Otter Creek Hard on yourself

@Wintersbane

Arlette came down from the mountain range following the cold stream down. The more she moved away from Rising Sun Valley the more conflicted she grew. Surprisingly she wasn't too bothered about leaving Easthollow, but she was leaving Kaito's grave behind. The one she visited every day in Fox's glade. But she knew that if she was going to say, she was never going to get anywhere. Everything reminded her of him, of the cougar attack. When on top of that she had to bring home her younger brother's body she drew a line. She felt like she wasn't able to breathe. She had to go.

So the girl had left. She was not sure where she would go. She justified leaving to find her friend Oryx. But perhaps she had left more for herself than for anyone else. Arlette was still very unsure about her looks and if she would be accepted by other wolves. She didn't bother to worry about ever find somewhere that she would call home since she had not felt at home for a long time. She knew from being with Kaito that a place didn't make a home. The pale female moved away from the fog like a fluid ghost. She could look further ahead now she was at the base of the mountain range, the stream becoming a bit wider.

She knew if she followed this river she would reach Ira's pack. However, knowing that her family member had not seen her like this she was going to make sure to give Kaistleoki a wide berth. She didn't want to tell them what happened and relive those memories again. The small female walked beside the stream, more focussed on possible plants she recognized rather than the route she was walking.

serpentine creek marshals hale and sepulchral tundrian remains ever vigilant marionette to his own vagrancies. occasional otter sails indolent upon its back within languid currents. polar gaze espies minutely as frosted ground gives way to each step towards the unseelie king makes. what awaits him at the zion of this path; a dwelling crux.
further from the echelons of rusalka than the nomad’s been upon assent into their ranks, he revels in the taunt ebb and flow of sinews; the acridity of wetrock of mountainous air as it breaches his lungs, giving chase to the salty tang of seabrine.

the tundrian does not lament in designation —

footfalls of another command he pay heed; featherlight, diminutive against the imperial march of his own.
a hairsbreadth of a moment passes; a sound near careens from lips. pallid; feathered with pink blush the sylph is, from breadth betwixt them, a harken to his late wife. drawn by invisible forces, the unseelie king draws nearer; stiff legged, half breathing —

the nymph is not andraste.

yet, she is beautiful; ethereal, even so.
hello, whisky smooth rasp shatters the arcadian hush settled contentedly betwixt them.

The female had been in her own world when a shadow appeared from the thin fog. The mountainous man appeared in the corner of her eye, making her snap her head upright. Deep red eyes took in the male. For a moment thinking that it was her father Greyback, possibly due to their size. She was quick to realize this male was nothing like her father. She quickly shied away the scarred side of her face for the male. Not facing him straight on as she normally would have done. She carried her head low as her eyes took him in. His strong posture and dark pelt, those ice pale eyes. With that description, he could have been her father Stark. Still, she knew that his age didn't match. At least, she assumed.

Then her eyes landed on the scars he had on his face. She instantly felt the tension she unknowingly gathered trickle away. A connection forming from her side, a sliver of trust. They seemed to have at least one thing in common. Her pale ears swiveling forward with newfound curiosity, slowly turning her face towards him. Her shoulders a bit hunched, her automatic reaction to someone larger than her, and also because of her own insecurity. Unloved and alone. His voice was deep and smokey as he greeted her. "Hello," she greeted in return. Slowly she gathered her composure, her trust gathering as the burly male didn't seem too awful. Her head held higher, curious. He scented of a pack, but not one she knew. "You aren't from around here, are you?," she asked, making assumptions from his scent alone.

construing effigies cast away with the lilting breeze; ruffling serried guardhairs; polar gaze skims her visage with repose, lingering upon bejeweled incarnadine of her own. pigmentation the hale tundrian has never before seen; rubyred cast demurely he presumes.
rejoinder is lilting, cottony to the nomad’s observations; brushing of a butterfly’s wings over his ear. no, verity ascends from dark lips, unfettered. saltbrine trusses unremittingly to every fibre of him now; infiltrating, revealing. i hail from rusalka. divulgence suspends in ambience; existing until it is catechized or disparaged.
i am wintersbane.

It seemed that her assumption was right. The male was not from around here, but when he revealed the information of where he was from it didn't give the female much clarity. She had never heard of this pack, so she assumed it was far away. "I don't know that pack. Would you mind telling more about it?," she asked, her voice light. Glad to be distracted, it was refreshing to meet new wolves. Perhaps not something she should be anxious about, this male didn't seem to judge her for her looks. At least not yet.

The tip of her tail gently moved behind her when he added his name as well. Her eyes looked kind and friendly, but there was a sadness behind it. Before there had been a joyful happiness that was behind them. Wintersbane. It was a really nice name, it seemed to suit him, for as far as she knew this male after a few minutes. He felt like a quiet calm, like a warm winter day. "It suits you," she returned to him, even though he probably didn't need her approval of it. "I'm Arlette," she introduced herself.

i’m a fairly new recruit, admittance befalls, besmirching contrite twist of his lips with silent plea in atonement. i can tell you they live upon the moors northwest of here. words left unembellished resonate with disinclination for dictum.
bane of winter; nightingale sovereign bequeathed upon brow; feathery caress of her warbling croon, brimming with adoration. long forgotten was the melody of her motherssong; lost to the epochs —

a remnant of her, cherished far beyond all else.

gelid gaze lifts and studies the icemelt for few moments. so i’ve been told, it alights upon her rogue dusted visage once more, lingering; far from discourteous. he has his own scarflesh, laden with their own tales of tragedy. your's suits you, too. genteel, perhaps; befitting the nymph before him.

Arlette could understand that the male didn't know much about the pack if he recently joined. She moved her head to the north and then angled it more to the west, her body turning as well when she got the right direction. Maybe this male's pack would be an interesting one to join if she wanted to join a pack far away from her family. Perhaps it was a bit strange for her to just join a pack because she met one wolf that is living there. She dipped her head. "Noted. Maybe I will visit one day," she returned to the male.

Luckily her reply had not be labeled as strange, more wolves had found it fitting for the male. Arlette bettered her red eyes up. His voice was soft, surprisingly so. "I don't know, I might change it," she admitted. Not sure why she did, maybe she was not going to really change her name. She wouldn't know what to call herself. It was silly really. She looked down to her feet, deciding to change the topic. Perhaps she could help the male with his travels or whatever took him away from his pack. "Are you traveling to anything in particular?," her voice curiously asked. She realized that she was probably asking too many questions.

would pale sylph have given state to her cerebral rumination, hale tundrian could’ve articulated admittance to once joining a pack for a woman. reminiscences of late feywife grow torpid with ebb and flow of time; still, they give rise anguish; smarting like festering of an abrasion. even now, the tendrils of grief creep up waxen, scarred throat, coiling; tightening —

serpentine.

she begets omphalos of his concentration; rupturing his ruminations. silent gratitude radiates from the tundrian, embracing the caesura in his own thoughts. agog to cast them off in the netherspace of all lost thoughts.
what would you change it to? he inquires softly. far be it from him, of all wolves, to pass a verdict; when he sheds names as snakes shed skins. no, bemused rasp draws from betwixt lips. just travelling to travel. he never could remain entirely stagnant.

Arlette wondered for a moment, what she would change it to. She came up empty. She was not certain what name would fit her. It was clear that she would need to search a bit for herself and who she had become after the attack. "My mind comes up empty. Perhaps for our next meeting, I will have an answer for you," she returned to the large male. She of course wouldn't know if there was a next time... But it was a nice timeframe for her to think about a name and if she was going to change it.

"How interesting. I only travel with purpose. How do you decide on where to go?," she asked curiously. And what did that say about their meeting, was it meant to be? She always was curious about things like that. Same for when she met Kaito. What had been that purpose... She instantly knew that answer. To show that there was more than just Easthollow.