Redtail Rise lady i think your guess is as good as mine

maybe a forming thread for RR?

at some point in chireille's journey 'back' home, she'd turned around and got lost.

it helped if you remembered the landscape: as far as chireille could remember, home definitely didn't have mountains.

her new solution: crawl to the highest vantage and see if she could see the coast.

her current problem: someone put a scent wall in her way.

discouraged and totally considering the merits of trespassing, chireille halted just shy of the first invisible boundary and peered longingly up at the tantalizing mountain firmly out of reach.

White Feather did not abandon the Rise to look for Dark Spine, but she swept the borders for any wolfsign left by the young male.

Yet there was none to find.

However, she came upon the smell of saltwolf… the second in a moon cycle.

Did this one and the last know each other? Again, her mind drifted to the memory of Oak Leaf and Dry Creek… oblivious that this young wolf, too, was the get of her teenage acquaintences.

Her white pelt cleft the conifers as she stepped out from their shelter.

White Feather’s gaze was focused but calm, her stance rigid. A guardian of these slopes.

She chuffed to the young ruddy female.

What do you seek? The spirit asked.

maybe if she stared long enough, an unmarked path would appear? chireille's hopeful thoughts were dashed as a figure materialized from the arms of snow-laden pines. at first, her imagination told her this was a snow-golem -- she startled, battle stance ready!

a few seconds later, the warm colors of the she-wolf disintegrated cleanly enough from the snow backdrop for chireille to reassess: this was definitely a wolf, and it was definitely speaking the plain language of a wolf who belonged here and was under the impression chireille didn't.

what was she supposed to say? chireille's imagination often got the better of her: she envisioned being able to smoothly talk this wolf into guiding her up the slopes so she could return to her birthing grounds. but now that the wolf was standing before her, very majestic and very un-golemlike, she couldn't muster a single word.

seconds passed. they felt like minutes. chireille's throat finally found enough gumption to squeak out an intimidated h-hi, damn it! so much for brave adventurer. how was she going to be bad-ass if she couldn't even talk to strangers?

just a cameo unless addressed! edited!

winter hawk stays close to white feather’s flank.

since dark spine vanished, he does not stray far. his presence is quiet but constant, a ginger shadow to her step. when the salt-scented child stops short of the boundary, his head lifts and his tail rises in a clear, steady flag.

she is not a threat. she is lost, he looks to wealda.

his posture softens a fraction. he lowers his head slightly so he does not tower more than he already does, feathers at his nape stirring with a quiet breath.

his gaze shifts once to white feather, deferential.

The young saltwolf was spooked! But quickly she collected herself, though the noise from her throat came as a nervous stutter.

White Feather recalled when she was this wolf’s age. She had always been a curious, though cautious, adventurer... but she never strayed far from the Rise until she heard the wilds sing — even then, she was more than three seasons old.

Winter Hawk came to her side, and her spirit listened. She saw his posture relax before the summertime child, stance acquiescent to her own. Their quiet souls conversed and agreed.

A caretaker and a mother at heart, White Feather’s gaze melted.

She took a calm step forward the saltwolf, nose twitching. Her ears rotated forward to create an open and friendly expression. A small head cock to the side.

Are you lost? her spirit asked.

any semblance of confidence chireille felt withered as another figure appeared. this one was muscular, steady, and adorned in feathers. the creativity of this awed the small child, but she was too stunned to speak.

noticing they shared quiet glances, chireille's eyes tried to read the language spoken there -- but it was as inscrutable as the cold shouldering a mountain peak. doing the equivalent of a human child nervously wringing their hands, chireille's gaze dropped. h-hi, she stammered again, clearing her throat. i was 'oping to climb dat, she pointed at the peak towering above them, so dat i could see 'ow to go 'ome.

White Feather’s gaze followed the saltwolf’s eyeline up to the jagged and snowcapped apex of the Rise. Though it wasn’t as tall as other peaks in the Taiga, it was still treacherous this time of year.

She did not know the ends of the youth’s intentions, but perhaps it was a stroke of luck that this saltwolf stumbled upon their claim in its infancy. Were they better formed, White Feather might not have let her near… but today it was in their interest to open their gates to the young wolves of the wilds. One day, they might return to join their ranks.

White Feather stepped to the side and looked over her shoulder, beckoning the saltwolf Pale Foot to follow. She knew a hunting path safe from rockslides that would lead them up the ridge.

skipping with permission <3

being young, chireille had no idea the dangers. all she saw was a nice inviting peak, with fluffy clouds wrapped around a throat of soft white.

her hopeful gaze slid back to the stranger, and her silent companion. come to think of it, they were both quiet -- but the looks shared between them spoke of a world rich with communication chireille couldn't even dream of.

chireille couldn't believe her luck when the stranger -- affectionately dubbed sand stream in the young girl's descriptive imagination due to the soft channel of cream brushed down her spine -- stepped aside. a squeal of delight pressed from her mouth before she remembered her manners and slammed her yap shut, gangly ears falling to her skull and tail beating against her haunches as she fell in step behind the kind adults with a wide grim on her face.