Neverwinter Forest a little ethereal

Set on the 13th.

There was something about this place.

It fed Ico's soul in the same way the rain nourished the Earth. His brief home in Sunsprire Mountains had been grand but wholly insecure, while his home before that — Bearclaw Valley — had possessed a loveliness he'd barely been able to notice, such had been the atmosphere of woebegone tension. But Neverwinter Forest was somehow both sturdy and delicate, haunting beauty woven among trees that seemed as ancient as the mountains.

Night had fallen. Ico had been welcomed into the pack that very evening, and now he crept through the dusk with a mix of curiosity and hushed respect, peering up at the evergreens, russet eyes wide for a glimpse at the wolves he knew were lurking beneath the dark canopy.

She could often be found along the borders at night. Sleep was almost impossible, and she only managed to get a few hours at a time; she couldn't hide from her memories or avoid her feelings in her dreams apparently. So she put that restless energy into something useful. 

She was headed to the borders now, having woken with a start and a racing heart and decided that she had slept enough for the night. She walked quietly through the trees, her paws moving silently over the well-known terrain. The unfamiliar scent this far into the forest made her freeze and her hackles raise before she realized it mixed with the scents of Mal and Vallkyrie. Relaxing some, she moved again, altering her path to track the newcomer. 

The white of his coat stood out against the darkness, much like hers probably did, and she stopped a few feet away. A chuff announced her presence if it wasn't already known to him, and she waited for him to introduce himself.

It was not long before he spotted moonlight in the shadows — a white wolf just like him, and she spotted him too. For a brief second, her cautious, prowling behaviour made his heart thud unpleasantly, for she somewhat resembled Astara in inverse. But no, he reminded himself staunchly. This was no Ursus.

Hel-hello there... he murmured into the dusk, ears flattening somewhat. My name's Ico, I'm new here. I don't suppose you are as well...?

He stuttered his first word, and she wondered if her sudden appearance had made him nervous; that was not her intention, although her mood was usually pretty surly lately, so that was probably more her fault than his. 

She let him finish speaking before offering him any kind of answer, her fiery gaze focusing in on his expression as she tried to gauge him. Mal's scent mixing with his meant he was allowed to be here, but it didn't mean she trusted him yet; he would have to earn that, something that was more difficult since her run in with the monster. I'm Simmik, she offered with a dip of her head, reserved but not unwelcoming. And no, she continued. I am Neverwinter Forest's Beta. 

I was on my way to patrol the borders. She lifted her head in the direction she had originally been going. You can join if you'd like. Then they could learn more about each other.

Beta? A leader... Ico dipped his head in respect, but there wasn't much need for it in the scheme of things — Simmik towered above him without effort, a snowbound oak next to a snowdrop.

Thank you, I'd be honoured to join you, he replied honestly; there was no better time than now to start learning about the geography of Neverwinter's borders. As they began to walk, Ico wondered how he should speak to someone like Simmik, and the worthiest way to fill the silence. Then it occurred to him: the best way to get to know Ico was to know his stories.

So he took the plunge; I... know a story about two white wolves on patrol. Would you... would you like to hear it?

She gave a curt nod in response to his acceptance of her invitation, silently turning and heading back towards the borders. She let the silence settle between them, finding it more comfortable than trying to ask awkward questions. Lately, she found herself lost in silent thoughts often, even when she'd rather not be, so the quiet between them didn't bother her much. 

But when Ico did speak, it was to offer to tell her a story about two white wolves on patrol. Her eyebrows raised in obvious interest. I would, she said with another nod as she continued her efficient steps across the forest floor. At the very least, she was intrigued about the whole coincidence of his story and the fact that they were two white wolves patrolling. Plus, she was up for anything that would take her mind off things.

Ico felt embarrassed at himself for having committed to a story upon first meeting someone, fearful that he'd make a fool of himself, but then the tale began, and it came as natural to him as drinking water.

They were sisters. Getting old, but remaining inseparable.

So the similarities between the wolves in the story and Simmik and Ico ended there. For the two Neverwinter wolves were strangers, and young ones at that.

They knew the patrol like the backs of their paws, having taken it every day of their lives. It was as if they had a rich map of the land etched onto their mind's eye. First they'd climb the hill, and greet the Beta, who'd give them his usual wonky smile. Then down into the glen, where the puppies played riotously. Then past the den of the healer, who'd mutter 'Morning, girls'. And to the cliff's foot to place another pebble onto the cairn they were building. It was the same, always the same, every day.

Until one day in particular, when everything changed.

They had reached the borders just as Ico started to tell his story. Simmik turned to head along the borders the ran up to the northern part of the forest; yesterday, she patrolled the opposite end.

She listened quietly, his words painting a picture inside her mind as her packmate described the sisters and their daily routine. The Beta stopped a few times to inspect a scent or rub against a tree, but she was obviously listening intently to his story. 

When he paused on a cliffhanger, she returned her gaze to him, curiosity swirling in the fiery depth of her eyes. Her question was apparent on her face: what had changed? She wondered if something bad happened; it seemed the most likely possibility. That's kind of how life was in her experience. One day, you're going along with your routine, happy and content, and then the universe knocks you to the ground and changes everything.

Ico looked where they were going, but did not really see — the dark green trees and winding brooks would store themselves in his subconscious, but his conscious mind was on the story. The tale of two white wolves. He continued:

It was just the little routines that changed. But when your whole life is little routines, it feels like everything.

They embarked upon their daily patrol, but the Beta did not give them his wonky smile. And the puppies in the glen weren't playing. The healer, when they passed by, didn't say good morning at all, but looked tired and still.

The sisters frowned at each other, confused, but continued nonetheless, planning to finish their patrol as ever. But when they came to their cairn, and moved to pick up a pebble to add to it, they found they couldn't hold the pebble at all.

They moved farther up the edge of the forest, Simmik still stopping occasionally to inspect things but clearly engaged in the story being told by her new packmate. 

He told her of all the ways the two wolves' routines had changed, and she grew more curious the further he moved through the story. 

She paused her steps when spoke of the sisters not being able to hold the rocks of their cairn. She looked at Ico with confusion and interest. That's strange, she told him. Why? She was so eager to hear the rest of the story that she hadn't even realized she stopped walking.

Ico was the type to become immersed in the tales he told, and thus he felt it proper that he and Simmik should stop to listen to this final part — out of quiet respect for the two elderly sisters. The white wolves and their daily patrol that had changed forever.

The sisters looked at each other, and they realised it there and then. Between yesterday's patrol and today's... they had at last succumbed to age, and left their mortal lives. On today's patrol they were but ghosts, treading the route they knew so well, seeing the grief and loss in the eyes and actions of their packmates. It seemed that in their simple lives they'd had more of an impact than they could have imagined.

But as the sisters came to terms with what had happened, they decided that a little thing like death wasn't going to prevent them from doing what they'd always done. So they continued their patrol. Every day. They could see the world, but the world couldn't see them. And over time, they experienced the pack healing from their loss. The puppies began to play again, the Beta began to smile again. And one day, as the ghosts glided through the reeds, the healer looked through them and whispered 'Morning, girls.'

And in honour of the sisters, the pack continued their work on the cairn, adding pebble after pebble so it would stand tall and steadfast. Watching silently over the pack as the sisters had always done.

Simmik was quiet for a long time once the story had finished, remaining in place as the ending filtered through her her mind. She, honestly, hadn't expected it to end that way, and she suddenly wished it hadn't. Why did you tell me such a sad story, she asked quietly. There was no anger in her voice, just the sadness she felt for far more reasons that Ico's story. But she had been looking for a distraction, not a story that reminded her how unfair life was. She was unable to see the sweet side of the bittersweet ending. Maybe she would have before she was broken, but now all she could see were the bitter parts. 

She couldn't look at him. Her gaze remained trained on her snowy paws where they clung to the forest floor; she was afraid he might see too much in her expression—more than she was willing to share with him right now.

The silence that followed felt positive at first, a breath of reflection and thought. But then the silence lingered, and Ico chanced a glance at Simmik's expression, and he realised — it was not a positive silence at all. His heart gave an awful squirm, and his eyes widened with horror as he realised he'd upset her. His first instinct was to apologise profusely, but he also felt it crucial that he explain why he didn't think it a sad story. It had a dark twist, certainly, and it was grounded in something very real, but when he'd first divised it he'd thought it uplifting. I didn't mean it to be sad, he promised; the sisters live to a ripe old age, then live on in the hearts and minds of their pack.

But the damage had been done. I am sorry, he muttered, eyes cast to the ground shamefully. I didn't mean for... it's not a good story at all, I was silly to... I'm sorry, he said again, and intended to peel away and end this unsuccessful meeting, the fool who thought himself a storyteller.

The story might have been uplifting to most others, but Simmik's mind was not in the the right place; all she took away from it was that they were going about their happy lives and were suddenly dead. The images of their grieving packmates stuck out the most in her mind even now. It was hard to see the positive in things when you were so weighted down by all the negatives in your own life. 

But then he was apologizing, telling her that his story was bad, saying he was silly—it was too much. She felt guilty all over again—guilty and angry that she couldn't just act normally. She felt bad that he had told his story to her; if it had been told to Vallkyrie or Lenny, or even Mal, things would have gone much differently. But he had run into her today. This was why she kept to herself so much. No, it's not a bad story, she told him, still unable to look his way. I'm sorry; I need to go. She turned and trotted away into the darkness of the forest without a second glance back.

Ico felt desperately that he'd like to try and make it up to Simmik; perhaps cheer her up with a better, happier story. But she wished to continue her patrol alone, and he understood completely. All he could do was helplessly stand there and sadly watch her white figure fade away like mist.

Cursing his foolishness in telling this particular tale, Ico wordlessly promised that he would keep his stories to himself from now on. Simmik was right; it wasn't that it was a bad story really; the problem had been that he'd selected exactly the wrong story for the company. He'd failed to read the room. And that, he told himself wretchedly, made a poor Storyteller indeed.