Jade Fern Grove Trebuchet warning cycle

@Sriracha or @Ocra perhapse? Otherwise, any critters welcome!

Cotillita stood in a glade, her dulled green eyes surveying the clearing with surprising sharpness. It had taken more than a few days of rest alongside a multitude of careful mealtimes before the wench felt she was fit to travel further than the stream; Sriracha, or Racoon as she had grown to call him, had helped see her through the first tentative cycles of eat, drink, rest. With a mind still draped in nonsense, half starved of willpower and bruised of ego, it came to no surprise that the woman's eyes were dull to what the rest of her body appeared to be doing.

Digging.

Her paws churned the dirt, stone and all as the outline of an uneven oval began to emerge. With nose twitching in interest and lips parted, a tuneless melody began to accompany her irregular strokes, twining with barbaric notes as her claws scraped rock and the hole continued to grow and grow.

Since Xan had come back, Ocra put more effort into keeping tabs on Sriracha. She hadn't been able to find him but his scent was taking her somewhere that she hadn't seen. There was much more to the grove than she expected and when the scent of new wolves began to hang around, she'd grown suspicious. Something trigger her memory but she chocked most of it to being familiar with Sriracha and missing him every time she got close.

As she rounded a few shrubs, Ocra was surprised to find a wolf that most certainly not her friend.

She blinked a few times, trying to put together the scent in front of her. The tunes coming from her lips left her concern and the digging for whatever reason only confused her, but she couldn't help the strained "Elora?" that fell from her jaws.

Her purpose was unknown; an odd thing for a creature of safe mind to lay eyes upon. Yet something was driving her onwards, a yearning perhaps, to hide; to bury that foolish part of her. Through the harsh scrapings and untuneful notes, the choking query of a femanine voice slipped right over her receptors and it was only when a strange odour overrode that of soil and rock did she turn to face her questioner, front paws still knee-deep in the hole.

Her nose twitched, humming slowing to a shuddering halt as her distant gaze studied the vixen; a relatively sturdy indevidual coated in a multitude of earthy tones. "Who's Elora?" she asked, estranged memory not recognising the woman, nor her own name. "I'm Cotillita, at least for now." She tossed her snout back towards the hole, her expression distant.

Elora barely looked at her when she'd been called, then seemed confused and gave her, possibly, an alternate name. It sounded Spanish, like Sriracha, and his scent had been nearby but she had more questions than she realized. Why hadn't he told her about bringing someone else in? Her brows knitted together and she shook her head, looking over the woman once more just in case she was mistaken.

But she wasn't.

"No..." she trailed off, taking a step closer to get into her line of sight. "You're Elora. You're my sister," she explained, or tried, to, because she knew she should feel more than panic when it came to her sister.

"Well you're a strange kind of... of fish." Her voice was distant, as if not belonging to the wench at all. Yet there was something in the tone of the other woman that drew her actions to an uncomfortable halt. Elora. The first time that name had slipped from the lips of the pale one, she had not noticed, mind merely dismissing the thought as a lion would to a fly. But now? As much as she hated to admit it, she yearned to to hear more, to pleasure herself with stories she knew were true.

With a twisted sigh, she bent her head, dulled eyes avoiding setting sights on Ocra as she slunk out of the hole. "Prove to me," she whispered, auds reaching their pinnacle before sliding back to cling to her skull. "Prove to me that you are of my kin."

Elora had always been a little weird but she'd never not known who she was, or who her sister was, and now Ocra feels lost. What if, by some chance, this wasn't her sister? Ocra bent forward a little for a better look, reconfirming everything her eyes and nose was already telling her and she had to figure out a way to prove it? How many wolves came around and claimed to be related?

"What?" she asked, shaking her head in a new found frustration. "How..." she trailed off with her ears pressed against her head. Would even naming their family be enough? Would she even remember who her family was to begin with? "Do the others know where you are? Mom? Dad?" she paused, "Aviana and Bodhi?" ... maybe?

What if that wasn't enough? She could dig deeper, find a memory they shared, but what was exclusive to them? With a sigh, she shifted her weight and tried to put herself into a better line of sight so that her sister could see her and there wasn't any mistaking her.

"You pulled me out of the lake once when I went swimming alone," she suddenly remembered, biting her cheek. "You promised not to tell anyone so I wouldn't get in trouble."