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+--- Thread: Cedar Sweep there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too (/showthread.php?tid=21103)
there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Lotte - March 20, 2017
Private for @Hemlock, tagging for reference.
NOTE: Each of the traveling threads is a day apart. ♥ This is day ten, March 30, 2017.
This post is lame because my eyes are about to fall out.
NOTE: Each of the traveling threads is a day apart. ♥ This is day ten, March 30, 2017.
This post is lame because my eyes are about to fall out.
Lotte Ansbjørn Fearghal was many things, and unreasonably stubborn was chief among them. The last four times @Arturo had attempted to get her to stop and rest — first mildly suggesting, then seducing, then cajoling, and finally demanding — she had defied him. It seemed, however, her black-masked love possessed an even greater level of obstinacy than she did. This was the last stop, he promised. After this, it was a straight shoot across the river and into the territory he planned to claim. A day’s travel. No more.
Tomorrow, she thought intently, feeling thick and muzzy and miserable as her legs buckled weakly in the muddy shallows at the river’s edge. Emitting an agonized groan, she shimmied down the bank, allowing her swollen sides to dip below surface and submerge. So violent were the cramps that the thin-stretched satin of her convex side rippled visibly. With little care to her appearance — roughly that of a beached whale or a bloated harp seal carcass — she rested her cheek in the mud and tried to remember what it was like to breathe normally.
Tomorrow, she thought intently, feeling thick and muzzy and miserable as her legs buckled weakly in the muddy shallows at the river’s edge. Emitting an agonized groan, she shimmied down the bank, allowing her swollen sides to dip below surface and submerge. So violent were the cramps that the thin-stretched satin of her convex side rippled visibly. With little care to her appearance — roughly that of a beached whale or a bloated harp seal carcass — she rested her cheek in the mud and tried to remember what it was like to breathe normally.
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Hemlock - March 20, 2017
She had given the Family a wide berth for a number of reasons. One, she felt it served them best that she did not come forth and snatch one of the children that should have been born to herself and her mate. Two, it kept her scent from being clouded too much with the wolves of Teaghlaigh, making her a better option for any sort of covert operations the leadership might have required of her. Still, she'd strayed closer when they neared the new homestead, watching carefully as the Banrion's behavior shifted. Even not knowing her, Hemlock knew. Her green eyes narrowed, and when this time the lady lashed out to be away Hemlock gave a little shake of her head to stop Arturo's approach.
She'd take her. She'd help her.
Hemlock waited until Lotte had settled, all of her waterbound and she was clearly uncomfortable. Isley approached with a low chuff, sitting down near the edge of the water to deter anyone else from approaching. "If it helps, no one will notice if you add a few scars to my side; might help with the pain." She said dryly.
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Lotte - March 22, 2017
“I am not in pain,” Lotte protested weakly, unable to put even a whisper of conviction into her voice as she struggled to sit up. It vexed her to be approached while laterally recumbent — her head jerked up and so did her hips, the water lapping around her as she rocked herself up and jammed her trembling forelegs beneath her. Even that small exertion exhausted her, though, and she sank weakly back onto her side in the river with a grimace. “Maybe I am in a little pain,” she allowed grumpily. Twisting her neck, she looked up at the viridian-eyed woman and then beyond her, judging their distance from the rest of Teaghlaigh. “I am afraid,” she said then, so softly she was certain no other wolf had heard. “I am — ”
She was tired. She was angry.
Huffing out an aggravated sigh, “I cried,” she expostulated, as if crying was the worst possible thing she could have done — as if doing so had disproven all of her carefully cultivated confidence. For Lotte, it was. It had. As the youngest wolf in Teaghlaigh with the exception of her adopted daughter, Lotte held herself to impossible standards. She wanted to be able to outlast and overpower every wolf in the Family with the exception of her mate — not because she was power-hungry or ruthless, but because she wasn’t. She wanted to be the Banríon Teaghlaigh needed her to be, but she didn’t quite know how to get there. How could she be strong enough to impress Declan and soft enough to comfort Olive? Was that even possible? Moreover, how could she be gentle enough to rehabilitate August when she knew that the girl’s heat cycle would automatically earn her Lotte’s unyielding — if temporary — enmity? Most poignantly, how could she impress upon Chusi that Arturo needed to be obeyed without breaking the fiery little spark’s spirit?
“I am not a queenly wolf,” she said, her black-masked face contorting with a grimace of pain, “and I do not know queenly things.” The colorpoint female shifted restlessly through the course of another vicious cramp, then stilled. Motherhood had been the one facet of royalty that she felt absolutely comfortable with, but the threat of losing her children due to the stress of the move was too great. “They are not meant to be out until just before the next full moon, but they are like to tear out my side,” she whispered, her lips pressed tightly together. “If I lose them — if they die — but Olive — and Dagfinn — ” Her thoughts jumped from worry to worry, rendering her basically incoherent.
She was tired. She was angry.
Huffing out an aggravated sigh, “I cried,” she expostulated, as if crying was the worst possible thing she could have done — as if doing so had disproven all of her carefully cultivated confidence. For Lotte, it was. It had. As the youngest wolf in Teaghlaigh with the exception of her adopted daughter, Lotte held herself to impossible standards. She wanted to be able to outlast and overpower every wolf in the Family with the exception of her mate — not because she was power-hungry or ruthless, but because she wasn’t. She wanted to be the Banríon Teaghlaigh needed her to be, but she didn’t quite know how to get there. How could she be strong enough to impress Declan and soft enough to comfort Olive? Was that even possible? Moreover, how could she be gentle enough to rehabilitate August when she knew that the girl’s heat cycle would automatically earn her Lotte’s unyielding — if temporary — enmity? Most poignantly, how could she impress upon Chusi that Arturo needed to be obeyed without breaking the fiery little spark’s spirit?
“I am not a queenly wolf,” she said, her black-masked face contorting with a grimace of pain, “and I do not know queenly things.” The colorpoint female shifted restlessly through the course of another vicious cramp, then stilled. Motherhood had been the one facet of royalty that she felt absolutely comfortable with, but the threat of losing her children due to the stress of the move was too great. “They are not meant to be out until just before the next full moon, but they are like to tear out my side,” she whispered, her lips pressed tightly together. “If I lose them — if they die — but Olive — and Dagfinn — ” Her thoughts jumped from worry to worry, rendering her basically incoherent.
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Hemlock - March 23, 2017
There was the slightest smile on Hemlock's face - not because of the Banrion's pain, of course, but, because it was relatable. While Hemlock had not endured motherhood herself she had seen enough mothers and been by their side to see their children earthside. She drew in a deep breath, watching as Lotte settled. Hemlock in turn also took to the ground resting herself at the side of her queen as if she were Arturo, as if it was her place. "Lean on me," She instructed, to take some of the pressure off her joints although she did not know how long it would be comfortable for Lotte. "You are many things right now. Queen, soon-mother, leader," She could keep listing them, keep offering things, but then Lotte was open to her and she was sharing and that was a great feat.
"No, no," She whispered softly, pressing her snout to the underside of her Banrion's chin. "You did not know me before, but I will not let that happen. I will not." Hemlock said it more firmly. She would lay her own life before allowing the children of her leaders perish. "I have been gathering what herbs I can, and I will make sure that we are prepared to see them earth-side." Hemlock said quietly. "We will see you soon, babes at your side, all healthy and happy." If she could do anything she would to keep them safe - there was no way that she could stand by and watch as the Náire had their lives, their children, and the rest of the pack lost everything.
"No, no, my sweet Banrion - you will be blessed. You are blessed. Arturo has never shined as brightly as he has with you at his side."
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Lotte - March 23, 2017
NOTE: The word Lotte uses is a Finnish word, but I am altering its meaning to fit my purpose.
Hemlock gripped the tail of Lotte’s violently whirring thoughts and gently drew the young mother-to-be back to a safe middle ground. Now that she wasn’t flying wild with fear or being dragged under by shame, the inexperienced leader breathed — leaned — in equal parts grounded and buoyed by Hemlock’s reassurances. It pleased her to be tended to by a wolf other than the fiery-eyed Ceannasach, for although the songbird treasured her husband’s company above all others, she felt at times that turning to him in times of weakness negated her ability to support him. Speaking of which, “But Arturo always shines,” she protested, mild confusion in her eyes. Lotte was no ingénue, but she saw the gangster through heart-shaped, rose-colored glasses. Every memory of Arturo was stamped with a glowing watermark as molten and golden as his smitten mate’s heart. His very silhouette drew her attention, svelte and tall and stalwart. Below the surface of the water, Lotte’s coal-colored tail thumped in slow motion. “See?” she asked dreamily, obliviously referring to a light that lived only in her own eyes. She couldn’t un-see it anymore than the wolves around her could make themselves see it — and contrarily, if there was any female who did, well.
![[Image: giphy.gif]](https://media.giphy.com/media/26AHLBZUC1n53ozi8/giphy.gif)
Turning her attention back to Hemlock, Lotte reflected on a realization that, in this temporary oasis of peace and quiet, seemed particularly significant. “I do not compete with you,” she confessed, a note of surprise stealing away the sleepy blurring of her syllables. “When Ceannasach came to me and said you had returned, I expected to be jealous, as I once was of Olive and Furiosa — or suspicious, as I am of August.” It was no secret; ever since reaching her majority, Lotte had harbored a new disinclination toward other mature females. “What I feel is — oh — ” She turned her glimmering argent eyes to the lightless sky as her lips quivered. What was it about this journey that weakened her so?
“I have surun aihe for you,” she said in a voice thick with emotion. “It is a word we use in the Enok Tundra and I do not know its mate in your language.” Lotte’s tongue felt too thick for her mouth as she attempted to explain: “To have surun aihe for someone is to feel the hurt they feel — even though it is not your pain — but it is more than that. It is a bad feeling. It is helpless. You cannot take the pain from them or make it better; you can only know it is happening and want to share in it — to hurt because they are hurting.” Banríon fell quiet for a moment. “It is a bad feeling, but it is felt with good reason,” she added. “It means that wolf is a kindred soul.”
“I have surun aihe for you,” she said in a voice thick with emotion. “It is a word we use in the Enok Tundra and I do not know its mate in your language.” Lotte’s tongue felt too thick for her mouth as she attempted to explain: “To have surun aihe for someone is to feel the hurt they feel — even though it is not your pain — but it is more than that. It is a bad feeling. It is helpless. You cannot take the pain from them or make it better; you can only know it is happening and want to share in it — to hurt because they are hurting.” Banríon fell quiet for a moment. “It is a bad feeling, but it is felt with good reason,” she added. “It means that wolf is a kindred soul.”
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Hemlock - March 23, 2017
The slightest curve of her lips was the most genuine smile she'd had to offer since she had come home. She pressed a few gentle kisses to Lotte's cheek, pleased to hear that she was as genuine in her feelings for Arturo that Arturo was for her. It warmed her heart and though she had felt so helpless for so long there was in her hope for the first time. Before she could vocalize such things Lotte was offering such kind words and Hemlock drew in a sharp breath.
It felt like weakness in her, to bury her face in the plush fur of the Banrion, masking her sensations. She had told herself she had lost much, and she had let it go - she had let herself go. It felt better that way. It was safer that way. But some would refuse to allow it, some would keep her settled and some would make sure that she did not falter on the path to who she was and who she was meant to be. Arturo had always been a great balance to her of allowing her to dream and of keeping her firmly rooted. It was for him she had come back to Teaghlaigh and not run to hide in Awenasa like a child.
"I will hope you always remain outside this pain," Hemlock said softly, finally pulling back so that she could look the Banrion in the eyes. There was a softness in her gaze, not a challenge, and she did not stare with the intent of making her uncomfortable. "I will hope for your fortune, and for all the happiness for you and Arturo and your children and those to come later." She whispered softly. "I will not leave again, I will not stray. This is my home. You are my family."
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Lotte - April 07, 2017
Hemlock’s sudden display of vulnerability pleased Lotte; here was something she understood. She had grown up mothering her siblings — even Lærke the Bear, who was a full two years her senior. With infinite care, she craned her neck to smooth her tongue along the shock of vibrant red fur that capped the wise woman’s crown and trailed down her nape. When Lotte reached the thicker fur of the Kali’s ruff, she began preening and nibbling rhythmically, comforting herself as much as Hemlock. “I will care for you as you have cared for me,” she vowed staunchly, though the words emerged in a tired whisper rather than a rabblerousing oration. “The Family will heal from their hurts — we will come out of this different than how we went in, but we will make a new life here. Arturo said it would be so.” She trusted implicitly in the Fearghal both as husband and Ceannasach. “If you have battles to face in the future, liekkikukka, I will be there fighting at your side.” She offered the woman a weary smile.
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Hemlock - April 07, 2017
Hemlock closed her eyes and basked in the feeling of belonging. It was alarming - and she fretted and feared what that would mean in the coming weeks and months as she renewed her roots in Teaghlaigh. She had belonged with Palisander. He had been ripped from her, and to let the Banrion close to her, it meant that there was a chance to lose this family too. Without Arturo and Lotte to ground her what would she do? Lotte coated her in affectionate touches, gentle and steady and Hemlock made a quiet sound of pleasure at the little touches.
"It sounds like a haven for us all." Hemlock said softly. "Though - I know that there are many who are unhappy. A trial will come, and I fear.....I fear that we will hear many who call for a harsher punishment than Náire." Hemlock admitted. She did not feel guilty over the way she felt; she'd left it all, and she'd do it again for the sake of Teaghlaigh. But she was indoctrinated, she believed in it, she did not fake it.
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Lotte - April 08, 2017
There was a significant part of Lotte that understood and even agreed with the Family’s desire to punish Olive and Dakarai further; she knew her husband’s mind better than most — though not quite as intimately as she knew Dagfinn’s — and she knew that their banishment was at the forefront of Arturo’s thoughts.
And she loved that steel trap mind — she loved that ruthless heart —
— but there was another part of Lotte, one that could be chalked up to naiveté or youth or weariness, that wanted the entire matter to be dropped completely. She was tired of walking and tired of hurting, and as much as she wanted to blame Olive and Dakarai for this forced sojourn, she couldn’t. Lotte was a dominant bitch with a natural aversion to competing females, but she was also a girl just past her majority who wanted nothing more than to climb mountains with her daughter in the spring and loll around in a meadow with her litter of Ansbjørn-Fearghal bear cubs. She did not want to spare Olive and Dakarai purely out of the goodness of her heart; there was selfishness that factored into her decision as well. The trial would eat up more of Arturo’s time and patience — time and patience that were better spent on Lotte, if she did say so herself [and she did]. Still, despite her reservations, she knew she would stand with her husband and with Teaghlaigh regardless of the outcome. It was just a shame all of this had to happen at all.
“I know it,” she said heavily, her trained voice carefully devoid of any discernible emotion.
Restlessness in the distance caught the Banríon’s attention. The very thought of getting up and moving was agonizing. After a moment of prolonged silence — throughout which she was gearing herself up to ask a question that tasted of bitter ash on her tongue — “Can you give me — do you have — can you give me something for this — this pain?” she grappled with the question in a low, embittered voice that was ragged with shame. She closed her eyes against the echo of her weak words in the twilight.
And she loved that steel trap mind — she loved that ruthless heart —
— but there was another part of Lotte, one that could be chalked up to naiveté or youth or weariness, that wanted the entire matter to be dropped completely. She was tired of walking and tired of hurting, and as much as she wanted to blame Olive and Dakarai for this forced sojourn, she couldn’t. Lotte was a dominant bitch with a natural aversion to competing females, but she was also a girl just past her majority who wanted nothing more than to climb mountains with her daughter in the spring and loll around in a meadow with her litter of Ansbjørn-Fearghal bear cubs. She did not want to spare Olive and Dakarai purely out of the goodness of her heart; there was selfishness that factored into her decision as well. The trial would eat up more of Arturo’s time and patience — time and patience that were better spent on Lotte, if she did say so herself [and she did]. Still, despite her reservations, she knew she would stand with her husband and with Teaghlaigh regardless of the outcome. It was just a shame all of this had to happen at all.
“I know it,” she said heavily, her trained voice carefully devoid of any discernible emotion.
Restlessness in the distance caught the Banríon’s attention. The very thought of getting up and moving was agonizing. After a moment of prolonged silence — throughout which she was gearing herself up to ask a question that tasted of bitter ash on her tongue — “Can you give me — do you have — can you give me something for this — this pain?” she grappled with the question in a low, embittered voice that was ragged with shame. She closed her eyes against the echo of her weak words in the twilight.
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Hemlock - April 09, 2017
It was all too much. Hemlock could only fathom the things running through the minds of her leaders, and while she wished so desperately to be a backbone for them and to support them she knew there was only so much she could offer to them. It was hard to not overwhelm them in her efforts, and Hemlock wondered if she was being too present - if she was taking too much of their time from one another now that she was little more than a third wheel. Lotte knew her concerns, no doubt as they all did, and gave a soft sigh as she turned her viridian gaze down towards her paws.
They were both quiet for a moment, tensing as Lotte asked her for something for pain. "Is it consistent, or is it in waves? I can get you some herbs that will not hurt the children - it will ease your pains." Hemlock promised. She wouldn't put the children at risk, not when she relied on them on so much herself. She wanted them to be safe and happy and to grow into their own sense of magic.
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Lotte - April 16, 2017
Fade and archive with your post? ♥
Lotte considered Hemlock’s question, watching the activity in the distance with a measure of dread. It would be time to leave shortly; Declan and Conan were returning from their patrols and, it appeared, rousing the few who had managed to fall asleep. Arturo’s pointed glance to the two woman was answered with a hearty thump-thump-thumping of Lotte’s tail; restored to good spirits, she had completely forgotten that she’d recently tried to eat his face off. “In waves,” she said finally. “This is a very long wave, though.”
RE: there’s a lake of stew and of whiskey too - Hemlock - April 16, 2017
Hemlock gave a brief nod, watching Lotte with an intensity to her gaze that might have been disrespectful if not for the concern there. She was doing her job and that was all she could do. She took a moment, pressing her snout against Lotte's temple, gently, with even a notion of affection there before she departed with the instructions for the woman to stay put. After a bit she returned with some raspberry leaves, offering them to the soon-to-be mother. "These will be good for you to help with the pain," She offered with a smile. "You may not enjoy the flavor, but, they will help with the pain and not make the little ones upset." Hemlock waited until Lotte had eaten them, offering her some sweetgrass to chase the flavor and then once the pains had subsided she returned the Banrion to her husband before going to find a place to bed down herself for the evening.