Tormented Tarns The crow

The ground beneath Blackfell's paws was sodden, the frost-rimed mud slick as he navigated the narrow strip of land winding through the tarn. Each step was heavy, nails digging into the earth to keep from slipping into the cold, stagnant water on either side.

He paused, his fern-green eyes narrowing as they swept the sodden landscape. The air was thick with damp and decay. The tarns stank of rot—stagnant water mingling with the wet, sour smell of the decaying foliage submerged beneath it.

This was no place for the faint of heart, and it was little wonder the path was nearly untouched.

Blackfell's breath rose in faint puffs as he moved again, his hulking frame slipping effortlessly between the web-draped trees.

a shadow in the murk; another wandering silhouette on the horizon. nausicaä had faced days of solitude beyond counting, beyond reason. she hadn't expected the silence to shatter itself today of all days — but who ever expected change when it found them?

she stilled, one paw lifted as if ready to dart away, and took in the sight of him. a lone wolf much like herself, but taller and sturdier. his posture spoke loudly, named him an innate threat, and so nausicaä held her distance for now. even her loneliness was not so pressing that she would endanger herself.

thx for joining!

He stopped, broad paws sinking slightly into the frost-rimed mud as he lifted his head to scan the tarn.

A shadow lingered at the edge of his vision, just beyond the web-draped trees—a wolf, slight and pale, standing as still as stone.

Blackfell didn’t move immediately. He stood like a monument in the murk. His breath rose in slow, deliberate plumes, curling faintly before disappearing.

Hunger. Solitude. Suspicion.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, low, like the scrape of stone against steel. "Need somethin'?"

no.

she stood unfaltering; unshaken.

do you?

nausicaä wondered distantly if he felt displaced among the wetlands; if he felt more at home in valleys or forests, or perhaps the gentler touch of a prettier sea than the one she'd been raised beside. only a few creatures truly felt at home in a swamp. yet the damp rot in the air suited her, she thought. the mudslick in her fur would make it softer in time, as it had once before. if she stayed long enough.

she wouldn't. but a visit was nice. a taste of home, only as much as she deserved.

A huff of breath escaped his nose, curling in a plume around his scarred muzzle.

“You’re the one fucking looking at me,” he said, voice gravelly, low.

Blackfell shifted his weight slightly, claws digging into the frost-rimed mud as he held her gaze. “Well?” he pressed, his head tilting slightly, just enough to give the impression of impatience without fully committing to it.