Otatso Wetlands a sword, a gun and a bottle of fun

For @Poet!

Jude had managed to get out of the mountain range, and was still alive and thriving. However she knew she wouldn’t be thriving throughout the winter, eventually she would have to find a pack, or at least one other wolf to travel with. For warmth, for help hunting, for the necessities. She hated that, for she much preferred being alone, it provided her time to think and be herself, and to not have to deal with anybody’s bullshit. Despite being beautifully alone, today she was still upset. She had found herself in a disgusting and cold wetland, and her paws would not stop sinking.

She had to get out of this place, she couldn’t take it. Every time her white paws would sink deeper into another pit of mud, she cursed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This time it had gone real deep, and now her whole front left leg was covered in chilling mud. She snarled at it, and turned her head, blue eyes scanning the area for someplace dry to stop. She saw a nice rock, and began making her way towards it, grumbling more curses under her breath as she walked. She hopped up on it like and cat and shook out her golden brown pelt like a dog, before laying down to begin grooming.

 Following her conversation with the delicate shewolf named Mary, the priestess lets herself drift, taking a second dose of poppy to keep her high for just a moment longer. She is being careful, truthfully!, but she is not ready to surrender the warm peace, knows that the hollow feeling in her bones will return with the fading haze.

 Where she is from, the temple, the land is fairly consistent, blanketed by thick forest and dug den. She is unused to the shifting variety of terrain and so does not expect the wetland, intrigued by the trees until her paw sinks into the brackish slime. It squelches underfoot and slowly she pulls back, startled, and bursts into slow laughter. So strange. So wondrous. So... uncrossable, she thinks, and pulls back, instead trailing the perimeter, watching her toes submerge with each step. 

A series of curses catches her ear. Lazily she moves toward the sound. There is a woman on a rock, posed above her. It makes her think of Beneath-Night's Breath, and she sucks in a sharp breath despite her high. But this is not the temple, it is a swamp, and this is just another strange girl, this time large and beautiful, golden and white. Instinctively she wishes she had saved some poppy, so that she might have something to offer the reclining figure, the thought dismissed even as it occurs. 

Instead the sinner climbs up alongside her, on a slightly smaller rock behind. "It's quite thick," she comments, voice dreamy, referring to the mud that stains both their feet. Unlike the goodly creature, she does not bother trying to cleanse her paws, letting herself revel in being unclean.

The golden warrior turned her regal head to look towards the voice, which belonged to a smaller frame. A beautiful girl, with eyes of sunlight. Jude’s fur began to bristle when the other climbed onto her rock beside her, but she saw no threat in her- other than a threat to her blissful solitude. However the more Jude looked at the other, the more she realized that she wouldn’t mind her company, Jude was a sucker for a beautiful face. It sucks, if that’s what you mean. She said, giving her milky white paws one final lick before tucking them under her chest and turning to the other.

Jude. You? She said, asking her new company’s name.

She laughs at the woman's blunt statement, stretching her own paws out one atop another. Mud trails against the rock where she positions them. She pays it no mind. "... Poet." The sinner remembers, this time, what she is to disregard. If she will ever say her name without a soft pause beforehand, where to the would slot in, it is too soon for her to tell.

Stretching out, she looks to the wetlands, expression peaceful. "Did you traverse this?" She asks. The mud on the other had gone higher than on Poet's own paws, and so she wonders how deep into the thicket the magnificent woman travelled before being thwarted. To her at this moment, it seems insurmountable, a test of wills. But she has been trained from birth to look for fables and trials in the every day. Jude certainly looks like a character from a moral tale, a demi-goddess, perhaps, or a chosen hero. The thought makes her smile, though her expression is unreadable. "I've never seen it before," she adds, referring to the brackish mess underfoot, or under rock, as the case may be.

The silver and golden wolf laughed at the warrior’s statement, though Jude saw nothing amusing in it. Her eyelids offered only a narrow look at her cold blue eyes, she blinked slowly in a sultry manner and bent down to groom her white chest fur. She continued to do so as Poet spoke, pausing only to reply, I did. I tried. She offered no more explanation than that, for she saw no need to. Besides, Poet would be in an out of her life quick enough, the beautiful girl was just a pleasant distraction for Jude. 

Never seen what, mud? Have you been living under a rock? She asked with an amused hum in her voice, she was mostly out to tease and not offend at the moment. She stopped grooming herself and shifted her body to face the other, in an open curl. Once again, she saw no threat in the other more delicate looking woman.

"Something like that," she murmurs in reply, unoffended. She is all too aware of the limitations of her past life. Restrictions that she enjoyed, took for granted. She is not some bright-eyed immigrant in a brand new world, though she will surely feel the affects of culture-shock eventually. "I've seen mud," she clarifies, "but not this... how would you call it. A swamp?"

The golden warrior nodded her head, looking out at the disgusting boy around her. She had known of some who would call this home, who would embrace this place. To that she said, if it kept you happy do what you want. There had been a time when Jude would’ve thought differently, but she had changed. All she cared about now was house to live each day with as much enjoyment as possible, to survive. Survival above all else. I hate it here, I’m cold and I would much rather be somewhere dry and warm.

She looked back to the Poet, looking her over for a second before speaking again. Lay with me, you can keep me warm and I’ll keep you warm. She said, moving one elegant yet muddy leg out of the way.

The way the gold-hewn woman speaks amuses her, though she does not quite laugh out loud, unable to muster the energy to expend the breath. "It is cold all over," she muses aloud, then blinks, Jude's request (command?) cutting through her hazy high. It's an innocent request, she knows, and the sort of intimacy the other priestesses would share exactly at times like this. It is because of that she hesitates, a flood of feelings threatening to overtake her.

In the end the poppy wins out. "As you wish," she sighs warmly, and rises up to drift closer, slotting against the larger form of the warrior woman. She does not mind the lingering mud on the other's legs, her own dirty paws tucked against her chest as she embraces the warmth of the other against her back. "Better?" she asks, her eyes fluttering closed, comfortable. While she has shared similar intimacies with others like her, the act of laying so close to one outside the temple feels foreign, a small sin. It seems it's still too early for her to shake her natural reaction to committing small sins, even if she knows it's not really one, not anymore. Chasing away such thoughts, Poet allows herself to breathe the scent of the other, focusing on the external world over her internal.

The other hesitates and then complied with Jude’s request, moving to lay beside her. Jude was still used to compliance, after having been commander of her legion of heroes. She would never lose that skill of leadership and dominant posture, it was branded a part of her no matter how far she strayed from the path of honor. Poet’s body was a welcome warmth against Jude’s and the young golden female curled tighter to close any gaps.

Content to stay and sit in silence, Jude closed her eyes and started to drift off, the soft exhale of her breath growing smaller and less visible in the chilly air.

You can have Poet keep talking to her as she rests, or we can have some time pass and say they took a nap? I don’t mind either way <3

nap! this is so cute im dying

Lulled by the warmth of the other and the comfortable glow of poppy-dulled senses, Poet drifts into dreamless sleep. When she awakens at last her senses come back to her disjointed, and for a moment she freezes, unable to remember where she is. This is not the temple ... ah. She sighs, the memory of... everything returning to her. Her high has mostly worn off, though enough lingers to undercut the immediate wave of sorrow at remembering.

Carefully she pulls away from the golden warrior enough to stretch out, body twisting cat-like. Yellow eyes land on the other woman's face, searching for a moment with new clarity, not looking for anything in particular but taking in the quiet intimacy of their shared sleep. She draws in a breath but does not speak yet, not wanting to disturb the precious silence, the other's rest.

I love it!

Sleep came swiftly to Jude, her pelt rose and fell lightly next to Poet’s. At some point during the nap, Poet rose and moved away a little. Jude continued to sleep, her paws twitching as she dreamed of a warm summer’s hunt, alongside her legion. How she missed them, and would give anything to be reunited. But she didn’t deserve them. Many of them had died because of her battle strategy, her mother included. The Heroes of Calista were better off without her as leader. She couldn’t go back as much as she wanted to.

Her dream slowly drew to a close as the sleeping girl because to shift out of rem. Her icy blue eyes began to flutter open, and she rose out of the helpless state of sleep to rest on her elbows. Blinking a few times, she looked around to see Poet, the tinsel wolf sat nearby watching her. A faint smile made its way onto Jude’s face as she stretched out her long limbs. Thank you, you were very warm. She said, moving to stand.

She can feel the beginnings of a headache threatening her temples as her high wears away fully. Outwardly she gives no sign of discomfort, instead watching the woman stir with clarity previously fogged over. What does she dream of? The priestess herself does not dream often. Not anymore.

She returns Jude's smile faintly, still feeling the lingering effects of intimacy. A strange closeness with a stranger; it warms her. "Thank you," she returns evenly, her voice still smooth but no longer hazy-slow from poppy. "It has been some time since I shared company with another," she admits, skirting the edge of flirtation with a long slow look. "Do you .. cuddle with everyone you meet?"