Whitefish River Little White Fish

-5C°, currently it is snowing and set during the day. Located in Kintla Flatlands, whitefish river | ooc notes: open for anyone! | tagging: @Awenfen maybe?

The lack of socialization among the pack members of Rusalka made his leave rather easy. In and out of the borders, no one to miss his presence or rejoice his return. Just a phantom who wandered silently from one place to the next, silently, without a bother in the world. Today, he wandered to the riverside. With the prey returning, it was lovely to watch the fish swim by in the clear waters of the river, silver scales glistening in the sunshine as it warmed his back while snow slowly drifted around, gracing his head, and back with a cape of snow as he lay there motionless. 

All he did was observe the river and its surroundings. In peace, in silence, and perhaps he would be here more often whenever the pups of the pack would be born just to get away from their whining once they were beyond their fragile state and needing fewer bodyguards to stand around. 

Letting out a long sigh, a plume of white rose from his nostrils as he lowered his head to rest upon his paws, watching as one particular fish swam about in front of him. Clearly, it had faith he was not hungry yet.

"Do not despair at the brokenness of this world."

The advice of her mentor, a kind-eyed elder whom had secretly gone by the name of Katia, whispered through her tufted ears in the first days of recovery. Hard words to heed and yet, how she tried. 

As wounds dried and scabbed, so too was her heart beginning this process. It was a pain Fen hadn't the time to process - survival, running, was life now. The more distance she could put between Dredguild and herself, the better. 

Thus, like so many other prematurely buried things, the Saluki stashed the trauma and baggage. Saved it for a time when she could lift it from cracking porcelain shoulders, unpack it in the security of an elusive home. 

Onward, she forged - wild eyes gone hard and limping only slightly, with echoes of wildfire throbbing through her length with each step. From the creekbeds of her brief crumbling through forest and over mountainside. Steadily, silently, picking her way across glen, plateau, and fen with blooming relief. 

She happened upon him by mere coincidence. 

Winter clung tight to its hold of the world, holding the bated breath of spring in its lungs stubbornly; the world remained crackling and still with the cold, prickling to the skin and charged with the static of awaited rebirth. 

Despite the chill, Wördronna toed the edge of the stream as she came upon it, reluctant but conceding to the need to bathe. The grime of birth and travel, copper blood and sickly sweet death, perfumed her coat with its macabre odour. 

Gasping, a flash of pink tongue swiping over scarred chops was seen as the nymph treaded to the center of the calm river. The cold was encompassing, swallowing her whole with slow jaws that buried needling teeth beneath her skin, frost blossoming over her frozen bones. 

The gentle currents served to work the filth from her pelt, the strange selkie paddling upstream - silently save for the soft clatter of her teeth. Bobbing, the white speck of her crown disappeared beneath the waters for but a moment as she dove down - regretting the need to be fully clean as her countenance numbed beneath the surface. 

It was here she came upon him, gliding up the waters slowly after reemerging as if a materializing Lady of the Loch. It took a second for the showering sylph to spot him, hidden as he was amongst the patchy snow along the shores. 

A jolt of fear pierced her heart at the sight of him, spine stiffening as paws stuttered to a halt over the stumbling stones of the creekbed. 

It was then that a cloud passed overhead, allowing her to see properly in its shade, and her faerie eyes detected the lack of a rusty cape along his back. 

Relaxing ever so slightly, the faun considered him in silence - debating whether or not he would welcome her approach or abhor it.

Carelessly, mindlessly he watched the waters as the fish swam through them effortlessly. Their fins cutting through the water in an elegant glide, it was beautiful really, now that he took the time to watch them instead of trying to hunt them. All he did was gather snow as time went on, eventually he might even be buried depending how long he would remain motionless - and if the snow picked up its pace.

But something spooked them. The tranquil ballad of the fish was interrupted as they quickly swam downstream, away from something that apparently must be coming near. A flicker of the ear caught the odd new sound of the water flow, disrupting its melody as something, or someone was wading within. 

Shifting his gaze, his head followed as it moved into the direction, finally, his honey eye landing on the odd-looking pale wolf-like woman in the water. He watched her carefully, perhaps a little too intensely. What kind of encounter was this going to turn out to be? I thought I was the only one who enjoyed polar dips. Was all he offered. Especially after his last encounter with Tundra, he was beginning to think the South was void of anyone who appreciated cold water the way he and his family did.

I'm so sorry for the wait - I've been busy with work! <3 (also, just noticed the title is kinda fitting now lol?)

Her chin titled down as his lips parted, wisped ears perking though her gaze fell to the slow roil of the waters instinctually. The words - neutral and nonthreatening - piqued her interest, careful calculation in her fae eyes as they considered the northerner fleetingly. 

Seeming to have come to some conclusion, the waif dared to wade ashore, dripping and tattooed with the angry red strokes of abuse. Tactfully shaking the liquid from her pelt before enroaching upon his vicinity, the mother glided closer on hitched steps - offering a faint smile of hesitation as she perched near the prone male. 

"Non," the wyvern chirped raspily in northern, lips quirking briefly in humor. "Ze north is in my blood," Awenfen murmured, eyes flickering up to her newfound company occasionally. 

"I like ze cold," she continued with a miniscule shrug, curious gaze rising to him. "And you?"

Yes it does!!

He didn'tm mean to pry, but as she arose from the waters the wounds were a little too obvious. His eye scanned her little frame and naturally wondered what might have caused such a scene on her canvas, the story that such wounds must tell. Her structure was strange, alien almost but not terrible - she had a strange allure to her but certainly she wasn't pure wolf just by sheer appearances alone. 

Though normally Rosencrantz wasn't one who enjoyed being approached, her gentle nature and cautious approach was welcomed. She had a certain air about her that kept him from being on guard, at least to his usual extent. Not a muscle moved as she approached while the man continued to lay there, only his eye watching the strange woman as she spoke. 

She tells him that the north is in her blood, ah, so another Northener huh. Frost runs in my veins as well. Well, that was something they had in common at least, other than just being white and scarred - okay so there were a few things they had in common as shallow as they were.

The pitsiark's lips curled with kinship, a brief illumination of sun over the icy tundras of her countenance. "Do you miss it?" The fae asked of him unintrusively, a chord of bittersweet nostalgia twanging beneath the notes of her musical rasp. 

The winterlands were truly in her blood: her heart was home to crumbling, ice-capped mountains, glaciers bluer than any sea or sky, coniferous forests frozen in snow and silence. She longed for the bite of arctic winds in her lungs, the burn of permafrost beneath her paws. Perhaps it was something else they shared in common, this poignant loss of familiarity. 

"Zis land..it is so green. So open and big," the last was exhaled, seelie eyes lifting to the wide expanse of white winter sky overhead - seen without the screen of a pine needle canopy. 

"It is scary sometimes," she chuckled breathily as her gaze returned to him, something like exhilaration hitching her breath.

Every day. And he did. The paladin was getting accustomed to the blistering heat of summer, the many little rivers helped and discovering the beauty of mid-day naps to sleep away the heat and enjoy the cooler nights had made life in the southern lands a little easier during half of the year, but he still thought back to home rather often. 

He found it was more baren here than it did in the great white north. There were more brown and dead trees in winter than the tall thick evergreens that claimed the forests back home. Granted there were still evergreen here, they just seemed less in comparison to the spread they had up in the tundra. 

The prey are plentiful, and once you find a pack who will take you in, the world seems to shrink. He thought back to all the times he would come across the same individuals, to how often he would believe Rusalka's claim was not large enough for them, and sometimes that it was too large.

And again, her lips curled fondly. 

Something tangible echoed in his timbres, the snow sylph sensing this was another thing they shared: the aching crave of the arctic's bitter kiss, the only kind she'd known. 

"I do hope so," the girl murmured softly, smile fading ever so slightly, a shadow casting over her features, a frost hardening them like winter sweeping over the land. 

"Are there many packs 'ere?" The healer asked of him then with a curious cock of her alabaster head, downy ears bouncing, tone deceptively light as she tactfully shifted topics.

He was certain she would feel the same way. More often than not he would bump into familiar faces once he had gotten comfortable in a pack - Rusalka being the first long term after the failure that was Aristos. In time she should feel the same way, at least he thought so.

There are a few - he drawled on, thinking of all the scents he came across. New packs, old packs, things he heard of before and others never before. They seem to come and go. Hard to keep track of them all. 

A moment like this was rare, it wasn't often he sat here comfortably, talking to anyone without an ounce of frustration rising within him. Instead, he hasn't moved, simply laid there talking to the small pretty little thing who didn't seem disgusted by his scars, missing pieces or demeanor. He liked it.

"Seems to be a common pattern wherever one finds zemselves," the mother lilted matter-of-factly, lips quirking wearily without a hint of malice or bitterness. 

It was just the way of things, the natural order of their harsh world. People vanished. Families broke. Packs disbanded. Nothing lasted; but maybe moments like these, those of contentment, of peace, made hope worth holding.  

It was odd. 

Even as he was silently mulling over the serendipitous calm enveloping their cautious interaction, the northron too had come to the realization that her own tension had fled. Like the long-awaited melts of spring upon the winterlands it had trickled from her taut limbs, absorbed by the cold earth beneath her chafed paws. 

"Ya know," she drawled softly, head ducking once as she bit down on an amused grin, "I don't believe I ever caught your name..?" 

He supposed, there were others who enjoyed keeping up with all the new and old packs, to know everyone and make it their own personal mission to know every face, every pack, and every group. Some people just like sticking their nose everywhere from the looks of it.

That's right, perhaps he should start trying to introduce himself in future encounters, it was something he often seemed to forget until it was too late. Rosencrantz, and who do I have the pleasure of talking to? 

Should we close this up soon? We can always do a more present-day thread after!

sure, that'd be lovely!

"T'ey name me Awenfen," the ghostly fae murmured, owlish eyes blinking solemnly. A flicker of a smile graced her lips, "Awen if ye prefer." 

"It 'as been a pleasure," the mother agreed softly as she rose to her feet. "But..time stills for no'one," came the vague lilt as seelie optics rose to the dark font shadowing the heavens overhead, the snow still falling mutedly about them. She needed to seek shelter for the looming evening, something to fill her belly. 

"I should be goin'," she imparted regrettably as flakes showered from her form, the accumulation of precipitation gathering upon her throughout their conversation. 

"Don't freeze out 'ere," Awenfen wisped as she treaded past him, attempting to jest though it rang with concern despite her efforts. She paused by his shoulder, recovering with a light quip of, "it vould be a shame. I should like to meet ye again." 

Offering him one last, vaguely impish, grin, the sylph walked away, vanishing into the snow-blanketed wood.