Neverwinter Forest the past that changed you

 

Hemlock had broken off from the family unit after sharing a small deer they'd taken down. With her stomach full and certainty that Reed and Droman were getting food Hemlock had felt like she didn't need to sit and hover over them, endlessly pestering the children to ensure that they were tended to enough. After a point Ceallach had nudged her on, promising to keep an eye over the entire group and it was almost alarming how much of his father Hemlock was seeing in the male now. He was as big as he'd ever be - maybe he'd bulk up more but he probably wouldn't grow any taller and he didn't bear the gracing of silver that Arturo had begun to take on before he'd left. Still, Hemlock tried to avoid thoughts of any of her spouses, two lost to death and one to the world beyond what she'd offered. 

She didn't know exactly how to address Witchdoctor and now it wasn't a specific concern. She didn't understand, and yet, she did - had she not let Isley die with Palisander only to lose what she felt Hemlock had been with Lotte? She let out a breathy sigh as she weaved through the forest slowly. It wasn't a place she felt comfortable exactly but this wasn't a place she planned on keeping the family for long. She'd told Arturo she wouldn't lose anyone else to a forest and yet where was he? Well. Islands could be off the list now too. She tried to keep herself from feeling so bitterly but she had given everything she had in the past year and aside from her children she felt she had nothing. 

Hemlock bit the inside of her cheek and let out a breath and pressed on. Dwelling on the past did nothing for her. She had a family to take care of. 

*sneaks this in here*

After a quick visit to the coast — though it is beyond him why he went there because Drogon will likely always harbor an intense dislike of sand — the sakaali makes his return trip back to Moonspear. He had never intended for the small, informal scouting trip to take very long and despite that it’s lack of length and informality Drogon would not be returning without tidbits of news to share with his leaders that might prove to be useful. He is anxious to return home, though, to hear if there is any progression towards the impending threat of war against the Blackfeather wolves. The lack of action was why he had decided it was safe enough to take the trip in the first place: he had not feared he would miss his opportunity to do his part in the war.

Drogon takes a shortcut through Neverwinter Forest with the intent of skirting around Ouroboros Spine which was just a short venture from there to Moonspear’s borders. Drogon pauses, ears pivoting atop his skull as hears a expel of breath from somewhere relatively close to his position. Not close enough to see but close enough that he heard it and thought that it could not simply be the sigh of the wind through the trees. His steps cease and he hesitates, torn between sating his immediate curiosity and simply continuing on home. In the end, the Ansbjørn decides to pursue neither but let out a chuff to announce his presence so that he did not startle whomever lingered in nearby vicinities should their paths cross.

 

Her thoughts are interrupted by the shift of foliage. It's a natural sound, after spending so much time tucked in the safety of the forests, to hear shift of branches and leaves as other lifeforms wove their ways through them. Squirrels, birds, little chipmunks - all of them made their own noises and it had become this quiet almost lullaby. No matter her heartache it had been a soothing sort of thing and Hemlock felt almost more natural there than she was comfortable with. A quick chuff had her pausing though, entire body freezing as her bright eyes peered through the foliage to try and locate the source of the sounds. Hemlock considered if she wanted to answer, but, there was also the notion that the source of the sound was being polite and giving a heads up before either party was caught off guard by the other. 

She let out a low sound of her own, head lifting in a way that had become almost natural for her. She'd never completely shrunk back from the Oifigeach she had been - and now as matriarch she felt an entirely different sense of duty. It wasn't about power. It had never been about power for her. Instead each role she had settled in had been one that was necessary for her pack and her family. Even without Teaghlaigh and it's Family, she had still embodied the mission. Her gaze had not settled, although when she peered hard enough she thought she saw a dark figure beyond the trees nearby. No doubt with as bright as she was it was infinitely easier to find her given the brightness of her pelt. Still, she took a couple steps to clear the foliage. Hemlock Kali had stopped being one to shy away so long ago - she could not go back. She would not go back. 

A low sounds breaks through the relative silence — as silent as a forest can ever truly be — but it confirms Drogon’s suspicions: that he is not alone in this forest no matter how ridiculous the notion of being alone in the vast expanse of Neverwinter Forest was. The sakaali’s path alters and as the woman draws nearer he can see her through the gaps in the sparse foliage. She is hard to miss, he sees now. Her coat is startling red against the bleak and monochrome palette of winter. Drogon finds himself taking a few steps in her direction but as he draws nearer he stops abruptly, lifting his chin to drink in her scent. His ears flutter back as he is hit with a sudden pang of familiarity. It’s the kind that bears no answers but that leaves a persistent ache in one’s heart. He cannot place the feeling and knows that he has experienced it once before when he had visited the Hinterlands and came across the girl that called herself his sister. Roarke she had called him.

Drogon hesitates then, torn between the desire to explore what he has suppressed for most of his childhood and what he has done best: flee. Whether there was anything significant in this, whether he knew her or not …in the end what mattered was that Drogon was no longer a frightened child terrified of being heart broken again. He is a man grown …or all but and he had learned long ago to stop running. So, he draws nearer yet, his steps cautious but utterly non-threatening, glacial gaze assessing her as he draws near enough to see her closely now ( though there is still plenty of respectful distance between them ) feeling another tug of familiarity.

It could be nothing he attempts to assure himself weakly but …somehow Drogon doubts that to be the truth.

 

Once she'd taken her place and come into a patch of cleared land it was evident that the source of the chuff was another soul out wandering. The forest itself was claimed by no one, no scents that she'd taken in seemed to cling to it's proud trees or the foliage of the area, it did not even seem to be anyone's hunting grounds. It was, assumedly, forgotten. Still the dark figure that was cut by the other wolf was one she was unfamiliar with and as she drank up the sight of him she tried to place if she'd ever seen him before. She wasn't near enough to smell him, not with the piney overwhelming scent of the trees themselves, not after so long of avoiding the forests of the wilds as if they were out to hurt her personally. Hadn't they though? They had been silent sentinels to two deaths of her beloveds - and Hemlock by her very nature was not one who forgave easily nor often. 

She did not see the pale puppy with his enthusiastic playfulness, she did not see the doting son who'd gone missing so early in his life. Perhaps if she focused better, perhaps if she wanted to relieve those memories she might have seen something in his eyes - she might have seen the graceful careful draping of Lotte's colors as they kissed his shoulders and body. Instead she saw a stranger, one she met with a subtle nod of her head. "Hello." It was a simple greeting enough, and for a moment Hemlock ponders over whether to offer her name or something else entirely - or nothing at all. "Are you passing through? I had not caught any other scents near here." She does not say it as means of apologizing, but, it creates the rouse that her children are not tucked away beyond the territory. They are safe enough with their guardians and she can keep the threats at bay by leading them far from her family. 

Doubt creeps into his mind like a creeping, consuming vine, twining it’s way up only stopping when he brushes aside that nagging sense of familiarity with a swat, as if he were shooing away a bothersome fly. Coincidence. There was plenty of that in the world, he tells himself. She is the first to break the second bought of verbal silence between them and he returns her greeting with a rasping, smoky “Hello,” of his own and a drift of his tail against his hocks. He steels his shoulders, pushing the plush fur of his frosted blue-black, silvery mane against his muzzle as he tucks it down as a particularly chilling gust of wind sweeps through the towering trees, rattling their barren branches around like hollow bones scraping against one another. It rouses with it the poignant scent of pine from the conifers that stand resilient to the frigid bite of winter. “Heading home from an informal, impromptu scouting trip,” Drogon offers her the information freely. He’s nothing to hide and the sakaali while wily and coy is not an inherent seeker of trouble. He is a seeker and hoarder of useful information and pragmatically willing to use it to his advantage ( not unlike his gangster father ). Though, regardless of what mask Drogon wears he has to admit, looking back upon it all, that trouble has a way of finding him whether he instigates it or not.

“I will not linger long.” He remarks though as if to remind himself to assure her he isn’t sure. It is a neutral territory but with the specifics of the impending war his timetables to work with are hazy at best and Drogon, so eager to be in the thick of battle — to finally give liberation to the warlord and conquerer that live in his heart of hearts — does not wish to miss a second of it though as a mere peon ( in the youth tier at that ) he is kept out of the bulk of the conversations about it. “Are you passing through too? Or are you thinking about staking a claim here?” He inquires only because he has already came across a wolf staking a claim in another territory and does not think it would be so unreasonable to think that others were trying to do the same.