Barrow Fields synecdoche

@Arlo 

The world was so much more than she had ever known, and not all of it was good. In fact, most of it was bad. it was badder that she had thought, meaner than she had thought, dirtier than she had thought, more monotonous that she had thought. What scared her more than her inability to survive on her own was the inhumane, crushing sense of boredom. There was nothing worse than anxiety mixed with nothing to do; and it ate away at Kitsch’s stomach every day. She subsisted off of nothing but small field mice, which scurried around plentifully in the frostbitten, winter grasses...but that was the extent of it. Between that she did nothing but laid about and walked aimlessly, hopelessly sighing, dramatically throwing her body and thinking of the family she had been painfully shorn from. 

If she could, she would run back to mother and father and beg their forgiveness; and Kitsch did not beg to just anyone. She would say that she was stupid and that she was sorry for leaving them like she did, sorry that she had gotten lost, sorry it took her so long to get home. Kitsch wanted to see her maids and guards once again, to wish them well and share her gratitude. I would be good the pearl prostrated, I would be different, if I could just go home once more. and even though inside she was thrashing about, floundering under the weight of the world, Kitsch’s exterior facade remained blasé and apathetic. If the world would not give her what she wanted, the girl would pretend to be just fine existing as she did at that very moment: laid against the thick trunk of a pine, watching the sunshine filter through the foliage.

Arlo has explored little outside of Drageda since his arrival and with the snow becoming less and less, he is finally given the chance to stretch his legs. He hadn't been much of a scout in Trigeda but he knew his surroundings. The only familiarity out of Drageda had been north in the tangle of woods Melchior and Eske had found him. The southern reaches is completely unfamiliar to him beyond the expanse of their redwood border but he continues south anyway until the fields open up before him. 

The uneven terrain leaves a curiosity but something pinches the back of his neck and causes him to stiffen. There is a strange feeling of something behind him but he tries to stifle it. Every glance backward is still empty and he continues to keep himself convinced nothing is there. The scent of another catches his attention and a sparse pine materializes in sight. The figure of another becomes obvious and he trots forward with breadth for the safety of the both of them. There is little extra to her scent and he tilts his head then chuffs for her attention.

Kitsch’s swimming aquamarine gaze danced from thing to thing, her mind counted the trees, she flicked her ink-dipped ears against the sounds of the world. It was all so different from moment to moment, but all so eerily the same. Though Kitsch’s posture was relaxed, her muscles and bones steeled themselves against the grinding weight of it all. Kitsch’s sighed, hoping to ride herself of the omnipresent anxiety. She wanted to find her family but she was so hungry and so tired. Kitsch wanted to try and hunt but she was so clumsy at it. At times she had resorted to eating roots and leaves... which was not the sort of nourishment that she would need fuel all of her [failed] endeavors away from her bailiwick.

A low chuff draws her attention and she sees a boy coming towards her. Kitsch’s slow heartbeat quickened at the sight of the oncomer; for it has been quite some time since she had contact with another. Kitsch also was struck with anxiety about how to treat the wolf and how to act during their impending interaction; for she had only acted one way her entire life [spoiled and entitled, of course], but now she was out of her own jurisdiction. It was all so beyond her — she had never prepared for a life as a pauper. The pearl did not understand how this all worked.

Despite her apprehension and heart that thumped wildly in her chest, Kitsch regarded the newcomer closely and let out one cool, uncaring “Hi.”

The girl doesn’t do much other than regard his approach and at first, he isn’t sure what to make of it or what she’d do. Her expression doesn’t give him any clues but eventually she greets him with a simple, cool greeting that freezes Arlo up for a few seconds. He glances around for others that might be with her but the area is relatively empty and he offers a few more shakes of his tail to emphasize his friendliness. She isn’t close enough to Drageda for him to cause alarm of try and ward her off but his guard still remains intact.
 
“Hey,” he says and smiles. He doesn’t close any more distance in case she doesn’t feel comfortable and gives her the choice to make the moves. “I’m Arlo.”

He looked no older than her and that fact relaxed Kitsch somewhat. With older men, Kitsch felt an unabashed need to live up to some self-imposed standard; and somehow that need was absent when it came to wolves more her own age. That was good — Kitsch did not have the energy nor her usual gamine, ermine figure to help. The girl was close to starving and her skin hung loose on her waifish body. Her thin, downy coat did nothing to hide this fact. Curled against the trunk of the timber, however, Kitsch found it easier to conceal her current disability, unwilling to let anyone see that vulnerability. What kind of wolf would let herself starve?

A lady who never learned how to hunt, that’s who. 

But eventually, quietly, Kitsch unfurled her limbs and climbed upon them, rising to the full height of her small stature. She shook her pelt, then settled and looked upon the stranger Arlo. “Kitsch. You, uh, from around here?”

The girl begins to pick herself up and Arlo watches. She’s small, considerably shorter than him, but he doesn’t linger on it long. Her eyes are pretty though, and the dots above them are kind of cute. The rest of her markings become apparently but he is distracted when she offers the question. “Uh, yeah. A bit north of here, on the coast,” he explains with a wrinkle of his nose. He points his muzzle in the direction he’d been walking, the redwoods well in the distance act as a barrier to protect them from the outside.
 
“What of you?” he asks with a tilt of his head. She’s the first outsider to meet aside from Drageda since his arrival and the lack of knowledge of his surroundings hasn’t set well with him.

shameless grey’s anatomy reference 

It turned out that Arlo was from the north, though she didn’t know exactly what that meant. What laid north of this place was as foreign unknown to Kitsch as was the taste of poverty. Upon her separation from her home during that godforsaken snow storm, Kitsch had simply… walked. There were no scents to follow, and she recognized nothing of her surroundings [having been coddled all your life did not leave much room for exploring, of course], so she chose a direction and shuffled her feet — hoping and praying that this too would work out in the end, as everything else always had. She may have changed course, or doubled back, but she would never know where she went of whens she came from. Hell, Kitsch might have even come from the North herself — but that potential commonality with the boy was lost on the girl. Had she not been so wrapped up in her own emotions, perhaps she could have asked for help, or thought really really really hard until the route back home came to her, but for now she was hopelessly adrift and quickly losing faith [and body mass].

“Um…I don’t know,” she said honestly, a twinge of uncertainty shading voice. “I’m lost.” Her throat always pulled tight at this thought [and she mentally upbraided herself for even bringing up such a discussion — it had always been such a pleasant topic before] for it was such the ultimate of upsetting thoughts… to lose her family, her court, her power and her people… the love they gave her.  But Kitsch quickly recognized the vulnerability she let him glimpse [however slight] and pulled herself up, puffing out her sunken chest.  “I’m fine. Who even are you anyways? My knight in shining whatever?” Her voice came sharply in defense. Arlo had already given his name, of course, but his moniker was not what she rhetorically questioned.

He frowns when she announces she is lost. His ears droop back and he wags his tail a few tails. He’d gotten a little lost on his way down, especially when the Drageda wolves weren’t where they said they were, but eventually he and his brother found his way. She seems a little more lost than his situation ever called for but he can at least sympathize with her situation. The look on her face doesn’t leave room for any other definition but she’s quick to brush it off, push out her chest, and claim it is fine.
 
“Uh,” he stammers, ears splaying tense over his skull. His brows knit together and he stares blankly at her, failing to find the words to respond. “I’m just Arlo?” he says rather dumbly, feeling them roll off his tongue and knowing they aren’t the right words for the situation. There simply isn’t any other response he can conjure. He hadn’t even been trying to help but now she likely needs it but he can’t just ignore the problem.

now a shameless frozen reference?

As the young man stammered out a response, Kitsch felt contrition creep into the edges of her subconscious — as it always did when she lost her tongue in front of another. The pearl anguished over the tumult of emotions that constantly gripped her youthful mien, but as mother and father bade her, such fracas should be concealed: don’t feel it, don’t let it show. Kitsch, unfortunately, hadn’t been born with the congenital elegance of her mother or the critical mind of her father and required much guidance in the ways of leadership. When left to her own devices, Kitsch nurtured a rather hedonistic soul… She knew the etiquette and decorum, as the conventions of Saio Baile had been carved into her brain at a young age — but without advisors and other benevolent figures to hold her feet to the proverbial fire, such lessons were lost on the girl. Out here, Kitsch tried to do as she was instructed, to conduct herself in a fashion fit for aristocracy, but she was constantly left with the lingering resentment that she was doing something —everything—  wrong.

Her question for Arlo hadn’t been entirely rhetorical but also held the unspoken air of a demand. Yes, she wanted him to be her knight in shining whatever! Amongst her despair she was able to locate enmity quite quickly — the wastrel was not only sad, but frustrated that this problem, her lost-ness, had not been remedied by now. It just seemed like one long game of hide-and-seek; something not to be taken seriously because it was at its core, utterly absurd. It was impossible for the stracciatella girl to see the hopelessness of her situation, but still she felt the urge to ask after her family; so wishing to find fortune upon the words of a stranger.  “Well, Arlo from the north,” she followed after his stammered identification, her voice suddenly feeling quite small.  “Have you ever heard the name Saoi Baile?”

She doesn’t go on to explain the confusion, instead of speaking his name—had she forgotten?—only to ask him a question. He stares at her for a long moment as he tries to recollect a name that may be important but he quickly concludes he doesn’t. If his north-ness is enough to mention with the question attached, perhaps he is someone from the north he should know about if he were to have come from a specific area but the name doesn’t ring a single bell.

“Who is it?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head.

feel free to wrap up :)

The name was not familiar to her cohort and Kitsch shrugged her shoulders, as if his ignorance of the name was no big deal — but in reality, was a crushing blow. Another wolf who couldn’t further her search or assist in her journey. For if they did not know the name Saoi Baile, then what could they possibly know about her home? The girl had no sense of direction to help her — even though Arlo came from the north, this information was of no true use to her. Her huffed her breath once, twice and shook her stracciatella pelt in order to shake the weightiness of her problems off her frail shoulders. “It’s home.” she mentioned lackadaisically.

But, shaking her problems away didn’t seem to work and Kitsch wished for nothing more than to excuse herself from the situation. Kitsch was a social creature, but she was also vain and would prefer to be alone and go hungry than to be around another and reveal her vulnerabilities. If she wasn’t perfect, how would anyone ever love her? “I think I gotta go… before a bear attacks us, or something. Then you'd really have to be my knight in shining whatever.” Wincing at her awkwardness, Kitsch dipped her head and turned on her heels to make her exit. “Until we meet again.”