Lake Rodney shapeshift conductor for your spark

for @Cypress ! ♥

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Mato slips out of the Fen’s well marked borders without trouble. He does not know if he manages it undetected but if someone saw him they had not risen any alarm to stop him. He does not deign to stray and nor venture too far. He keeps true to his silent oath despite that his paws carry him out of sight of the Fen’s borders and towards Lake Rodney. Wild flowers had begun to bloom, combating with bleak, last remaining vestiges of winter as they stubbornly clings to the earth with a myriad of brilliant colors: some candescent compared to the lackluster of others painted in achromatic pastels. Still, he relishes in the beauty of spring yet to come to full flourish. He is a titan of nature’s own creation. The stars, the earth, the sea — though he has never lain eye upon it he very much desires to! — he believes they are all connected by the cosmos and thus he adores it all.

His steps do not falter as he approaches the bank of the lake and steps off of it and wades into the waters. It ripples around him as he moves forth until he can stand no more and swims the rest of the way to the island the lake provides. When he reaches it he pulls himself up onto the bank of the island, weighed down by the water that slicks his pelage against musculature hardening as it sheds it soft roundness of childhood. He gives his pelage a fierce shake before he draws his salmon pink tongue across his jowls and turns his green gaze to the crowning jewel of Lake Rodney. This is what he has come to see in all of it’s archaic glory and he is only further impressed by a closer proximity. It is amidst the crown jewel’s twisted and ancient roots that he settles into a sphinx-like position enjoying the pioneered moments of (stolen) peace.

[/td][/tr][/table]

The lake feels like a dangerous place to be.

Cypress’ imaginings, deeply affected and twisted by the trauma of his youth, are graphic and disturbing. He dips his muzzle to the water, his intention to slake his thirst — but just before his maw makes contact with the glittering surface, he sees within his mind’s eye the violent clash of the neighboring packs — the open, staring eyes of the dead — the tarn turned crimson with fresh blood. His horrified gasp sucks a few stray droplets of moisture to the back of his throat and he chokes on them, backpedaling furiously as he coughs. It is then that he notices the island, a sprawling oak in the center and a vaguely wolf-shaped figure tangled within its gnarled roots. Cypress is not a particularly social wolf, and his first instinct is to leave — but then that macabre inclination to see the worst in everything rears its head again and convinces him that the silver smudge is a dead wolf and that the tree itself is the root [har har] of the problem.

Without much thought, he leaves the mainland behind and strikes out for the island, trying all the while to reassure himself that he’s swimming through water — not blood. If he can save the wolf — unlikely, says a bitter, venomous voice, given your stellar track record, — he will, but if he can’t…

…well, he still has to see it up close. Just to make sure it really is dead.

Panic spurs him on, making his swift legs swifter, and he clambers up the bank and roughly shakes out his pelt with a virulent shudder as he regards the wolf — who isn’t dead. He’s not sure whether he’s happy about that or not, honestly, because now he has to figure out what the hell to say to it. Him. The wolf smells like a male, a cub younger than Cypress himself, and the wild-furred eidolon stands around uncomfortably for a few moments before he clears his throat and speaks. “I thought you were — ” dead “ — in some kind of trouble,” is what comes out of his fool mouth. “You’re not — are you?”

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Among the twisted, thick and raised roots of a titan that has been here for more years that the silver starlight and night sky druid can fathom and likely more to come after Mato closes his eyes. Just for a moment. He is not necessarily fatigued but the serenity of his new sacred place gives him a washing sense of peace and he deigns to soak it up as eagerly and greedily as he can for it is an offering. He finds no such place in the Fen because he knows that even if he can manage some seclusion he will eventually be found: by a sibling, by a parent, by a pack mate. He loves them all dearly, of course, but being able to surprise himself within and explore nature is a treasure and he deigns to hoarde it in the way a mighty dragon hoardes his baubles and jewels. Quietude does not remain so for the sound of approach in the water causes Mato to peek an eye open under the guise that a sibling has managed to find him after all. He takes a moment to temper his annoyance at being bothered but bites the scathing remark that forms upon his tongue when a shadow appears upon the bank.

Not a sibling. In fact, he is not recognizable to the druid at all. He is young but older than Mato by a few months and the druid cannot help but find this a perplexing development. It is not as if he is unaware that other pups/teenagers reside in the Wilds — for they are too vast! — but he’s had contact with none beyond his own siblings. Verdant gaze takes in the wild-furred shadow before him, assessing with muted curiosity. The umbra boy speaks and Mato does little to stifle his surprise. Trouble? “No, I am not in trouble,” The king of starlight speaks to his would be knight in dark armor with a shake of his coat moments before he rises to his paws to show that the archaic titan has not harmed him. Mato supposes it’s roots might prove perilous to those who are not careful resulting to a twisted paw or worse but the druid fancies himself a navigator of both stars and earth. “Sorry to rob you of your heroic rescue.” He is jesting, carrying the joke on light, jovial tone. “I’m Mato.” He offers after a moment and a sway of his tail against his hocks.

[/td][/tr][/table]

There is something imperious about the silver-gilded male who rises gracefully to his paws and untangles himself easily from the behemoth’s roots. Tall, sharp ears press intently forward upon the raven’s crown in unfeigned interest as he sidesteps carefully, maintaining the same amount of distance he’d originally placed between himself and the druid. Aversion is normally his default when it comes to meeting new wolves, but he finds himself capriciously curious about the articulate young wolf who quips lightly and then introduces himself. Cypress doesn’t crack a smile, but neither does he curl a lip at the witty rejoinder. He simply accepts it in stride and moves past it, his sulphureous eyes locked on the stranger’s bright apple green ones.

“Cypress,” he responds quietly, his own tail stirring faintly. “If you weren’t in trouble, what were you doing out here alone?” His low baritenor is far from accusatory; he just doesn’t see the island and its towering guardian the same way Mato does. It’s been a good long while since Cypress has seen beauty in — well, anything. Even Alya doesn’t appeal to him for her beauty, although it is an undeniable factor in his unacknowledged attraction to her. The last beautiful thing he could remember seeing was his mother — and maybe if he tried, he could imagine what Eshe might say about such a picturesque scene, but he didn’t.

[table width=85%][tr][td]

If his eyes are made of earth then the umbra boy’s eyes are made of sulphuric sun fire. The druid is not sure he has ever seen eyes so yellow and therefore casts it off as aberrational. The empyrean would call them haunting if they did not appear to be the haunted. The darkness is stygian in nature and it has nothing to do with the umbra boy’s pelage. Mato’s observations are just that: observations and he knows not if they hold truth but the older boy strikes the druid as a grim beast for reasons that Mato cannot name. Perhaps it is his quiet way he speaks or the discomfort his stance had shown upon first giving voice to his inquires. It does not matter, Mato decides.

The following question that spills from betwixt Cypress’ — he introduces himself as — lips is one that the druid finds peculiar. As if it is an outlandish thing to lay amidst the roots of a specimen far more archaic and puissant than he. The crown jewel of Lake Rodney both impresses and humbles him. Mato understands there is a cycle to nature: a balance that must always be maintained. He cannot fathom how this jewel has managed to hold fast against all of the odds stacked against it. “I sought to see the crowning jewel up close,” He breaks his contemplative silence to gesture to the towering titan behind him. “and to enjoy the quietude it offers.” From the Fen, from his siblings — despite how he adores both. Mato does not mean to take their presence for granted so generously but they have always been there — as he believes they will always remain — and he seeks to find a place he may revitalize.

“What brings you this way?” Mato returns the question in kind.

[/td][/tr][/table]

Cypress tilts back his head to look at the “crowning jewel” with a furrowed brow and a fierce scowl of concentration. He wants to see what Mato sees, but all he sees is an island with a tree on it. “Guess it is quiet,” he concedes, trying to be kind to the younger wolf. There was a time Cypress used to be that wolf, making pictures of shadows and seeing glory in the simple things, but that time and that wolf died with Scimitar and Eshe. Still, he continues staring up at the tree as though he might read beauty between the branches or glean history from its roots. Even when he is directly addressed, Cypress keeps his gaze locked piercingly upon the behemoth, delivering his answer in a flat, almost robotic baritenor.

“I was thirsty,” he replies simply. “My brothers and I have been traveling for awhile now and I wandered off on my own.” The raven pulls his gaze away from the tree and refocuses on the silver-gilded royal. “You probably should’ve met Noch,” he says, almost apologetically, cracking a lopsided half-grin at last. “He’d probably be able to see what you see. Better’n me, anyway.”

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Towards his credit, the austere boy lifts his gaze and stares at the tree with a ferocious scowl upon his visage. Mato does not try to hide his soft snicker. The ferocious scowl was a bit over dramatic in the druid’s mind for if he could not see the beauty of the lake’s crowning jewel then he never would. As they said: you could lead a horse to water but you couldn’t make it drink. Cypress’ observation draws a sage nod from the empyrean. It was quiet, and Mato relished in such a (perhaps rare) treasure. Cypress explains that he stopped to sate his thirst, that he was traveling with his brothers and that he wandered off on his alone. This is apparent to the druid who sees no one else accompanying the umbra dappled boy, but he does not say this out loud, merely accepts it with a soft hum in the strong column of his throat. “What is it like?” The question spills from betwixt the druid’s lips before he can even finish the thought. “traveling freely with your brothers, I mean.” He amends himself, a bit abjectly; for now that he actually takes note of Cypress’ scent though it carries the aromas of others upon it he does not smell of a pack. The empyrean is pensive when his austere companion says that he should have met someone named Noch — that this Noch could probably see what he sees in the crowning jewel whilst admitting that he (Cypress) didn’t understand. “Not everyone shares the gift bestowed by Mother Nature: to see the earth in all it’s stunning and terrible beauty,” A guardian of the earth; that is what the druid considers himself. Her nurturer, her protector. “and that’s ok.” For surely he will learn it can be as much of a burden as it can be a gift. To love something so sacrosanct and so very wretched in her unprecedented ire. “Is this Noch you speak of a naturalist too?” The druid cannot help but ask after a few moments — because he was always up for meeting another naturalist, always welcomed the lessons of those more experienced than him in his trade.

[/td][/tr][/table]

Mato’s teasing snicker chips away a corner of Cypress’ sinister countenance, and he reacts for the first time in a truly animated way: a curl of scarred lips and a glint of alabaster fangs that, despite its menacing appearance, is completely innocuous. It’s accompanied by a short, soft chuff that is the unfinished prelude to a chuckle, a patently unamused glare, and a hearty thump of his tail: the lupine equivalent of, “Oh, shut up.”

His grim visage settles back into a collection of sharp angles and harsh planes as he responds easily, “It’s nice. Better’n the alternative.” He could — and probably should — just stop there, but a sudden urge to talk takes hold of the generally taciturn eidolon. “My biological brother is Rannoch — Noch — but we’ve been traveling with our cousin Rian and we’ve been together through so much it’s just easier to call us all brothers. Noch and me, our parents — ” His throat tightens, but he soldiers through. “Our parents were killed by a bear last winter, and Rannoch went away for awhile to grieve. I stayed behind to guard the evergreens until a stranger tried to claim them — and, well…she bested me. After that, it just wasn’t home anymore.” He shrugs, striving for nonchalance.

It’s at this point that Cypress pauses to consider Mato’s conciliatory reassurances, and he offers the celestial prince a lopsided grin. “I don’t know if you’d call Noch a naturalist,” he says. He knows what the word means by context but he’s never said it aloud before, and he’s certainly never heard it used in reference to his brother. “He probably knows one or two, though — and if he doesn’t, Rian might,” the raven muses. Rannoch is truly the face of their gang, and it’s fair to say that he’s way more acquainted with its members than his recluse of a brother. Tryp and Pyro in particular seem to be wary of Cypress, and he can’t say he minds all that much. They’re flighty, with tripping tongues and shuffling feet to match, and the eldest Frostfur doesn’t see the appeal. This kid is all right, though. Talks a bit funny and really likes trees, but he’s steady enough. “Want to meet them?” he asks finally, meeting the boy’s apple green gaze.

[table width=85%][tr][td]

The druid watches as he manages to evoke a reaction out of the umbra boy: gestures what stringed together without the soft chuff and hearty thump of tail would have easily been virulent. Mato’s simper is teasing, light and jovial as if he is sharing an inside secret with Cypress before the stalwart druid breaks and a buoyant chortle leaves him, a sign that he holds no ill will towards the grim boy. They could not have been more polar: the austere raven and the starlight druid but Mato likes Cypress, for better or worse. There is a effloresce of amity within his breast for the stoic, wild haired boy before him. Perhaps the liaison stems from the fact that Cypress is the first wolf close to his own age that he is not related to. There is a certain comradeship to be found in that, the druid thinks.

The empyrean is respectfully quiet and despite his capricious attention span he offers Cypress his rapt attention as the umbra boy explains. As he explains that they — he and Rannoch — lost not one but both of their parents to a bear the druid’s lips tremble with condolences left unsaid. He cannot even begin to fathom how awful that must’ve been…how it was. Clearly, it affects the taciturn boy still, deeply. He is blessed, he knows. Both of his parents still live. His story grows in nightmare as he speaks of a stranger taking over lands that were his rightful claim and that when he stepped to challenge he was bested. His heart aches for Cypress and the stranger still Rannoch. “You are brave to guard your birthright, and brave for challenging the usurper.” Mato offers softly, giving pause to draw his salmon pink tongue across his lips. “I am sorry.” He speaks with altruism. He may not be able to understand but he tries to sympathize as much as he can.

Mato lets out a soft hum of contemplation as Cypress informs him that he isn’t sure that Rannoch is a naturalist but that he — or the other brother, Rian — might know one and then asks if he wants to meet them. The question startles Mato for a moment but he collects himself after a moment and speaks, “Sure.” because he is undeniably curious about this Rannoch and Rian that Cypress speaks so eminently of.

[/td][/tr][/table]

Tagging for reference, and paging @Rian and @Rannoch.

It is exceedingly rare for the eidolon to hold a stranger in such esteem, but Mato’s quiet dignity and passion for his craft appeal to the wild-furred harbinger of chaos. It’s the same passion Cypress sees sometimes in @Rose — when he dares to look at her, that is. Cypress has convinced himself that he has never and could never feel such passion about a profession, and maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish he could feel what they feel. He appreciates the sidereal prince’s condolences, especially when references are made to his bravery, but his heart is too full and his throat too thick to comment upon them. Instead, he turns his back on the boy whose eyes mirror the silvered greening of spring — a colossal and uncharacteristic sign of trust — and carelessly flings his muzzle skyward. He calls for his brothers, but there is nothing lovely about his song; it is mechanical and calculated and perfunctory, scraping the bottom of his register and climbing in pitch until it brims near to breaking, walking back down through the octaves without fanfare or emphasis. Rian and Rannoch ought to be within earshot; he hadn’t wandered too far.

PPing @Rannoch with permission. He'll be joining us too! <3

True to form, Rian was not far when the summons rose upon the air and kissed his ears with the sweet song. He'd been lounging near the group—some where slumbering, others chatting, but he was quietly observing. A sentinel. But he was not a guardian, not like Cypress was. The intuitive raven was far more appropriate for the role. But Rian? He was commiting these moments to memory, and scrawling the beginning of their history onto the pages of their story. For better for worse, despite his wildly varying opinions on everything, this was happening and someone had to keep a record of it all.

He shot a glance at Rannoch across the way and conveyed their intentions in silent motions—a language the trio was beginning to embrace, as privacy was sometimes hard fought among the other members of their band. Rian rose when Rannoch approached and, together, they departed the camp in pursuit of Cypress.

It didn't take long for him to spot the swarthy form of his brother but, to his surprise, he was in the company of another. Rian twisted his ears forward as he neared, looking first to Cypress (and offering him a smile) before settling on Mato with a slightly cricked tail. Rannoch, of course, was taking a slightly more dominant stance, but neither of them gave the impression of unkindness. It was just wariness that drove Rian, but he trusted his brother and wondered if, perhaps, Cypress was recruiting this one. "Hey there," he greeted with a casual wave of his tail.

Rian and Rannoch had traveled quickly to meet their brother's call, curiosity occupying the forefront of Rannoch's mind. Much like Rian, Rannoch was surprised to see Cypress in the presence of a stranger. Rannoch didn't voice his questions initially, feeling confident in his brother's intentions. Instead, he fell into line easily, his eyes falling to the wolf of the Fen. 

"Hey," he greeted kindly despite his authoritative posture. He did not mean to intimidate the other; his only intentions were to establish the natural balance of respect for their conversation. He fell silent then, allowing for his raven-haired sibling to take charge of the conversation and get them up to speed.

[table width=85%][tr][td]

The eidolon turns his back to the starlight king and the druid feels the gravity of the gesture even if he does not fully recognize just how extraordinaire it was coming from the wild-furred raven. It does not take long for two other to join them. They hold themselves grandly, establishing a rough hierarchy as to which puts him at the bottom. The hierarchy of leaders and subordinates is not lost upon the empyrean despite that he is at a privilege of having parents that stand as Alphas of the Fen. The line between parent and alpha is unfortunately blurry to the druid but he has watched them navigate their subordinates plenty and is versed enough to understand how the roles and ranks work as both individual and collective. “Hello,” The druid speaks to each of the older boys with a stately dip of his head in esteem and acknowledgement but he allows Cypress to navigate this foreign realm to him as it was the umbra boy’s suggestion and they are his brothers.

[/td][/tr][/table]

Rannoch and Rian made their way across the lake and over to the unlikely twain — a wild-furred raven and a starsilver prince — and Cypress immediately moved forward to meet them. “Hey,” he added his voice to the mix, butting the bridge of his muzzle affectionately against the underside of first Rannoch’s, then Rian’s jaws. “This is Mato,” he intoned without preamble, turning his muzzle toward the grayscale youth, lantern yellow meeting apple green briefly as he quirked the rightmost corners of his mouth into a reassuring half-grin. “Mato, these are my brothers: Rian and Rannoch.” He nodded toward each wolf in turn, trusting that the eloquent young wolf could speak for himself, but tacked on a minor explanation just to lead the trio into conversation. “Mato is a naturalist,” he said, brow furrowing as he tried to remember if any of the other wolves who’d joined their ranks could boast such a title. “Do we know any naturalists? I wasn’t sure if maybe Rose was, since she knows about plants.”

Rian idles patiently beside Rannoch—the picture of a patient Beta. His altercation with the younger Frostfur had knocked him down several pegs and, while he was inclined to be self-loathing under most circumstances, he felt no such negativity towards himself for his attempt. The brotherhood he was swiftly fostering with the pair overwhelmed any desire, or time, he had to sit and ruminate on his personal failings. He grunts affectionately and nudges Cypress' neck when the boy draws away after bumping the underside of his chin.

His ear twitched as Mato returned the greeting with a respectful dip of his elegant head, and fell objectively silent. Cypress claimed control of the conversation, and explained what was going on and who he was. The fact that the boy was a naturalist was of particular interest to Rian, as it was to Cypress, and he wondered if Rannoch would appreciate the significance of potentially adding such a rare, and difficult, skillset to their ranks. "Not sure," He admitted. "but I bet she'd appreciate the help all the same." 

The rigid bridge of Cypress' muzzle brushed upon his underside, and it was as the affection was delivered that Rannoch chuffed in acknowledgment. Turquoise flickered happily, meeting the electric of his sibling's eyes kindly in their short exchange. Once Cypress had drawn away, Rannoch found himself focusing on the stranger. Information of who the wolf before them was came by way of Cypress' telling, and Rannoch's gaze lingered on the star-streaked wolf before them. Like Rian, Rannoch appreciated the craft in which the apple-eyed stargazer practiced. Though he knew Liffey was a Naturalist, he had not brought her up to his siblings yet. 

"I have a friend from Redhawk Caldera who was interested in joining the pack and being a Naturalist talk to me a few days back," he said, regarding the others of his pack with a quick glance, as if promising silently that he would explain at a later time. "But, currently, we do not have any within our ranks and know that Rose would appreciate any help," his gaze returned to Mato, and he smiled. He trusted Cypress and as a principle felt favorably towards the wolf before them. Despite his wanting to control the conversation, Rannoch fell silent, waiting to hear what would come to light with both his and Rian's feedback given.

last post for me & mato; feel free to reply once more or archive as is! :-)

[table width=85%][tr][td]

As the brothers take turns speaking Mato listens, giving each of them, in turn, his rapt attention. They try to decide where they have any other Naturalists among their ranks and speak of a girl named Rose though not one of them seems certain of if she is naturalist or not. Regardless, he tucks her name away and the assurances that they think she might be grateful for help. The empyrean offers a sage nod to the trio. “I will seek her out,” He murmurs, pausing to draw his salmon pink tongue across his jowls. “and see if I can be of use.” He assures them. “Before I do I will return to my family —” and say my goodbyes. “and inform them of my departure.” He finishes unsure how well his desire will be received. Regardless, he is going to return to the Fen because he does not believe in just abandoning his family without offering them some sort of explanation. “Where can I find you?” He inquires. Once the druid has his answer he offers a low bow of his silver crowned head before he departs to the Fen to speak his goodbyes.

[/td][/tr][/table]