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+--- Thread: Northstar Vale nixëloss (/showthread.php?tid=66818)
nixëloss - Aerith - December 29, 2025
The trek northward had been a steady ascent into thinner, colder air, an altitude that finally felt somewhat appropriate to her station. But here, the earth abruptly fell away. Aerith halted on a wind-scoured ridge, golden gaze descending into a vast vale scooped out of the mountain’s granite heart like a bowl waiting to be filled.
The fall was steep, a tangled tapestry of frozen scree and shadowed timber that would daunt a spirit weighed down by raw instinct. The helçariel moved with the weightless grace of a specter navigating a downdraft. Her paws, silent and precise, found purchase on ice-slicked stone where others would find only a fall. Her snowy white coat, marked with the elegant charcoal script of her kind, made her appear as a shard of the glacier itself, detached and drifting downward into the tree line.
As she descended, her mind turned over the fragments of lore she had gathered, lowland whispers, crude and unfinished. A fairy, the stories claimed, deep within the forest, that conquered a valley, leading a haven for those in need. She reached the valley floor, her posture rigidly upright, plumed tail held like a frozen banner behind her, gaze sweeping across for any movement that might arrive.
RE: nixëloss - Chaudry - January 02, 2026
The moon village lands had been too loud, too full of eyes that Chaudry couldn't stand to have on him without baring his teeth. Instead he had retreated into the mountains, seeking comfort in the high peaks and familar turns. The vale had become his home once more, his mother's abandoned den and the nursery where his daughter once slept constant reminders of what he had stayed on this earth for.
He would reclaim what was his.
But not yet, not now.
Movement in the vale was a break from routine, a reason to investigate. Chaudry expected a familiar face; his maman, Chesley, maybe an aunt, but he had no such luck. What he saw through the trees was a stranger entirely, too pale to be a woman of his home and without the balance of fear or certainty to have been an old packmate.
He thought to whisper to Phobos, but his body refused to move. Wide eyes were fixed forward like two citrine daggers, waiting for the other to move first.
RE: nixëloss - Aerith - January 02, 2026
The valley floor finally rose to meet her pads, the ground here damp and smelling of ancient decay. A sharp tilt of her charcoal-masked head followed, her attention captured by a pair of citrine eyes fixed within the dense shadows of the timber. The stranger remained hidden among the trees, his frame heavy and unmoving, a dark silhouette against the grey bark.
Pristine white fur brushed against the frozen undergrowth as Aerith straightened her spine, her posture reaching a level of rigidity that allowed for no physical weakness. The weight of his stare was evident, yet she did not retreat or display the aggression of a common beast, calm despite the proximity of an unknown presence.
Amber eyes tracked the glint of his citrine gaze through the branches. The silence of the vale was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic sound of her own breathing and the distant rustle of the wind in the high peaks above.
„Your presence in this sheltered hollow is noted,” she stated, her voice a crisp and formal chime that cut through the stagnant air. A slight shift of her ears followed, her expression remaining one of clinical detachment.
RE: nixëloss - Chaudry - January 03, 2026
Noted?
Chaudry furrowed brows half his own, unsure of what to make of the wolf who has come before him. She is small, but he is weakened by hunger and illness. He doubts that he's in any state to chase her off even if he truly had the desire.
The silence stretches too thin. Phobos tells him what to say, Chaudry listens.
As is yours.They aren't his words, not in how he projects his voice or controls his tone. It's how he knows the herbalist still speaks through him.
I don't know you.Sharp, unfeeling. That sentence is Chaudry alone.
He comes forward for a better look, yet refuses to entirely leave the shelter of the trees. Some part of him refuses to be seen in his whole form, a thinned shadow of what he once was.