General catchup thread for MR :) Ambiguous timing
There were familiar things.
The aromatic, defrosting loam. Sprigs of snowdrops and crocuses. Birdsong and the sound of running water.
Spring had some again.
But with it came unfamiliar things. Alien things.
Wolves infiltrated the Taiga. Cloud Dancer and Grim Tooth wandered from the mountain. Others invaded it.
Moon Runner was on guard. Disturbed. Confused. She did not understand the world in which the others lived. Why Grim Tooth, Cloud Dancer, or Waterstone’s mate meddled with other clans. Why so many wolves frequented Nova Peak’s borders. Stole from their hunting grounds. There was tension in the air and the smell of hostile pheromones on the wind.
Moon Runner had no answers. Only the feeling of being a stranger in these different times.
1 hour ago
Ire rode Ayovi. It built in every encroachment, with every intrusion and slight, coming to a head with Faust’s haphazard attempt to recruit Lorcan into his war. Darukaal had long since violated the treaty for peace.
As for the dark hunter, Ayovi saw little honor in him. If he left, she would not welcome him back.
Hot blood in her veins is not good for puppies, and only after a thorough marking of the eastern hills does her affliction yield to quiet counter attempts. The damp scent of spring is in the air; the wormy earth of snowmelt and lenten-rose browning on the bush. The headache lessens, gloss driven into her eyes as fierce movement strikes her belly. She had never been so glad for her flesh, layered like soft armor around her children.
Giddily she returns to mount, speaking to her warriors, heart taking on a new pace when it is Nemage that fills her eyes. For a moment she is still, reading worry in the silent woman’s posture and allowing her own to be felt in the graze of her eyes. The North had belonged to Nemage long before Saatsine, and Darukaal, and Winsook. Uncertainty defines their time, but there is security, too; a comfort as Ayovi arches her neck over the snow-shawl of Sister’s spine. They would be strong together.
“War has come to divide the North,” she murmurs soberly against her nape. “The mountain will have no part in it. I think— diplomacy is wasted on these neighboring tribes. We do not want the same things.”
As for the dark hunter, Ayovi saw little honor in him. If he left, she would not welcome him back.
Hot blood in her veins is not good for puppies, and only after a thorough marking of the eastern hills does her affliction yield to quiet counter attempts. The damp scent of spring is in the air; the wormy earth of snowmelt and lenten-rose browning on the bush. The headache lessens, gloss driven into her eyes as fierce movement strikes her belly. She had never been so glad for her flesh, layered like soft armor around her children.
Giddily she returns to mount, speaking to her warriors, heart taking on a new pace when it is Nemage that fills her eyes. For a moment she is still, reading worry in the silent woman’s posture and allowing her own to be felt in the graze of her eyes. The North had belonged to Nemage long before Saatsine, and Darukaal, and Winsook. Uncertainty defines their time, but there is security, too; a comfort as Ayovi arches her neck over the snow-shawl of Sister’s spine. They would be strong together.
“War has come to divide the North,” she murmurs soberly against her nape. “The mountain will have no part in it. I think— diplomacy is wasted on these neighboring tribes. We do not want the same things.”
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