew true jealousy, though her black-masked visage did not shift in any way, shape, or form to reveal her mood. She reached for Solene’s stoicism and Kitku’s charm and held onto them with white knuckles and gritted teeth. “Dakarai, you are bleeding,” she pointed out quietly, her mellifluous alto blandly observant and devoid of the frustration that twisted sickly in her gut. “Blood leaves a trail.” He ought to have packed his wound or rolled in mud — instead, he had left a blaring neon sign for Olive’s attacker to follow. She is pregnant! Very gently, “Are you wounded, too, Olive?” Lotte questioned, her attention turning toward the bay. The sheepdog, she knew, had been trained in botany by Doe and possessed her own store of herbs, which would make identifying what Isley had saved much easier.
“I have a friend who can see to your hurts,” she said, exchanging a glance with Arturo to seek his approval before making any rash decisions. Olive is pregnant! “I will go and fetch her — it may take some time. Will you meet me at the riverside? The weather is warm enough that we can safely use cold water to help clean your wounds and slow the bleeding.” The bleeding that has left a trail. The bleeding that could lead wolves to Teaghlaigh. The soot-stockinged soturi began making her plans, her mind whirring wildly; the call of her hormones clouded her judgment fairly often these days, but the very real threat of retaliation upon a pack with few numbers and three wounded wolves sobered her considerably. Without another word, she gathered herself and trotted purposefully in the direction of Blackrock Depths.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Olive - February 07, 2017
>___> the length... this thread gave me so many feels lol
Quickly, the family was upon them. First came the lithesome spirit of Chusi, whose shining heart was most welcome. Chusi’s voice was a beacon, and though Olive remained stationary she felt her soul go forth and greet Chusi affectionately. The young woman spoke kindly, yet uneasily; for Chusi could not hide her bleeding heart, despite her training as a warrior. As Chusi scrutinized them, Olive felt her body flood with the lightness of hearth and home. She was home, she was safe. They were safe and now nothing bad would ever happen again.
Arturo was not far behind his daughter and immediately the tranquility of home was squandered. The baleful silhouette of Ceannasach materialized between the trees; a dark harbinger of realities that Olive had not longed to face. As always, Arturo’s silence spoke volumes and Dakarai spun their tale for him; painted a picture of the amalgous wonders and horrors the past month had held. The pale woman gritted her teeth and turned her head to the side, pinching her eyes closed in consternation. She looking away from her family, not wishing to see their disapproval written plain on their features as they reacted to her dark knight’s star-crossed account. It was then, hidden amongst her own burdens and thoughts, Olive felt an emotion that rarely [if ever] entangled her tenacious psyche. Shame.
It was shame was simmered in her gut as she was forced to relive the best and worst thing that had ever happened to her. What had started as the most blissful of times nearly ended her and Olive died a thousand deaths, forced to lay witness to everything she had ever wanted be pulled from her grasp at the whims of some karmic chaotic theory. The universe gave what it wanted and took what it wanted and paid no mind to the wreckage left in its wake; but now Olive wholly knew her capacity to hurt and because of that, the pale seraph knew that nothing could ever hurt that badly again.
Now she was truly fearless.
But she could still feel their scrutiny when Dakarai spoke loudly of her madcap dash into Blackfeather Woods; for it seemed rather crazy now, didn’t it? But it hadn’t even been a choice, for Olive would have done anything to get her husband back. Yes, Dakarai had always been there but he seemed so… far away. Few wolves loved like she and Dakarai loved and every waking moment with him had been but the tiniest piece of heaven. Those moments had stopped after their fated hunt. Those magical moments had seemed so far away. To feel so much and then to have it so deadened… the lamb would have done anything to get it back. But Chusi, Arturo, Lotte, even Dakarai didn’t know. They would never know. They would never understand. They couldn’t understand. She wished they wouldn’t ever understand such pain.
The family was right to be angry, though — and Arturo made good points, too. The duo had been gone for long; too long, and during one of the worst winters she had ever experienced. Olive had only just been titled Poílin. She nurtured life within her and even though it was a beautiful thing, the stress and drain her children would place upon the family would be great. Her and Dakarai were wounded [Dakarai greatly] and would need time to heal. Then, of course, there was a clear scent trail leading from the stygian forests to the family’s doorstep… Yes, Olive often mused that it would have been much easier to have just never come home than it was to answer for these types of things.
At Arturo’s news, Olive’s eye widened and shone brightly, falling upon the sooty shewolf at his side: Lotte. So, Olive’s was not the only litter to be born that spring! The pale sylph, somewhat strengthened by Lotte’s strong feminine energies, managed to feel happiness for Arturo though his intention was clear. With two litters on the way, the pressure was on. There was much at stake.
The woman parted her lips, softly speaking her peace. “Oh, Arturo” She did not seek penance of forgiveness [for there was none to be had from the stern Ceannasach], but simply wanted understanding. “It was awful.” she drew a deep breath. “But where death nearly took hold, life now abounds.” Olive nodded knowingly towards the singed Lotte, hoping to demonstrate that they were there was a definite solidarity between the members of the family. They would work together, recruit, expand Teaghlaigh’s reaches until they were certain to support every single child born under their rule. That was just the way it had to be; there was no way around it.
Lotte had gone off, and it was easy to see that further traveling to the riverside stretches of their territory displeased her. She so wanted her stone grotto, her neat line of dried flowers, crystals and stone trinkets. So wanted the dark dankness of the mossy forest, so similar to the forest where Dakarai convalesced. But Olive and her mate could desperately use the touch of a healer — and if this young woman was truly her new queen, then who was she to refuse? “Riverside?” she suggested to Arturo and Chusi, hoping they would accompany her and Dakarai to Lotte’s rendez-vous spot. There was much to discuss.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Dakarai - February 20, 2017
I have permission to Skip Chusi right?
Until now he had not felt the true pain of his wounds, his mind had focused on Olive for the journey home. Now he felt the world spinning and tipping, his body swaying with exhaustion and pain yet he remained upright focusing on Ceanassach's words. His temper flared but he merely drew in a breath and ducked his head, hiding his eyes so the offence and shock could not be seen in their depths. It seemed as if Arturo was not quite happy that they had returned. Dakarai had sacrificed his body so that Olive would be able to leave Blackfeather woods, ending up getting beaten and brutally scarred by those fuckers yet here they all stood seeming to think he was to blame.
"I submitted and allowed them to beat me and wound me so that Teaghlaigh and Olive would be safe. I made sure they didnt follow, but there really was nothing to be done for my wounds." he said gruffly as he looked at Chusi and Lotte. He would not allow himself to look at Arturo in the moment, unsure whether or not the man would take offense to it. His legs began to buckle and he slumped to the ground silently, with only a heavy sigh to follow it. "On the matter of recruitment, I gave my word and i intend to keep it. I am not the type of person who says one thing and then disregards it. Once I am better I will set off to find those willing to join" his tone was level though his voice cracked a few times.
He was so ready to pass out, and in this moment he didnt care if his weakness showed. He was home and safe, Olive was home and safe and would be tended to. His needs weren't as important as his wife's and he intended to make that clear. "Please allow me to rest, I request that all medicine goes to Olive first. I've made it this long im sure i can wait a bit longer" his tone was almost pleading as he cast a glance at Arturo, hoping-no praying that he'd understand and agree to it.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Arturo - February 20, 2017
arturo = 99.9% asshole, lmao.
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Arturo itches to bear his teeth as Olive dares to speak of how awful it was. He didn’t fucking care. He didn’t care because as far as he saw it: they brought it on themselves. He watches Lotte go with a look of remorse. He wishes that she would not have left him: not when he is on the verge of losing his temper. It is a rare thing: he rarely loses it and yet the ire burns and seethes within him so hot that he resists the urge to pant. I would not write off death so quickly, he thinks to himself and barely holds back from saying. He wants to; because he gets the feeling that neither of them have taken him seriously and it was a mistake they would pay dearly for. He almost calls Lotte back because he does not feel in control. A low growl slips from bewixt his lips: a warning at how dangerously close they were to pushing him over the edge. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Am I supposed to coddle and baby you two for fucking trespassing into a pack’s land? We have no fucking allies left to aid us if they come seeking war.” Arturo hoped that his silver tongue would not fail him if it came to that but if it did there might be nothing to be bargained. Perhaps they would not even listen to him at all. Teaghlaigh was in no state for war; besides the threat Olive and Dakarai now posed to The Family he felt betrayed, felt the sting of their words as they spoke them.
“From what you told me of Blackfeather Woods, Dakarai you both should have known better. Your blatant disregard for this Family and your children is disappointing.” Arturo wasn’t even sure that disappointment covered the extent of what he was feeling: anger, hurt, betrayal, disappointment. It all festered beneath his skin like an infected wound. “Your wounds will be tended to, both of you,” He tells them, glaring sharply at Dakarai. “What use do you think you’ll be if you lose a limb to or die of infection?” No, they would share what medicines that Teaghlaigh and Lotte’s friend could scrounge up; and Arturo would hear no further word of it. He was in no mood for theatrical heroics. His hackles bristled and he let out a heavy, long breath as if it might cool off the heat from his ire. It helped but very little. “Only time will tell what happens with Blackfeather Woods,” He tells them: because Arturo certainly had no intention of seeking them out but he wouldn’t apologize for Olive and Dakarai either. They were both adults, both capable of making their own decisions and …both capable of dealing with the consequences of those actions. For a long moment he stares at them, his fiery gaze burning hot and merciless as it bears into them as if he could burn a hole through them. “Whatever happens from here, the consequences belong to you two and you two alone. Teaghlaigh will not fall for your mistakes. I cannot punish you for the possibility but know that if they arrive on our doorstep you can expect that I will be generous with my punishment.” And that is all he has to say on the matter. He is done speaking of it …for now. He has made himself clear (so he hopes, anyway!) and now all he can do is wait for Lotte to return with her mysterious friend so that their wounds can be tended to.
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“From what you told me of Blackfeather Woods, Dakarai you both should have known better. Your blatant disregard for this Family and your children is disappointing.” Arturo wasn’t even sure that disappointment covered the extent of what he was feeling: anger, hurt, betrayal, disappointment. It all festered beneath his skin like an infected wound. “Your wounds will be tended to, both of you,” He tells them, glaring sharply at Dakarai. “What use do you think you’ll be if you lose a limb to or die of infection?” No, they would share what medicines that Teaghlaigh and Lotte’s friend could scrounge up; and Arturo would hear no further word of it. He was in no mood for theatrical heroics. His hackles bristled and he let out a heavy, long breath as if it might cool off the heat from his ire. It helped but very little. “Only time will tell what happens with Blackfeather Woods,” He tells them: because Arturo certainly had no intention of seeking them out but he wouldn’t apologize for Olive and Dakarai either. They were both adults, both capable of making their own decisions and …both capable of dealing with the consequences of those actions. For a long moment he stares at them, his fiery gaze burning hot and merciless as it bears into them as if he could burn a hole through them. “Whatever happens from here, the consequences belong to you two and you two alone. Teaghlaigh will not fall for your mistakes. I cannot punish you for the possibility but know that if they arrive on our doorstep you can expect that I will be generous with my punishment.” And that is all he has to say on the matter. He is done speaking of it …for now. He has made himself clear (so he hopes, anyway!) and now all he can do is wait for Lotte to return with her mysterious friend so that their wounds can be tended to.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Lotte - February 24, 2017
Lotte moved with haste, but locating the atramentous sheepdog and her three tiny wards proved more difficult than expected. Szymon and Doe’s decision to move the pack further inland and reconvene in the northeast part of the territory made sense, but the empty dens were disconcerting and shocking nonetheless. Lotte grieved for the loss of the two odd, fierce sentinels of the bay despite her general disdain for the black-banded male, and her heart was heavy by the time she found Coelacanth. It was difficult to convince the waiflike girl to come with her, but eventually Lotte returned to Teaghlaigh with the sheepdog in tow — and slammed directly into the wall of tension that had erupted in her absence.
Casting the flighty creature an expression of mingled reassurance and command — “everything will be fine; don’t go anywhere!” — Lotte pressed through the bracken with thickly-furred ears cupped attentively forward upon her skull. She returned just in time to hear Dakarai’s chivalrous plea that all medicine go first to Olive. Olive was pregnant! Shaking away the jealousy for the second time, the soot-stockinged rogue turned her attention to her first and foremost duty: her husband. In this situation, he was Ceannasach — patriarch of the Family — and she attempted belatedly to soothe him in a manner that would be proper given the delicate circumstances. Mindful of the fury and fright and desolation that swirled in the air, she lovingly pressed the wet of her nose against the juncture of his angular jaw and precious throat. Her touch was slow and deliberate — a reminder that she was with him and that she supported him, but if he wanted to sire the few hundred children they’d planned on, he would have to watch his blood pressure.
Although Arturo had made his opinion of the matter clear, and although Lotte’s hormones blared at her to strike fiercely at Dakarai and Olive for endangering both litters — and, more pettishly, at the pale sylph in particular for going into heat and getting pregnant first — she felt that dwelling on punishment in this particular moment was unwise. They could go around a thousand times, Dakarai and Olive believing wholly they couldn’t have made any other choice, Arturo believing wholly he couldn’t make any other choice, but the immediate issue was damage control. Lotte was newly made a queen, but she did not hesitate to take command of what she could take command of. "It was a poor choice," she remarked mildly, seeing no reason to sugarcoat things since emotions had already spilled over, "but we cannot unmake it. We can only move forward. Part of that is getting both of your wounds seen to and making what preparations we can.” Lotte gestured for the sheepdog to come out of hiding, looking at her husband with steadfast love and faith — and a good measure of respect to boot. He was intimidating in his anger — and devastatingly handsome — and she didn’t want to steal the limelight if he felt punishment took precedence, but the situation needed some serious decompressing.
Casting the flighty creature an expression of mingled reassurance and command — “everything will be fine; don’t go anywhere!” — Lotte pressed through the bracken with thickly-furred ears cupped attentively forward upon her skull. She returned just in time to hear Dakarai’s chivalrous plea that all medicine go first to Olive. Olive was pregnant! Shaking away the jealousy for the second time, the soot-stockinged rogue turned her attention to her first and foremost duty: her husband. In this situation, he was Ceannasach — patriarch of the Family — and she attempted belatedly to soothe him in a manner that would be proper given the delicate circumstances. Mindful of the fury and fright and desolation that swirled in the air, she lovingly pressed the wet of her nose against the juncture of his angular jaw and precious throat. Her touch was slow and deliberate — a reminder that she was with him and that she supported him, but if he wanted to sire the few hundred children they’d planned on, he would have to watch his blood pressure.
Although Arturo had made his opinion of the matter clear, and although Lotte’s hormones blared at her to strike fiercely at Dakarai and Olive for endangering both litters — and, more pettishly, at the pale sylph in particular for going into heat and getting pregnant first — she felt that dwelling on punishment in this particular moment was unwise. They could go around a thousand times, Dakarai and Olive believing wholly they couldn’t have made any other choice, Arturo believing wholly he couldn’t make any other choice, but the immediate issue was damage control. Lotte was newly made a queen, but she did not hesitate to take command of what she could take command of. "It was a poor choice," she remarked mildly, seeing no reason to sugarcoat things since emotions had already spilled over, "but we cannot unmake it. We can only move forward. Part of that is getting both of your wounds seen to and making what preparations we can.” Lotte gestured for the sheepdog to come out of hiding, looking at her husband with steadfast love and faith — and a good measure of respect to boot. He was intimidating in his anger — and devastatingly handsome — and she didn’t want to steal the limelight if he felt punishment took precedence, but the situation needed some serious decompressing.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Coelacanth - February 24, 2017
Coelacanth nosed timorously through the foliage that concealed her, limpid Neptune eyes cast obliquely, beseechingly up at the wolves who dwarfed her in size — little Chusi included. She crept on her tiptoes in a manner that could only be described as skulking, the fluid grace that characterized her gathered into frenetic fits and starts of motion. Recognition bloomed within her pelagic gaze as she beheld the star-crossed couple, blossoming with warmth when she regarded the ocher-eyed foundling and her tall, earthen-hued caretaker. It was so hard to reconcile this harbinger of hellfire with the gentleman who had smiled so benignly at the Den Night — and her feathered tail whisked feverishly in an attempt to appease him and bring him back, stuttering hesitantly against her slim hocks. Her cheeks were chipmunk-stuffed with dried herbs from Doe’s caches, and she approached the bloodied twain with a fair amount of reservation, her tail clamping tight against her high-arched abdomen and her tufted ears pinning tightly against her slender skull.
Gesturing toward the curve of the river with a sweep of her tapered muzzle, she sidestepped gracefully until her paws were swallowed up by its lapping waters. The touch of her chosen element seemed to soothe the inky ingénue, and she deposited the small, fragrant bundle of herbs upon the muddy embankment with doggish understanding and empathy writ upon her delicate features. Her finely-crafted head dipped as her tail danced upon the glistening surface, skipping like a stone as she offered as commanding a whuff as she could muster. It was imperative that the injured wolves bathe the blood away so that she could better assess their wounds, and it would no doubt feel cooling and soothing upon the torn and tattered flesh. Too, the swelling of Olive’s hock was painfully evident — it would be best for her to steep it for a time.
Gesturing toward the curve of the river with a sweep of her tapered muzzle, she sidestepped gracefully until her paws were swallowed up by its lapping waters. The touch of her chosen element seemed to soothe the inky ingénue, and she deposited the small, fragrant bundle of herbs upon the muddy embankment with doggish understanding and empathy writ upon her delicate features. Her finely-crafted head dipped as her tail danced upon the glistening surface, skipping like a stone as she offered as commanding a whuff as she could muster. It was imperative that the injured wolves bathe the blood away so that she could better assess their wounds, and it would no doubt feel cooling and soothing upon the torn and tattered flesh. Too, the swelling of Olive’s hock was painfully evident — it would be best for her to steep it for a time.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Olive - February 26, 2017
How could Arturo not understand? Why was he being so callous? Perhaps she had never been subject of his anger before and it was shocking. In fact, before now life had been pretty good... so Olive hadn’t really understood Arturo’s capacity to be fucking mean. Yes, she did want to be babied and coddled! and could he blame her? Didn't he have feelings? Olive had a million questions and more but the fae pressed her jaws together hotly, determined to keep her mouth quiet. Olive had done nothing but get her family into trouble and she did not deign to gamble her spot amongst Teaghlaigh's family any more than she already had. But this Arturo was new, and Olive didn’t know how to handle new Arturo.
Ceannsach made points as if those every single one of those thoughts hadn’t crossed her mind before. What if she lost a leg or died of infection? Olive wondered that every single day her and Dakarai pulled themselves for miles, often collapsing from exhaustion. She didn’t have much else to think about, after all. If they had died at in the Flatlands, would their love had all been for naught, forgotten and crumbled in the wind, their name to be carried on by no one at all? Maybe that was their punishment for such foolishness. Maybe they would die yet, from their wounds or maybe Ceannsach’s punishment. But whatever the cause may be, she would fight it. They would fight it. Her and Dakarai were a team and now she was scrappy and wondered what other adversities they might be able to overcome together. Bring. It. On.
Thankfully, the queen Lotte came back with a familiar face in tow. Suddenly Olive smiled, having fond memories of the shivering sheepdog [yes, in light of recent horrors the meeting with Doe and Szymon was considered “fond”] and trusted her work as a healer. The smile persisted as she was coaxed into the cool waters of the river and Olive gritted her teeth at the shock — her twisted ankle burned hot and to feel anything else was foreign — but it was still soothing. Olive looked at the dog and nodded in open appreciation and receptivity, letting her know that she would be a willing patient to any procedure she deemed necessary. Then, she turned back to Ceannasach. Olive had been relatively quiet up until that point, but then her voice came softly, defeatedly. “Arturo,” Olive hung her crown low to the waters, but looked up at him. “I stood shoulder to shoulder with you as you claimed this forest,” he voice trailed off. That seemed like several years ago at this point. After a moments silence came her plea. “Tell me what to do,” Olive appealed to her leader. She knew the two mates were asking a lot of him — Olive honestly didn’t know if they were being followed, or if Blackfeather Woods would find them, or what savarage she brought upon them— and she knew Ceannsach had every reason to turn them away. He wasn't, and now Olive wanted to serve him.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Dakarai - March 01, 2017
Dakarai stood still and Silent his eyes going cold as he fought against the desire to speak out once more, despite Ceannasach being clear on the matter. He would take his punishment, but if anyone expected him to regret saving Olive they could shove it. Looking At Lotte he saw the fire in her gaze and decided he would speak with her more privately and explain fully what had gone down when he and Olive were out.
As the familiar face of the sheep dog appeared he allowed his demeanor to change, and he gave her what he hoped came across as a smile of welcoming and warmth. This was the woman who helped tend to his wounds and infections, the woman who pretty much saved his life. He would never have made it this far if the woman had not tended to his health. Now that he had properly greeted the woman properly he heeded her silent command and stepped into the water, wading deeper until his wounds were covered up. With stiffness and obvious pain he gently washed himself, watching in silence as the blood clouded the water.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Arturo - March 11, 2017
this seems like a good place to wrap this up, especially since the bfw thread is underway. :-) last post from me & turo.
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Arturo does not wish to linger. His ire has not yet settled — and it likely will not for many weeks, months even — and lingering only continues to feed the fire that burns low but at it’s hottest. His brow furrows and his lips form a terse line when Olive speaks to him, reminding him that she stood with him when he claimed Ravensblood yet her words sound like an accusation to him. She cannot understand why he is so angry with them. Just as Arturo cannot understand why they think he should not be. Ceannasach does not understand how they think their crime was justified and why they believe he should support them, why they should not be treated as criminals. They committed a crime against a savage pack (if the words about Blackfeather Forest are to be believed) and potentially put The Family at risk — of which is the greatest crime yet. Arturo does not care about their crimes to the Blackfeather wolves. What he cares about is the whiplash that he suspects will come down upon Teaghlaigh. If it comes to pass it cannot go unpunished and that is simply how it is. The muscles in Arturo’s cheek jump as his burning gaze rains down upon Olive. “You did not stand shoulder to shoulder with me when you trespassed and risked the entire Family. You did not put The Family first. You should have returned to us and we could have found a way to save Dakarai together. Instead, you were selfish. You endangered yourself, Dakarai, your children and your Family.” It should have been enough to warrant exile. It was enough. He should do it. He should chase them from his borders and leave their wounds to fester. He should let them die.
He trembles for a moment because he should but he cannot. He is uncertain of how to perceive Dakarai still, Arturo cares for Olive. She is the little sister he never had — the one that he hadn’t realized he needed. He was protective over her even in his ire. Arturo understands better than anyone that love makes anyone capable of crazy and stupid things. He would have ran into the flames that consumed Donnelaith for Lotte without a second thought to his own life, knowing that the fire could have consumed him if he’d have needed to; but even if she would not have freed herself and even if he would have and the flame would have taken him it would not have truly put Teaghlaigh in danger. They would have mourned (perhaps) but they would have survived. Someone would have risen to the occasion. “I do not know,” He speaks, exasperated. He is suddenly tired. He does not know what to do. Not yet. “We lay low. We step carefully outside of our borders. We will take it as it comes.” For now this is the best he can offer. He has been thrown into territory he does not know how to masterfully navigate. Arturo only hopes that he finds his footing before the Blackfeather wolves show up on their doorstep. His gaze seeks Lotte and he moves towards her, brushing his side against her’s before the shadows of the bleeding sequoias swallow him as if he is nothing more than a wraith.
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He trembles for a moment because he should but he cannot. He is uncertain of how to perceive Dakarai still, Arturo cares for Olive. She is the little sister he never had — the one that he hadn’t realized he needed. He was protective over her even in his ire. Arturo understands better than anyone that love makes anyone capable of crazy and stupid things. He would have ran into the flames that consumed Donnelaith for Lotte without a second thought to his own life, knowing that the fire could have consumed him if he’d have needed to; but even if she would not have freed herself and even if he would have and the flame would have taken him it would not have truly put Teaghlaigh in danger. They would have mourned (perhaps) but they would have survived. Someone would have risen to the occasion. “I do not know,” He speaks, exasperated. He is suddenly tired. He does not know what to do. Not yet. “We lay low. We step carefully outside of our borders. We will take it as it comes.” For now this is the best he can offer. He has been thrown into territory he does not know how to masterfully navigate. Arturo only hopes that he finds his footing before the Blackfeather wolves show up on their doorstep. His gaze seeks Lotte and he moves towards her, brushing his side against her’s before the shadows of the bleeding sequoias swallow him as if he is nothing more than a wraith.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Lotte - March 11, 2017
If possible, I would like to just ground out one more round so I can use this thread for Seelie’s trade. ♥
Lotte is going to stick around for a bit but I will powerplay her from Seelie’s account following this post.
Lotte is going to stick around for a bit but I will powerplay her from Seelie’s account following this post.
Lotte was no empath, but the desperation and frustration that emanated from her husband in bitter waves invoked an answering turmoil in the soot-stockinged rogue. “Rakas,” she murmured to him lovingly, catching his sunfire gaze and cooling it with moonsilver, “I will help tend to them. All will be well.” Lotte was an optimist; she had come close to death on several different occasions and knew that even the most highly skilled, impeccably trained team could fail. There were measures that could be taken and alliances that could be made, but if worst came to worst, they could migrate. They could adapt. She watched her husband melt into the shadows of the ravenwood and turned to Olive, Dakarai, and Coelacanth. “Use me,” she encouraged the inkdark girl, butting the bridge of her muzzle against one silky shoulder. “I will aid you.”
Turning to the bloodied twain, “I spoke forthright, comrades,” she said. “All will be well.”
Turning to the bloodied twain, “I spoke forthright, comrades,” she said. “All will be well.”
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Coelacanth - March 11, 2017
This post is lame, I am very sorry! I am trying to get stuff done before I need to go to sleep.
There is some powerplay of pretty much everyone. Let me know if I need to change it!
The number of times I have said “flesh”, “wound”, and “laceration” are embarrassing. ;-;
There is some powerplay of pretty much everyone. Let me know if I need to change it!
The number of times I have said “flesh”, “wound”, and “laceration” are embarrassing. ;-;
The little Groenendael, preoccupied with her patients, busied herself with helping Olive and Dakarai sluice river water over their wounds. Doe and Isley’s combined caches were carefully nosed through, and when Seelie located calendula and yarrow, she delicately set them aside. Leaving Lotte to help the pair bathe any inkling of congealed blood or infection from the wicked looking lacerations, the atramentous healer foraged through the surrounding area until she came up with some sphagnum moss. She returned with sprightly alacrity, motioning to Lotte to aid with Olive’s wounds while she helped with Dakarai’s, and the nightingale complied without demur. Although Seelie trembled slightly at the large male’s nearness and the pain of what she was about to do, she drew a deep breath and put her faith in him. As long and as much as Dakarai allowed, the sheepdog licked at the angry red edges of his shoulder wound, trying to give him as much time between her ministrations as he needed. The cold water should have numbed the wound somewhat, but there was a great deal of debris embedded in the revealed flesh that needed to come out.
With her incisors, Seelie delicately nipped away any dead flesh, debriding any contaminated tissue so that the clean edges would heal. It was grisly work and turned her stomach, but she set her tender heart against the involuntary leaps and quivers of Dakarai’s abused musculature. Little whimpers and whines danced from her lips to his skin, apologies she could not give voice to, as she turned her finely tapered muzzle away from him. She took up a large portion of the calendula and yarrow and began to chew, keeping her lips tight over the small bundle of foliage as she sluiced fresh river water over his taller frame. It ran red in little rivulets, but the blood was crimson instead of clumped with the rust and black of dried blood.
Lotte, taking her cues from her much smaller counterpart, took up her own bundle of yarrow and calendula and also began to chew. At Coelacanth’s behest, they switched places, and each inspected the other’s work as they helped the star-crossed lovers to bathe. When the debridement and lavage were completed to the sheepdog’s satisfaction, she and Lotte helped the pair from the water. “Where is your den?” Lotte asked gently, her words garbled through a mouthful of plant matter. “We will steady you.”
With her incisors, Seelie delicately nipped away any dead flesh, debriding any contaminated tissue so that the clean edges would heal. It was grisly work and turned her stomach, but she set her tender heart against the involuntary leaps and quivers of Dakarai’s abused musculature. Little whimpers and whines danced from her lips to his skin, apologies she could not give voice to, as she turned her finely tapered muzzle away from him. She took up a large portion of the calendula and yarrow and began to chew, keeping her lips tight over the small bundle of foliage as she sluiced fresh river water over his taller frame. It ran red in little rivulets, but the blood was crimson instead of clumped with the rust and black of dried blood.
Lotte, taking her cues from her much smaller counterpart, took up her own bundle of yarrow and calendula and also began to chew. At Coelacanth’s behest, they switched places, and each inspected the other’s work as they helped the star-crossed lovers to bathe. When the debridement and lavage were completed to the sheepdog’s satisfaction, she and Lotte helped the pair from the water. “Where is your den?” Lotte asked gently, her words garbled through a mouthful of plant matter. “We will steady you.”
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Olive - March 17, 2017
Everyone cool with me just closing out the thread here? Chey, feel free to respond once more and/or just archive :)
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Arturo exasperated her! He accused her of not thinking about the family, but was Dakarai not family? and not just that, but single handedly the most important member of the family, to her — was she not supposed to do everything in her power to get him back? Arturo knew love; he had taken a wife, it seemed [this, of course, was the first time she had heard of or met the vivacious, enciente queen [and knew that Lotte must be a truly stellar woman to fell Ceannasach’s walls]. Olive grit her teeth as Arturo called her selfish, when the truth was exactly the opposite. It was out of selflessness that she did what she did; borne out of a complete inconsideration for her own health and safety. Of course, now her own health and safety now included the lives of their children, growing in her womb. Of that, Olive did regret — perhaps that’s why her credibility was shot and why no one believed her to be in the right mind.
But, then he provided a plan. This was the Arturo she knew — the one who always knew what to do. Ceannasach commanded they lay low, step carefully outside of their borders and take it as it comes; which was exactly what she was going to do, for she was scared and did not know what to do to remedy such a situation. The fae had gotten in too deep and now beseeched him to aid her in fixing it — was this not what packs were for? It seemed Ceannsach would lend her such support, but nor he nor Lotte nor Chusi would be pleased about it. With any hope, soon their anger would abate and things would be as they once were, during that blissful time between when Dakarai returned to her and before the crime against Furiosa — albeit, with many little roly poly babies to play with.
Lotte, true to her queenly form, helped mollify her husband’s ire before he melted back into the shadows of the bleeding forest, then offered her hand to their petite, yet spritely nurse. She lavaged their many wounds and disappeared to find herbs, reappearing shortly with a mouthful of the medicines, then set to work cleaning her wounds. Olive was slightly abashed at the state they were in, that she had not been able to take care of her husband’s wounds better than she had. Olive shut her eyes against the memories as Lotte and the sheep dog went about their ministrations, flashing back to their flight from the woods — how harried and frenzied they had been, pulling along their wasted bodies and pushing themselves way past their corporeal limits, for fear the hellhounds were in pursuit. Though Olive spent many nights pressing various herbs and plants against their lacerations, her skills laid in identifying the plants… not necessarily their medicine properties. So the wounds had festered, the flesh of which the sheepdog clipped away with her teeth. Silently, Olive radiated gratitude for Lotte and the sheepdog, both of whom were showing the two the slightest semblance that everything would be alright.
When the deed was done and their den was offered, Olive could think of nothing more she desired. “Thank you,” Olive said breathlessly, looking up at the two women from a lowered stance. Hobbling forward, keeping her twisted ankle hovering above the ground [though it looked much cleaner after being treated by Coelacanth], braced herself against the nearest well women, eager to sleep for day and days.
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But, then he provided a plan. This was the Arturo she knew — the one who always knew what to do. Ceannasach commanded they lay low, step carefully outside of their borders and take it as it comes; which was exactly what she was going to do, for she was scared and did not know what to do to remedy such a situation. The fae had gotten in too deep and now beseeched him to aid her in fixing it — was this not what packs were for? It seemed Ceannsach would lend her such support, but nor he nor Lotte nor Chusi would be pleased about it. With any hope, soon their anger would abate and things would be as they once were, during that blissful time between when Dakarai returned to her and before the crime against Furiosa — albeit, with many little roly poly babies to play with.
Lotte, true to her queenly form, helped mollify her husband’s ire before he melted back into the shadows of the bleeding forest, then offered her hand to their petite, yet spritely nurse. She lavaged their many wounds and disappeared to find herbs, reappearing shortly with a mouthful of the medicines, then set to work cleaning her wounds. Olive was slightly abashed at the state they were in, that she had not been able to take care of her husband’s wounds better than she had. Olive shut her eyes against the memories as Lotte and the sheep dog went about their ministrations, flashing back to their flight from the woods — how harried and frenzied they had been, pulling along their wasted bodies and pushing themselves way past their corporeal limits, for fear the hellhounds were in pursuit. Though Olive spent many nights pressing various herbs and plants against their lacerations, her skills laid in identifying the plants… not necessarily their medicine properties. So the wounds had festered, the flesh of which the sheepdog clipped away with her teeth. Silently, Olive radiated gratitude for Lotte and the sheepdog, both of whom were showing the two the slightest semblance that everything would be alright.
When the deed was done and their den was offered, Olive could think of nothing more she desired. “Thank you,” Olive said breathlessly, looking up at the two women from a lowered stance. Hobbling forward, keeping her twisted ankle hovering above the ground [though it looked much cleaner after being treated by Coelacanth], braced herself against the nearest well women, eager to sleep for day and days.
RE: the swirling stream of what is and what was - Coelacanth - March 18, 2017
Slipping this in before it gets archived so I can use it for the trade ♥
With Lotte’s help, Coelacanth helped Dakarai and Olive into the den they shared, and when the two lovers had taken their ease, healer and rogue began applying the mixture of yarrow and celandine to the cleansed and debrided flesh. Lotte sat back on her haunches, using her paws, her brow beetled with concentration; the sheepdog, meanwhile, applied the paste with graceful sweeps of her fox-fine muzzle. When the wounds were completely covered with the poultice, Seelie retrieved from the brush a generous mouthful of oak leaves, and these she took the majority of. Dakarai’s wounds were visibly more severe, and she applied the oak leaves on top like a bandage. Lotte followed suit with Olive’s wounds, and at the tiny Groenendael’s urging, quietly commanded the wounded twain: “We will bring food to you; it is best if you try not to move unless absolutely necessary. The bandages will need to be changed — how often?” Lotte turned to Seelie with a pointed expression. “Three days?” When the youthful creature shook her head, a smile played about the corners of Banríon’s mouth and drew the sternness from her features. “Two?” Again the atramentous female shook her finely-sculpted head, and Lotte’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow, then,” she said. “Sleep well and heal,” the smoke-and-shadow female wished, and then took her leave with the sheepdog close at her heels.