AW come meet Lia :)
The morn after Arturo had seen her into the territory, Lia is awakened from her slumber by the rising of the sun. Blinking in the sudden light, she climbs from the log she has claimed as her own.
Lia stretches, her bones creaking and cracking as if she were an old crone rather than a young woman. For a moment, the doyenne is confused when she looks around and finds the raven is not nearby.
Recalling the events of yesterday leave her lonely. The raven had been her only friend but Lia could not depend on him any longer. An uncertainty settles in her chest, heavy and immobile.
Was this the right decision?
"Don't be silly," she mutters to herself as she sets out into the surrounding territory. "Of course it was a good idea. Would the raven have led you to Arturo for no reason?" Reaffirming this out loud soothes her a bit. It was only nerves getting the best of her.
Arturo has not yet given her a task but she must also meet the members of The Family. This is what she hopes to do this day, though she does not actively seek the wolves of Teaghlaigh. The many scents of them overlap, male and female. Any one scent is indistinguishable from another the closer she gets to the heart of Teaghlaigh.
Her task will be determined by what trade she will try to earn. As of yet, hunting and healing draw her. She is much too small to make a fearsome Mercenary, although should push come to shove Lia would not hesitate to fight for The Family. Naturalist holds no promise for her. The rocks are rocks, the stars are stars, the weather is the weather; Lia had no wish to explore them any further. Scout as well is unappealing; Lia had travelled long enough. The colleen is content to remain in or near Teaghlaigh. Chronicler and Counselor would mean actually having to speak more than a few sentences, a strength Lia does not possess. But healing, Lia feels a pull to it; she enjoys helping people.
The day is not yet light when she nears stronger scent trails; the sun burns beyond the bleeding forest seeming to light it on fire. Lia stamps down her nerves, schools her features into the mask all Raurcs are known for, and continues on to find work to do or perhaps meet The Family.
The forest was alive with new scents, and Lotte busied herself with excavating dens and padding the caches to provide what succor she could. Today, though, she was busy doing something else entirely.
It surprised the smoke-and-shadow tundra native that trees needed to be cared for, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. She realized her error only after she’d committed it, and sat staring at the top-heavy young sequoia whose exposed roots promised a lovely living space — if the inhabitant wanted to be smothered and crushed when it inevitably fell. It tilted at a dangerous angle, the winter thaw having softened the earth beneath it into muddy slush, and Lotte bore testament of its threat: she, too, was covered in mud and wispy white root tendrils. Her instinct was to fell it, but no matter how ardently she threw her weight against it, it wouldn’t budge. She’d heard that telltale creak, though — the tree was fated to meet a sad, horizontal end.
It was too early, Lotte felt, to wake the Family and request their aid. Anyway, Olive and Dakarai were in no shape to help her knock down one of the great arboreal giants. The idea of having Arturo help her had its own appeal — she did so love to see the suave and svelte Ceannasach dirty and ruffled, after all — and she turned, trotting purposefully through the shadowed weald, only to be intercepted a short time later by a classic beauty of a wolf. Her bright pelage was a deep, overcast steel-blue with undertones of fog and mist — it amused Lotte that her own pelt could have been painted with the same palette, and she dipped her muzzle cordially, her warm alto rich and mellifluous in the morning calm. “Rakeet, comrade,” she murmured, her moonbright eyes drifting appraisingly over the regal creature with natural, but not overt wariness.
The differences between them were evident: the gloss of the Comhlach’s fur cast a striking contrast to the Banríon’s matte — and presently soil-caked — pelt; Lotte was visibly taller and broader; and the Raurc colleen possessed a certain polish that Arturo’s mate lacked. Lotte’s first impression of Lia Raurc was one of immediate liking, and her mud-flecked mouth tipped up at the corners in a bright smile as she said, “We have not met — I am Lotte Ansbjørn Fearghal. Who are you, sininen veri?”
It surprised the smoke-and-shadow tundra native that trees needed to be cared for, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. She realized her error only after she’d committed it, and sat staring at the top-heavy young sequoia whose exposed roots promised a lovely living space — if the inhabitant wanted to be smothered and crushed when it inevitably fell. It tilted at a dangerous angle, the winter thaw having softened the earth beneath it into muddy slush, and Lotte bore testament of its threat: she, too, was covered in mud and wispy white root tendrils. Her instinct was to fell it, but no matter how ardently she threw her weight against it, it wouldn’t budge. She’d heard that telltale creak, though — the tree was fated to meet a sad, horizontal end.
It was too early, Lotte felt, to wake the Family and request their aid. Anyway, Olive and Dakarai were in no shape to help her knock down one of the great arboreal giants. The idea of having Arturo help her had its own appeal — she did so love to see the suave and svelte Ceannasach dirty and ruffled, after all — and she turned, trotting purposefully through the shadowed weald, only to be intercepted a short time later by a classic beauty of a wolf. Her bright pelage was a deep, overcast steel-blue with undertones of fog and mist — it amused Lotte that her own pelt could have been painted with the same palette, and she dipped her muzzle cordially, her warm alto rich and mellifluous in the morning calm. “Rakeet, comrade,” she murmured, her moonbright eyes drifting appraisingly over the regal creature with natural, but not overt wariness.
The differences between them were evident: the gloss of the Comhlach’s fur cast a striking contrast to the Banríon’s matte — and presently soil-caked — pelt; Lotte was visibly taller and broader; and the Raurc colleen possessed a certain polish that Arturo’s mate lacked. Lotte’s first impression of Lia Raurc was one of immediate liking, and her mud-flecked mouth tipped up at the corners in a bright smile as she said, “We have not met — I am Lotte Ansbjørn Fearghal. Who are you, sininen veri?”
March 03, 2017, 07:55 PM
She curses herself for the sudden stuttering halt. Truly, she is surprised by the woman approaching. For a moment she thinks it to be a ghost, a mirror image of herself.
They are not unlike.
The woman canting her way towards Lia moves like an ethereal being in the woods, a nymph. She looks like Lia; slender build and limited musculature, coat like that of an angry sea, and as beautiful as everyone had always claimed Lia to be.
Upon closer examination differences can be discerned. This woman is taller and a bit broader if still lithe. Her coat takes on a deeper tint, leaning towards a black-blue like a brewing storm rather than the silver glint of the doyenne. She is dirtier as well, coat turned dull and muted with it.
A heartbeat passes and Lia nearly remains frozen as she is by the familiar gut-wrenching feeling the raven had brought about in her. A premonition, yet not a warning.
She is Banríon.
Lia continues towards Arturo's woman, her crown dipping low with respect.
The words are unfamiliar to her but their intent is clear. Lotte is friendly and she is smiling.
"I am Lia Raurc," the belladonna answers with another tilt of her head, studying the wife of Ceannasach curiously but not unkindly.
They are not unlike.
The woman canting her way towards Lia moves like an ethereal being in the woods, a nymph. She looks like Lia; slender build and limited musculature, coat like that of an angry sea, and as beautiful as everyone had always claimed Lia to be.
Upon closer examination differences can be discerned. This woman is taller and a bit broader if still lithe. Her coat takes on a deeper tint, leaning towards a black-blue like a brewing storm rather than the silver glint of the doyenne. She is dirtier as well, coat turned dull and muted with it.
A heartbeat passes and Lia nearly remains frozen as she is by the familiar gut-wrenching feeling the raven had brought about in her. A premonition, yet not a warning.
She is Banríon.
Lia continues towards Arturo's woman, her crown dipping low with respect.
The words are unfamiliar to her but their intent is clear. Lotte is friendly and she is smiling.
"I am Lia Raurc," the belladonna answers with another tilt of her head, studying the wife of Ceannasach curiously but not unkindly.
There was a deep, visceral sense of satisfaction that hummed through Lotte’s bloodstream at the woman’s gesture of respect — she had forgotten that she was Banríon within Teaghlaigh’s borders — and she canted her broad muzzle in turn. “Welcome to Teaghlaigh, Lia Raurc,” the silver-tongued bard intoned warmly, her coal-colored tail waving genially. “Do you have any experience with trees?” It was an odd question to ask, but Lotte’s black-masked visage was completely serious. The smile that caught at her lips was friendly without being humorous or sardonic, but just to clarify that she was indeed asking for a reason, “I was born in the northern tundra — there are no trees that can survive those conditions — and I think I may have broken one of Arturo’s sequoias by trying to dig a den beneath its roots. When I started, it was winter and the earth held strong, but now everything is mud and slush.”
Chuckling warmly, she confessed, “I tried to knock it down the rest of the way — it growled at me and shook above me, and I thought it would crush me — but I could not do it alone. Maybe it would be better to reinforce it, but I do not know enough about trees to know whether it would put down new roots, or whether the thaw will continue to weaken the ground beneath it.”
Chuckling warmly, she confessed, “I tried to knock it down the rest of the way — it growled at me and shook above me, and I thought it would crush me — but I could not do it alone. Maybe it would be better to reinforce it, but I do not know enough about trees to know whether it would put down new roots, or whether the thaw will continue to weaken the ground beneath it.”
March 05, 2017, 05:08 PM
Her head dips again in gratitude. Pale eyes move from Lotte to the bloodied trees, straining for the tops clustered together far above her head.
"Not much in the way of moving them," Lia answers simply. The sheer amount of words overwhelms her, the colleen does not think she could ever speak so much at once.
"Perhaps it would be safer to push it over as you said. I could help," she offers earnestly.
Lia is not muscular; she is built for speed and distance rather than brute force. Yet, the small Raurc has a will as strong as any. The tree will fall.
"Not much in the way of moving them," Lia answers simply. The sheer amount of words overwhelms her, the colleen does not think she could ever speak so much at once.
"Perhaps it would be safer to push it over as you said. I could help," she offers earnestly.
Lia is not muscular; she is built for speed and distance rather than brute force. Yet, the small Raurc has a will as strong as any. The tree will fall.
I’m so sorry for the wait, Genevieve! ♥
A bright, fierce grin lit Banríon’s mud-spattered, black-masked visage as she regarded her comrade with affection. There was nothing tentative about the soot-stockinged rogue, and she leaned forward with a quick, impulsive arc of her broad muzzle, her aim to buffet the Raurc woman’s shoulder in a gesture of blithe camaraderie. “I would be happy for your help, sininen veri,” she accepted graciously, turning as her broad paws snapped into an easy, rollicking gait. Assuming that Lia was following, she returned to the site of her unintentional destruction.
“You see?” she huffed, her argent eyes slitting in disappointment as she regarded the bleeding sentinel. What Lotte had intended to make a den was a reduced to a sad disarray of mud and slush, and some of the young tree’s roots poked above ground. The trunk itself was tilted at an awkward angle, but Lotte could not push it down alone. She circled around to the trunk and braced her forelegs against it, but though it creaked ominously, it would not fall.
“You see?” she huffed, her argent eyes slitting in disappointment as she regarded the bleeding sentinel. What Lotte had intended to make a den was a reduced to a sad disarray of mud and slush, and some of the young tree’s roots poked above ground. The trunk itself was tilted at an awkward angle, but Lotte could not push it down alone. She circled around to the trunk and braced her forelegs against it, but though it creaked ominously, it would not fall.
No worries!
Lia feels a flicker of warmth stir in her otherwise dormant chest. It's not often she's included or shown affection.
Lia follows Ceannasach out of loyalty, familial love even. Her Family is held in similar light though not quite on the same spectre as Arturo. Lia cares for them, loves them, but it's rare she finds true friendship with them.
With a small, shy smile she follows after Banríon to the tree. The sea coloured Raurc circles the tree slowly in awe of the destruction Lotte has wrought on it. The tall tree groans like a dying man as her similarly coloured counterpart pushes her weight against it but does not shift more than a couple of minuscule inches.
Lia paces around to the same side as Lotte and rears back, pushing her pale grey forelegs against it as well with hopes that their mutual strain will fell the battered tree.
Timberrrrr!
With Lia’s added strength the tree adds sporadic cracks to its reluctant groans, and Lotte, taking heart at the appreciable progress they’ve made, rears back like a wild stallion and thrusts herself forward with forelegs stiffened. A snarl of effort contorts her mud-spattered face, and as the tree roots begin to snap and the trunk starts to lift into the air like the bow of a sinking ship, she levers herself onto the trunk and begins walking up the tree to push the weight of her body against it. Lotte is a large wolf, made larger by the children in her womb, and the further she walks up the sap-dappled trunk, the closer it seems to get to the ground. It never occurs to her that maybe she shouldn’t do things like this while she is pregnant — she is a spirited wolf like her mother, who never listened to Aksel when he cautioned her to take things easy.
Still, when she rides the tree like a wave to the ground with a thump and a swish and a crack, Lotte is winded. A cramp pulls at her lower abdomen and she is forced to sit down abruptly, looking up at the Raurc with an expression of mingled discomfort and triumph. “I thank you for your aid, Lia,” she says blithely, her tail swaying cheerily behind her. “In my home, when a large enemy was vanquished, we would sing and feed and tell stories.” Her warm, rich alto is mildly wistful. “Are you hungry?” she questions brightly. It goes without saying that she is. All the time. Insatiably so. “We could pull meat from the cache and eat it by the river, and wash off all the mud and sap.” She glances at their handiwork, small, thickly-furred ears perking atop her crown as she realizes that they have unintentionally accomplished her original goal: beneath the fallen tree, a hollow has opened, formed by the angle the trunk stands at and the excavation that caused such ruin. Beaming, Lotte rears up on her hind legs to test its resilience before being forced back down to a sitting position as another, stronger cramp tugs at her. Someone [@Roarke] is tap dancing on her spleen, while another someone is using her bladder as a trampoline [@Mallaidh].
“Will you test your weight against it?” she asks, breathing between her teeth, buying herself time. “Perhaps it can still be used as a den if the tree will hold. Then we can go and eat.”
Still, when she rides the tree like a wave to the ground with a thump and a swish and a crack, Lotte is winded. A cramp pulls at her lower abdomen and she is forced to sit down abruptly, looking up at the Raurc with an expression of mingled discomfort and triumph. “I thank you for your aid, Lia,” she says blithely, her tail swaying cheerily behind her. “In my home, when a large enemy was vanquished, we would sing and feed and tell stories.” Her warm, rich alto is mildly wistful. “Are you hungry?” she questions brightly. It goes without saying that she is. All the time. Insatiably so. “We could pull meat from the cache and eat it by the river, and wash off all the mud and sap.” She glances at their handiwork, small, thickly-furred ears perking atop her crown as she realizes that they have unintentionally accomplished her original goal: beneath the fallen tree, a hollow has opened, formed by the angle the trunk stands at and the excavation that caused such ruin. Beaming, Lotte rears up on her hind legs to test its resilience before being forced back down to a sitting position as another, stronger cramp tugs at her. Someone [@Roarke] is tap dancing on her spleen, while another someone is using her bladder as a trampoline [@Mallaidh].
“Will you test your weight against it?” she asks, breathing between her teeth, buying herself time. “Perhaps it can still be used as a den if the tree will hold. Then we can go and eat.”
March 28, 2017, 07:58 PM
Sorry to have taken so long!
Lia strains, muscles contracting and spasming with the combined efforts of pushing the tree. A grimace stretches across her face as it finally falls.
The Raurc watches Banríon with a worried expression, wondering if perhaps she has hurt herself.
Lotte shows no outward signs of injury, her usual spunk shining through.
"I could eat," Lia gives a wolfish grin, one side of her mouth quirking up in a satisfied smirk.
She does as Banríon asks, scrabbling atop the freshly fallen tree with far less grace than her counterpart. She nearly slips several times, covered in mud as she is.
The tree bears her weight with a soft groan but little shifting. Lia glances to Lotte for approval before hopping down, eager to wash up and eat.
Finally, a female with strength behind her wiles!
Lotte nods approval as the tree holds Lia’s weight and seems to remain sturdy but for a weak groan of protest. “It will stand,” she proclaims with satisfaction. “To the river?” she asks, stretching into a slow, leisurely walk before opening up to a ground-eating trot with Lia in tow. “I am eating for many,” she explains, making mention of the cubs that pull and tug so ardently at her insides. She beams at the Raurc female. “I am so glad you have come,” she confides in the girl with a sway of her tail. As they near the riverbank cache, Lotte pulls out a chilled rabbit and nods to Lia to take her pick as well. The soot-stockinged rogue settles comfortably on the bank, tearing into her meal with gusto and expecting Lia to do the same.
Lotte nods approval as the tree holds Lia’s weight and seems to remain sturdy but for a weak groan of protest. “It will stand,” she proclaims with satisfaction. “To the river?” she asks, stretching into a slow, leisurely walk before opening up to a ground-eating trot with Lia in tow. “I am eating for many,” she explains, making mention of the cubs that pull and tug so ardently at her insides. She beams at the Raurc female. “I am so glad you have come,” she confides in the girl with a sway of her tail. As they near the riverbank cache, Lotte pulls out a chilled rabbit and nods to Lia to take her pick as well. The soot-stockinged rogue settles comfortably on the bank, tearing into her meal with gusto and expecting Lia to do the same.
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