The Sentinels birds flying high

@Lærke ♥

The velvet-voiced rogue loped steadily along, unhurried and untroubled, her large paws drumming rhythmically against the healing earth in a rollicking two-beat cadence. Her long, soot-stockinged legs devoured the distance even as her argent eyes eagerly drank in the surrounding scenery; she would remember each step and she would relive her travels through song — all the better if she could find herself some willing listeners — or, better yet, dancers — to share in the singing of it. It did not concern the mercury-eyed yearling that she had arrived late to the party — that Lærke, that loveable, big-bellied thorn in her side, had gone on without her simply because she’d gotten distracted by a traveling bard on the lookout for his niece and nephew — that there might not be room for two Ansbjørns in one pack. If she had to, she would take up residence elsewhere — provided it was within pummeling distance of her silver-eyed, silver-tongued brother.

Lotte followed her brother’s scent until she could follow no longer — thwarted by territory borders! — and her black-masked face made a moue mutine as she dropped rather gracelessly to her haunches in the dust. Flicking her coal-furred tail and tossing it about her hips with a flourish — there was little room in Lotte’s great heart for demure timidity — she dipped her sloping muzzle to the thick cowl of ash-colored fur that ringed her neck and gave her ample bosom the appearance of a rabbit’s dewlap, hurriedly plucking any stray twigs and leaflitter from her person. Then, giving her predominantly smoke pelt a good shake where she sat, she assumed a position of relaxed neutrality and pointed her broad muzzle skyward. Her low, husky voice smoothed out, billowing to new heights as she sang an aria to the woods — it must be confessed that she quite forgot herself for a moment, fitting lyrics to her searching call:

“Rakeet, o keepers of the wood
where many wolves in judgment stood!
In judgment mayhaps too shall stand
this smoking Ansbjørn firebrand,
for in your ranks, a chocolate bear —
rotund of torso, thick of hair —
has found his place and made his home,
no longer these wilds to roam.”

She continued to hum, striving for as much discretion as she could muster, not wishing Lærke’s burgeoning reputation to be sullied — yet — by the countless embarrassing stories she could tell about him, but a husky, rich laugh spilled cheerfully from her jaws merely at the thought of them. Lotte’s greatest gift was her voice; she could force it into an evil crone’s shriek or whittle it to a honeyed ingénue’s lilt; she could drop it to masculine depths if she so wished. Her own comfort level, however, was smack dab in the middle of the vocal register at a melodic alto, and that was what she used now as, “Rotund of torso,” she repeated to herself with another rowdy laugh at her own genius.

The bear’s acceptance into the pack of druids was more pleasing to him than he would have been able to express properly. He had been granted access by the pale woman who led them, and she had offered him a few words in regards to her own homeland and it had done well to calm the nervousness that had tossed his gut inside of him. Aria too had hailed from the northern lands, and this was both a relief to the great soturi and a comfort. While their cultures were certainly different from each other, Lærke did not believe that it would be too difficult to share what he could of the moonlit wolves. They were a good people and he loved them dearly. His stories and his songs often pertained to his home, and though he had been asked numerous times why he did not simply return to the frozen land of his birth… he knew that his skills were needed elsewhere. Life was not meant to be lived in one place; it was intended to be experienced.
 
The song struck his ears and caused a smile to crinkle his features. The large chocolate brute turned his head toward the border and pushed his massive frame forward into a steady lope. Lærke could feel his chest swell with delight at the sound of the young girl and her cry to the heavens. They sway of his muscles felt good beneath his thick pelt. The soturi could see a challenge in attempting to navigate through the thick trunks of trees and twisted roots of the earth. His life had been spent in rolling frozen hills, and the cover of foliage was new to him.
 
When his eyes caught sight of the dark-masked girl on the border, he picked up his pace and came to a grinding halt just before where she stood. Salmon tongue lolled from his mouth and his silver eyes twinkled lovingly toward the young rogue. “Lotte! Minun kaunis siskoni!,” he barked to her in his powerful bass of a voice. Stepping forward, the large bear moved to press his skull against her smaller chest and lift his paws around her neck.

The distant thunder of heavy paws filled Lotte’s fine-tuned ears like the roll of kettledrums, and her bright eyes gleamed like pools of mercury as she bounced to her coal-colored paws with a joyous lash of her soot-swathed tail. “Ai, come on, then!” she urged her brother under her breath with a jovial grin, for who but Lærke Ansbjørn would be eager to meet someone who had exposed his chubby middle in an impromptu song? She had missed him — it had been difficult to watch him go on while she shared stories and time with the traveling bard — but she had always known they would find one another again. Hearing the other wolf’s songs — his voice was beautiful in its own way, more akin to the howl of the sea than the rollicking roar of a bear — was part of her duty. She would keep and pass on the tales she learned to her children someday — oh, she hoped they would be numerous! — and live a fuller life for knowing them.

“Oi, te loistava komea karhu!” she cried out as pebbles and moss flecked her paws. She flicked them fastidiously, like an irritated cat, with an affected, “tch!” — assuming a role as she often did to make her big brother laugh. “Rakkaat idiootti!” she huffed, her strong forelegs wrapping eagerly around him in turn as she bent her head to mutter into his fur, “Thorn kylkeeni!” Her argent eyes glimmered with a haze of happy tears that spilled over and became lost in the chocolate ruff around his neck; as he buried his face in the ash cowl of fur that billowed beneath her chin, she laved the crown of his skull with unabashed excitement. Beneath Lotte’s elaborate insults was affection, deep and enduring, and she settled on her haunches to cradle the bear’s massive head with a satisfied sigh. “Busy boy,” she crooned in her warm, rich alto, “what trouble are you wreaking upon this poor wood?”

The broad beast was greeted with words that he could only register as loving. Lotte was as boisterous and lively as the rest of them, but she had more of a quick tongue about her. She was roguish in more than just her battle tactics, but also her mind and wit. The massive warrior had always found her remarks had a way of filling him with a bubbling laughter that would spill from his lips and shake the air around him. The quick-legged girl had so much going for her, he could not have been more proud. Lærke had a powerful devotion toward all of his younger siblings, but Lotte and Dagfinn – the twins – had a special place in his large heart. They were the light at the end of many a long day for the soturi. Even there, in that strange land, seeing the inky limbs and hearing the loving insults that were offered by the rogue… it was a slice of home.
 
The tongue that she spoke was familiar to him and so it warmed his heart to hear it. When she pressed her tongue to the top of his skull, the bear gripped his limbs around her tighter than he had before and squeezed until he feared that he might harm the girl. When she had lowered herself to allow for a more comfortable position, he removed the grip that he had held fast to, and took a staggering step backwards. The grin that had been imprinted on his face was enough to cause the edges of his eyes to wrinkle and in the silver depths of his optics shone a light of love.
 
“Lotte, this forest is… is… epätavallinen,” he exclaimed in the familiar and gruff bass. “I could not resist. The wolves here are beautiful creatures – druids and healers,” the bear then went on to tell her with wide eyes. It was almost as if she would not believe him if he were to tell her that there was an entire pack of wolves who did not seek battle or great wars, but merely sought to aid those in need. After a moment, the bear attempted to curb his excitement and breathed a heavy sigh. His pale silver gaze seemed to soften on her and his smile curled in a goofy manner. “Olen tyytyväinen olet täällä.”

The soot-stockinged rogue went briefly cyanotic as her beloved big brother caught her up in a rib-cracking embrace, driving the air bodily from her lungs. She adored him — and although her love for Dagfinn was different, as every individual love should be, what she felt for the great ruddy bear was just as potent and singular in its own right. She listened with rapt attention, her silver eyes bright, and her coal-painted tail waved in a wide, scythelike arc behind her as her brother described the forest and its inhabitants. Her muzzle wrinkled, not with ire but in consternation, as she blurted a question. “What of their warriors?” she asked innocently. Was Lærke the last hope of this place? It was good, then, that he’d come! She nudged him eagerly, nose to chin, as she’d done so many times as a puppy.

“You say they are beautiful yet leave so much out!” she whined plaintively, flopping unceremoniously to her side in the moss and loam to shove her paws at him in protest. Her eyes glinted wickedly as she bounded to her feet in the next instant, a mischievous grin pulling gleefully at the alluring corners of her lips. “Kuinka voit kutsua itseäsi bardi, pitää salaisuuksia näin?” she teased. She backed away from him, one heavy paw snaking out, its aim to lightly cuff his broad shoulder. “I am pleased to be here,” she countered in her rich, velvety alto. The truth of her statement shone in her bright mercury eyes as she regarded Lærke with gentle affection. She was the younger sibling, but there was something maternal in the way she looked him over, checking for any wounds or mishaps that had befallen his person — not that the chocolate-furred behemoth would have felt them. “Oletko nähnyt meidän sisaruksia?”

it was a jovial song that the trees carried in them this day; they sang it to her, having heard it from another, and her heart was warmed to hear of the ditty. someone was being sought--perhaps deirdre could help! the witch moved through the wood slowly but surely, having lifted herself from a circlet of flowers that lucani and she had found by the riverbed. lucani had left, recently, and her heart had known pain once again.

she arrived before the duo in time to hear the foreign words spoken from the other woman. the buxom woman was undoubtedly a beauty, to deirdre; she was smoke incarnate, in each of its rolling colours from conception to its own unfurling, pale tendrils. white came through sparsely, but for the most part the woman was the thickest, most tangible colour seen from the smog. her eyes were a silver, the likes of which she had only seen in aria but due to the darkness the other had on her coat,  it was more apparent.

the pale woman carried herself with humble importance, her kohl-rimmed emerald eyes staring upward at the woman through thick lashes. deirdre was besotted by the other, voice and appearance both, and she hoped to hear another song, soon. have you found who you were looking for? and her emerald eyes held fast to the other, the ghost of a question upon her lips--is that all you have come for?

this is a weird post u guys... i'm sorry

 

At once, the rogue inquired to him of the forest’s warriors. The bear drew a frown to his handsome features and glanced toward the earth. It was a dreadful fate to be the sole standing guardian – as far as he was aware – of the pack. They had taken a peaceful front and had built a life on that, but the brute’s skills were not to go to waste; if they should need him, he was a capable beast. Lærke breathed a sigh through his nares and drew his argent gaze upward once more so that he could peer adoringly at his sister. Their family had been a proud group of warriors. It would only make sense for Lotte to inquire about the soturi of the wood. “Ah, ihana lapsi… I am their steadfast guardian,” he responded. There was a fleeting moment of swelling pleasure at the thought, but the bear was quick to force it aside. To boast without reason would not grant him honor.
 
As was her nature, the quick-tongued girl had reprimanded him for his lack of words on the creatures of the forest. The broad male lifted his crown upward with a moderate cant. After only a moment, Lærke tossed his muzzle and chuckled in his booming voice. “Niiden fyysinen kauneus voisin puhua tuntikausia. Minun täytyy tietää ne parempi puhua hengellisen kauneuden. En ole matala Bardi, sisko,” he returned with a smirk hovering on the edges of his lips. For the bear was a man who found his mind drawn to the soul of another. While he was quite impressed with the beauty of the wolves of Donnelaith, Lærke was far more entertained with the premise of their character.
 
As if drawn by the words that he had spoken, the pale beauty emerged from the wood and inquired to Lotte if she had found what she was looking for. Lærke dipped his skull low to the woman of the roots. “Kaunis lapsi,” he greeted her in his rumbling bass. “Deirdre, this is my sweet sister Lotte. I was just telling her of your home.” Once he had lifted his skull to gaze at her with sparkling ghostly eyes, the soturi gestured with his muzzle toward his beloved sister. There was a fondness in his expression – one that spoke powerfully of his devotion to his family. The bear did wish that his Lotte could join arms with him in the shade of the trees. He wanted it so.

<3

It seemed that Deirdre had arrived to every call before her lately, which was always so confusing. She knew that the girl was a caretaker-- one to remain inside the heart of the territory, rather than to stay along the borders. Maybe she really just wasn't cut out to be the leader Lasher thought she could be. 

With a heavy heart, Aria padded up to the group of wolves, trying her hardest to hold the highest posture, her tail raised higher than everyone elses. She was in charge-- this did not change. She glances to all three wolves, smiling slightly as to not suggest she was unhappy, and waited for an explanation from someone.

[hoards all the Donnelaith wolves!] I am so excite!

Lotte had guessed correctly — her beloved big brother was the sole soturi within this enchanted wood. Quite honestly, “Then they are fortunate,” she said, and her argent eyes glittered with the conviction of her praise as a warm smile shaped her delicate features. As a chuckle spilled from Lærke’s smirking lips like the roll of a timpani, Lotte rounded her mercury eyes and arranged her visage into a winsome pout. “Tiedän, tiedän,” she acquiesced, her jollity breaking through her carefully crafted expression as she laughed in turn, a lilting alto ripple of mirth, “but kaipaan tarinasi.” Like all of her siblings, the rogue spoke plainly when it came to matters of the heart and her devotion to her eldest sibling was plain. Aside from her kaksonen Dagfinn, Lærke was the one she found herself closest to.

Before the quicksilver girl could speak further, an unfamiliar wolf melted from the boughs of the towering sequoias — she did not merely walk but appeared conjured from the very winds. Emerald eyes, bright with curiosity and youth, were made more striking by the dramatic sweeps of obsidian that lined them; her voice was a melody in and of itself as she posed a gentle question. Fittingly, Lærke made the introductions — although Lotte was not shy and would have willingly spoken for herself, she found this segue quite genteel. “Deirdre,” she said in her low, rich timbre, bending her head and offering an elaborate bow — one foreleg sword-straight, the other daintily curled, “yes! I have found minun jättimäinen karhu of a brother and my heart is full of happiness.” Her charcoal-feathered tail lashed the air joyously as she butted the broad bridge of her muzzle against the chocolate-colored wolf’s shoulder.

Another unfamiliar female materialized from the dappled green and brown wood then, as white as the snow and ice of the Ansbjørns’ tundra home. Her bearing was regal, her densely-feathered tail flagging the air like a banner; instinctively, Lotte offered another gracious, sweeping bow with her right leg curled demurely, her glittering mercury eyes drifting askance out of respect. Symmetrical, triangular ears capped a face whose sharply etched features and ice-blue eyes seemed limned in austerity, but the smile that ghosted across the coal-lined lips appeared to soften them. Without hesitation, “Rakeet, comrade!” Lotte ventured with characteristic straightforwardness. She was capable of stealth and subtlety as befitted her role, moving in the shadows to strike with deadly accuracy at her foes, but her true personality tended to be more candid. Indeed, Lotte played so many parts when acting out her singing roles or acting diplomacy that it was hard to pin her down as any one thing. “I am Lotte Ansbjørn, the small sister of this great hulking bear in your ranks.” Argent eyes slid sidelong to regard Lærke with mischievous fondness.

deirdre was, perpetually, an active presence within donnelaith--and though it was not wrong that deirdre was most frequently found within its depths, she was excited to meet those who might join them. today, it was the song that lured the girl here! it had been such a joyous call that deirdre had needed to investigate it, and twas not for naught! for the being was as jubilant and cheerful as her brother, which deirdre loved. when the other bowed to her, deirdre smiled sweetly. she had meant to inform the other there was no need to bow to her, but was distracted by the affectionate display shared between siblings. she yearned fiercely for @Emaleth then! and her eyes, for a brief moment, were distant as she thought of her. aria's presence brought her to, and deirdre was swift to adjust her posture to accomodate aria's. deirdre desired to be queen with the woman one day, but knew how to respect her place at present. she was too young, now, and though she felt her ambition rear its head within her she had no desire to challenge the authority lasher had given aria--she loved the woman!

i am glad that you have found one another, deirdre murmured warmly, before she peered to aria after lotte explained herself. lotte had not expressly requested to join their ranks, and deirdre would have continued to converse with the duo to see if that was something lotte would eve desire -- but she left it within the alphas capable paws! lotte had only called for her brother, but the song had tempted deirdre's desire to be present, a temptation she had given in to.

A warmth spread through his chest as she mentioned her love of his stories. It was pleasing for the bard to know that his tales had spurred interest in his younger kin. The children had been fond of him on many occasions. He could recall – with absolute nostalgic delight – the frigid winter nights when they would find themselves tucked deep into the warmth of their den. The bear had taken it upon himself to tell great tales of battle and victory. The children would gather around his massive frame with wide eyes and wagging tails. All of them had longed to hear the adventures of the soturi. The children would dream of joining the wars and wandering into their own homes with stories of their victories. Lærke had seen many of them grow to run alongside him, and had even witnessed the passing of a select few. Still, it was with great honor that they took up their fangs and claws and made themselves one with the moonlit wolves.
 
“You have heard so many of my stories,” he responded with a fading smile. “If you might stay, you are certain to hear plenty more.” It was a hope that the charcoal-painted girl would join him in the ranks of the healing forest. They were not, by any means, nomadic creatures. Lærke had traveled away from their home simply to offer his skills as a warrior. Having found a pack of healers was not the best means of demonstrating his talents, but he had been lured in by their beauty and the strange means in which they had constructed their pack. He was certain that Lotte would find them equally interesting.
 
The pale wolf Deirdre had not been the only one to arrive along the borders. The leader of their brood – Aria – had found her way there as well, and stood as a silent guardian. His pale gaze traveled toward her, and the hulking bear lowered himself into a bow of respect before he lifted himself upward and flagged his tail. “You are lucky, Lotte. Even their johtaja has come to hear your call.” A smirk curled his dark lips upward and crinkled the edges of his eyes as he turned them on the young rogue. The opportunity was there, and if she were to grasp it, Lærke knew he would rejoice.

whoops! my turn... welcome to DL (: sorry this thread took so gosh darn long!

Her gaze shifts between Laerke and the stranger-- Lotte. She was friendly and kind and seemed to be eager. That was enough, and with Deirdre already taking a liking to the woman she felt there was so reason to turn her down. Her head dips slightly, tail waving behind her. "Welcome, Lotto, to Donnelaith. My name is Aria January--" she pauses, "-- johtaja of this pack. Laerke is a wonderful man, I can only assume you would be just as contributing to our pack as he is." 

With a gentle prick of her ears she steps forward to press her nose into the others fur, assuming the other would do the same. "Welcome to Donnelaith." 

The soot-stockinged Ansbjørn girl gazed keenly upon the two white wolves to whom her brother’s loyalty now belonged, feeling an indiscernible sting of something — at first, she could not define it. It was a sharp, urgent pang of emotion that was not jealousy or anger or hurt — she would not have placed it on the darker end of the emotional spectrum — and it was by equal measures ponderous and buoyant, painful and pleasurable. As Deirdre made a swift yet gracious exit, Lotte hoped fiercely that she might meet the girl again, and turned her attention to her brother. His words, though innocuous and lit with a blithe smile, conjured anew that spark of emotion in her breast — and now, suddenly, she knew it by name. “Kohtalo,” she breathed abruptly, her silver eyes wide and filled with wonder as she looked from Lærke to Aria. “I know it, now.” She had, perhaps, spoken out of turn — but she simply could not help herself.

Turning to Aria — not merely a comrade, but their johtaja! — the smoke-and-soot rogue swept another low bow, holding her posture in this way for a prolonged beat. “Oh, forgive me, Aria January, johtaja of Donnelaith,” she murmured, her warm, rich voice practically crooning the words. “Kohtalo, in your tongue, it would be fate. Destiny.” She beamed over Aria’s shoulder at Lærke for the praise the snowy queen bestowed upon him, but her argent eyes focused on the leader’s face in the next moment as her expression turned solemn. “I have sung of fate before, but today — just now — I felt it for myself.” Made giddy by the woman’s acceptance of her, Lotte slid her muzzle forward to mesh her fur with Aria’s. “Thank you,” she intoned, her elation giving way to laughter as she gently butted her broad muzzle beneath Aria’s chin in homage. “Thank you! I will work hard.” Even the trees seemed to whisper stories of their own, and the silver-eyed girl could not believe she hadn’t heard them earlier.