Ankyra Sound port of call

somebody from blackwater...?
late night, mist.

he had fled.

all the way he had heard the voice of his mother in his ears, felt her breath down his neck. the insults she had swung cut deeper now than they ever had on that day. and he knew that she had been right. she always had been, she always would be.

and even when he could not decipher what was real versus what was fake in his exhaustion on the coast, her words still rang clear as day.

even in the dark, even as his breathing ran in rugged streams, even as his heart thrummed in his ears.

perhaps he was a coward.

what did it matter, in the end?

things to consider as he laid, motionless out in the open. the cold air mixed with the dark cloudy sky served to give him the perfect atmosphere to be miserable in.

a pale wolf lay stretched upon the sands. another revenant spirit.

the listener cut a striking dark figure against the gloomy seaside backdrop, her head low as she strode along the shores toward the phantom given flesh. but as she drew near, the prophet saw that she had been mistaken.

this one lived. first life, not some sickly second-chance imitation. he wore a dark hood, as if he had peered into the otherworld and dared not a single step further. all around him, spirits whispered.

the listener watched in silence.

<3

it would take him a moment, if she stayed, to notice her.

somehow a darker patch of ink against the inky skies and sea. her eyes different colors — he felt certain as if he was staring at two wolves at once. somehow. her silence heavy against the weight of his heart.

there were no words he could speak to her, if only because he remained uncertain if she was real.

perhaps he had gone back so far as to be scared of the boogeyman once more. perhaps this was them, perhaps this was nothing more than another stranger who might see him for what he was for once.

and it was unceremonious, it was drab.

he merely stared at her with wide pale, blue eyes. like a newborn to its mother. uncertain of the world he had laid himself into.

the wolf stared with eyes that shone brightly from the darkness. pale and blue like a morning sky. a childlike glimmer gave life to the dull cast of ignorance in his gaze.

in him, she saw rebirth.

a living revenant. a man who would see the world as a child again, with new eyes yet untainted by false words and false gods. a pure soul gifted to the druids, if only the listener could reach out and grasp it like plucking ripe fruit from a tree bent by the weight of it.

she need only find his name. she felt she must know it; she must have heard it somewhere among the spirit-whispers. she prayed silently for truth in her words.

veran. you have found the druids.

veran,

and he was certain he had slipped into another world. a dream or something. she spoke of druids and he could only think of one druid but she was far from here. but she spoke with such certainty in her words and he was but a babe in the brain still, easy to bend and mold.

with fatigue heavy, he rolled upright. seated to face her now. they were not so different in body even if they might have been different in mind.

that's why you're here. voice soft with his tiredness, boyishness still holding true there too.

druids.

a fairytale concept given life before his eyes on these sandy shores.

that's why you're here.

the listener nodded once. she beckoned with one dark-robed limb for veran to follow her, and led him along the shore in the manner of a shepherd with her flock.

what do you seek here, veran? she cast him a knowing look, as if his secrets and his sins were all on display for her to see. what do you hope our magick will bring to you?

and he followed her summons, as much of the sheep as she was the shepherd.

was he terrified of her? absolutely, as much as he leeched onto her like a babe at a mother's side. some unspoken tangle of fearful respect.

a heart, he breathed out in wisps. i'm... his voice quivered, eyes cast out to the waves, the island in the distance.

my mother cursed me a coward. i don't want to be.

a heart. could the druids give this to him? the listener crooned a thoughtful hum, leading him to the bridge of souls. it was covered now, but the listener had found that the shallow strip made the swim achievable for any wolf of average strength.

she struggled against the water, at times, but such was the price of divinity.

this will be the first of your trials, the listener whispered to veran. come.

the prophet led her new acolyte into the churning black waters.

there, he would be given to the keeper. he would be made strong. no longer a coward.

fade and i can put up another thread unless alesund decides to bail? <333

closing and you're more than welcome to start something new <3

it was a dream.

she was not real, he was not real.

the waters churned around her fur, turned her into a wispy creature, a siren who lured him into the dark depths — and he followed without thought. the waves would not take him, but he would be bathed in their depths and washed of everything the mainland had given him.