Honeyed Pasture inferno

Open to anyone from BRD! And anyone who might encounter her. She's heading from the Weald > Pasture > Gyrfalcon. She's looking for @Szymon after meeting with Ragna.

After spending some time and finding her way through the dense forest — and not without the help of the strangely alluring Deirdre, Queen of the Donnelaith — she said her farewells and headed back to her quest. Feeling the open air upon her face was a blessing; the salted wind made her feel pangs of homesickness all over again, but for the first time in a while Saga had some sort of lead to follow. Ragna had told her of one such  man who met the required description: a platinum creature with golden eyes, such as the man in her dreams, called Szymon.

Aside from this simple description and the instruction to follow the coast, Saga had very little to go on. Yet there was a hop to her step all the same. She did not slink like a coward across the meadow, but rather, danced across. She was alert. She was happy. The doubts that filled her mind when she met with Ragna had been masked by her brief introduction to Deirdre, but now that she was alone again, Saga had to fight through them; this might not be the man she sought. Better yet, it likely wasn't, because that would've been too easy. However, she wasn't going to let this chance slip up.

As she wove her way across the meadow there came a great blast of brine-filled air, and she felt the terrible chill of the oncoming winter, and was instantly pacified.

There was not much that could ease Doe's restless spirit these days. She'd ranged to and from Arturo's forest more times than she could count, but somehow, she hadn't come across Furiosa yet. The woman had told her to call, but something kept her voice caged deep in her throat. It was not yet the time, she knew, though she wasn't sure why.

So she'd ranged the other direction, toward Donnelaith and then just as swiftly, away. She did not want to see the forest folk; not of any kind. Toward the mountain she headed, thinking that she might visit Grayday, but all scents of his pack had faded. They were dead or they had moved, but either way, they were gone.

Feeling slightly sour, now, Doe had turned inland and padded along, stalking through the land until she forgot her temper. The chill of the wind in her fur helped to ease her spirit, and the smell of another wolf was enough to distract her from her woes. Ears perked and swivelling madly, Doe changed her course and headed toward the dark creature trotting toward her territory.

"Hail," she called when she was near enough to smell the other. Her eyes raked over the other shewolf, memorizing her features. No one Doe knew, but she would know her the next time they met.

She thought that the meadow was the perfect place to find others; it was wide and mostly flat, and while the grasses were tall, eager to obscure, she could see in every direction. Yet she did not see the earth-toned woman until she heard the voice and her attention was snapped towards her. It was a small greeting, but the manner in which the stranger observed her was... Somewhat unsettling. Still, Saga had been on the road long enough and met enough oddities through her travels — she readily assumed they meant her no harm, which was probably quite naive.

Ragna had said there was a pack on the coast. Deirdre's forest was not what she sought, so this was the next attempt. A part of Saga assumed this would be a bust as well, but she had to try.

Hello, she called to the stranger, trying to sound impartial, but her voice chimed with lighthearted cheer. I.. I have an odd request. Or rather, how was she to broach this subject? Hey, I'm looking for a man with golden eyes and my half-aunt over yonder mentioned a name? Faced with this petite woman (who Saga assumed was out on a walk or on a patrol), she was suddenly made anxious, and her shy demeanor was overwhelming. I'm looking for someone. Gray fur, golden eyes -- a man.

That wasn't strange or anything. Saga didn't want to explain from the get-go that this was a man from her dreams, because that'd sound even worse. With a nervous little smile plastered on her face she added, uh, know anyone like that?

It hadn't occurred to her yet that she should've just asked for him by name.

Doe's ears flickered as she listened to the woman's question. The description matched her brother almost perfectly, though Buck had not been so very grizzled when they'd parted ways. Doe tamped that excitement down, telling herself that it probably wasn't anyone she would know.

"There are many wolves matching that description," she reminded the shewolf, but her eyes were far away as she searched her memories. It couldn't be Grayday or Rannoch, and those were the greyest males she knew. "Perhaps you mean Tetsubō​," she ventured, hesitant in naming the quiet, unobtrusive presence that sometimes found itself in her territory. "But I have not seen him for many moons, now. Perhaps Skellige or Sy would know more..."

Still thinking hard about every wolf she'd ever laid eyes on, Doe lapsed into contemplative silence.

When the other woman spoke, it was as if Saga's bubble was being burst. She inhaled slowly and held her breath lest she lose the air she required; yet the more she listened, the more she felt her spirit deflate, and with it went a steady exhalation. Her ears fell back briefly and with each name uttered, she gave a small shake of her head, as if ticking them off one by one. But the woman mentioned someone named Skellige, and Sy — and these names, although being different from the one she sought, caused Saga to recall Ragna's other words of aid.

Szymon! the girl blurted. I was told there was a man named Szymon here who might match the description. Maybe not gray, more like silver? I'm not sure... You see, I dream of him. Or of someone like him, the words tumbled out of her so suddenly that she had to catch herself. Saga realized she must have sounded absolutely batty with the way she was presenting herself; a stray girl asking about a man from a dream? Sigh.

A soft sound escaped the dusky woman as her husband's name flew from the woman's lips. Her ears fluttered as though she was not sure she believed them, but her expression remained open and began to soften as she listened to the girl's plight. An answer was ready on her tongue when the yearling had finished her tale.

"Dreams can be meaningful," she said with an assenting dip of her head, yellow eyes full of both compassion and trepidation. "Szymon is my husband - yellow-eyed, but with a salt white pelt," she gently explained, taking a few steps nearer the disheartened girl. "But... I am grey, and I have yellow eyes. Our children will surely have them as well - and if we have a son, he may well be grey," she prompted, still mulling over the implications of this in her mind. "Perhaps we've met for a reason. If I bear a grey-furred, yellow-eyed son, what do you think he should be called?"

Things became very intense, very quickly. Not only did this woman accept her comment about having odd dreams - but she even accepted that this young, dark, strange girl had dreams of her very husband! How odd, or so it seemed to Saga, that there were so many individuals with such agreeable natures in this wild place. 

But things took a turn. No sooner had the gray woman accepted these facts, that she was asking Saga to name her first born child! Saga, of course, was flabbergasted. She knew in her heart of hearts that what she dreamed was not of what was to come, but rather, what was. Somewhere out there was a gray man with golden eyes, and the powers-that-be would eventually expose him to her. She stood with her eyes wide and mouth hinging with surprise, tongue-tied by the request.

To her people, ones birth-name was held close and dear, but nothing compared to the name a child earned. Her moniker of Sjaseidr was precious to her, almost sacred to her people. She did not openly share it because of the disdain she always expected from less superstitious or spiritual beings; but now Saga wondered if she should follow the path the name presented to her. Clearly she was encountering more witches than she could have ever fathomed.

I uh, I don't believe it is my place -- she began to backpedal, her head shaking a little as if to say, nope nope nope, but the thoughtful look upon the other woman's face made Saga pause. But if you... If you let me speak with Szymon, I will give you a name.

Deep in her own thoughts, Doe missed the dismay writ upon the yearling's face. Only when his name - Szymon - was spoken once more did she came back to the present, to reality. She blinked once, twice, and then gave a tacit nod of understanding. Though Doe was convinced that it was not her husband the woman sought, it would do neither of them harm to meet.

"Certainly," she said, her head twisting in the direction of the bay. Doubtlessly, Szymon would hear them if she called, but Doe did not want to alarm the man. "Will you walk with me to the bay?" she requested, not feeling up to the task of fetching anyone to and fro. It was high time she returned home either way.

With the agreement settled, Saga gave a small nod and then a bold step forward; she wanted to meet this man and get everything dealt with, and was now made somewhat uncomfortable by the duty granted to her by the strange woman. It had never been up to her to name a child — but if she had to, she would. With a shy smile in place upon her face, she confirmed, Of course. I have missed the seaside very much - thank you. And with that they were off, Saga trailing quietly beside Doe.

Sorry this took so long! Having Bad Danger Times over at the Mixhearts house. I am tagging @Szymon now, but his player is currently away, and it might take some time for her to get to this. Thank you for your patience <3

Though Doe would have likes to charge ahead at her usual speed and in her usual leaps and bounds, she was well aware of the dangers it might pose to her unborn. Her larger mother, who'd been unusually prone to single births and small litters, had never had quite so much trouble getting around as her daughter - but Doe was never to know.

Either way, the small shewolf picked her way carefully through the gopher-hole-riddled pasture, and then even more carefully through the rocky terrain that surrounded Stavanger Bay. She crossed the ring of Blackrocks without much thought, perhaps indicating that her companion should not worry about such things, either. (Though Skellige was touchy about their borders, Doe had no such qualms. She had faith in the strength and ruthlessness of her brethren. Those that drew near would not draw away.)

"Sy!" she called when she'd come into the territory a ways. "Ka-ka'yi!"

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At Doe’s summons, Szymon emerged from Chateau Dozzle in a flurry of feathers; he’d been plucking a gyrfalcon to help add more lining to the birthing den.  A trail of them marked the beeline he made toward his mate, his brow furrowing with suspicion engendered by the female who flanked her.  Though it was clear Doe had given permission for the fiery-eyed yearling to enter the territory, her doting mate was a reserved creature at best.  The black-banded wolf moved toward his odd-eared love with a possessive air, nibbling warmly at her cheek with a low, undulating rumble, and he rose to his full height to meet the dark stranger with a quiet chuff of greeting.  “Hail,” he said simply, his bass timbre even and blessedly fluid.  His stern visage regarded her calmly, piercing golden eyes moving between Doe and Sjáseiðr with quiet curiosity.

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The sound of the woman's voice was odd to her ears; she used a series of sounds that were not words, at least not to Saga, and yet from the depths of a hidden pit of shadow there came a silvered stranger. He was forbidding. Moving as if to intercept the two females, but with more caution directed towards Saga's dark figure. She held back a step, feeling as if she had been baited into a trap, but only for a split second. Then, alighting her gaze upon this man - presumably Szymon - she gave a friendly (if a bit wary) smile.

Hello, she cooed as confidently as she could. Thus her eyes were downcast, not wishing to offend the man by staring at him head-on, although she could not stop the wandering of her gaze. In the end, Saga rested her attention upon Doe for longer intervals. When she regarded the man, Saga's vibrant gaze traced a careful line across Szymon's cheekbones, his chin, his ears; anywhere but the eyes. I was... I was sent here by a woman named Ragna. But I have been searching for someone. A man with golden eyes, someone who.. Someone that perhaps, might've known my mother, Brynhildr.

With that said, she looked somewhat expectant, containing the thinnest thread of her excitement — the chance of finding the man from her dreams was ghostly at best.

Oblivious - or seeming to be - to the tension her mate brought with him, Doe gave the male a merry kiss on the cheek. The hardness in her eyes belied the worry that she felt over the situation - she did not expect a fight to start between them, but she knew the mercurial tendancy of meetings at the border. She would keep a close eye on them, but the woman felt no need to intervene. They were all civil creatures, here - at least, she liked to think so.

Standing aloof, but close enough to step between the two parties, Doe allowed Saga to speak.

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A pleased murmur trailed from Szymon’s scarred lips at his mate’s affectionate greeting. Doe’s nearness and evident good spirits soothed his prickly nature immensely, and though he wasn’t quite as conciliatory as she was, he regarded the dark female with a…slightly more welcoming air. Her fiery citrine eyes and long-legged elegance reminded him somewhat of Arturo, but she dropped a different name entirely: “I was sent here by a woman named Ragna.” Surprise widened the black-banded Cairn’s auriferous eyes; he looked at her boldly, and invited the younger female’s scrutiny in return. “I d-do not believe I am the w-w-wolf you seek, but unless you offer h-harm to my mate, you do not need to s-s-submit to me. Look freely.” After a beat, “Is she well?” he demanded. “Ragna.” His stutter was more controlled than it might have been if Doe were not present, but keeping to short sentences that allowed his jaws to unlock between syllables always seemed to help.

Brynhildr. The name was wholly unfamiliar to Szymon — she certainly wasn’t among the wolves he’d met in the Teekon Wilds, and there was no one significant from Warsaw with that name as far as he could recall. He couldn’t remember if he’d killed anyone by that name, either — but then, the Cairn brood wasn’t exactly known for its compelling eulogies. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I don’t know your mother.” Drawing breath, he looked uncertainly at Doe — the wolf equivalent of, “What do I do?” — before turning back to the stranger with a thoughtful frown.

Quite suddenly, Szymon saw in the strange female what Skellige so often saw in his recruits: opportunity. And in that moment, he wished very much to throw the darkling creature into the Sea that she might receive Her blessing and remain in the bay as a Blackrock warhound.

Striving for nonchalance, “We should ask the Sea for guidance,” he suggested.

Alas, the blessing would have to wait for another day — and Szymon settled for polite conversation instead.

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