Blackfeather Woods the gull’s way and the whale’s way

@Astrid ♥

Miles away from the sea, in the bowels of a cave in the middle of a foreboding darkwood, the sheepdog listened to the distant sound of rain. She tiptoed to the maw of the Wolfskull but huddled in the dry dust, in the shadow of the incisors, as her slender muzzle quivered and watered. Part of the cause for her pytalism was fear, pure and simple — but the brunt of it was hunger, pure and simple. Her already gamine frame was gaunt and skeletal now, the lustrous quality of her fur dull and lank; she was a selkie’s daughter, deprived of the sea, and the hunger she felt went beyond a simple need for food. It was freedom she hungered for.

As a distant roll of thunder caused her skin to prickle with unease — she’d never really liked thunderstorms, but she wasn’t as troubled by them as some of her more domesticated brethren — she licked her lips nervously. Soft plip-plops of moisture dropped into the dust at her frightfully dirty paws, creating infinitesimal mushroom clouds that she regarded with terror. The moisture in the air made the scents around her that much more intense, and she felt suddenly that she would rather die than waste away another day in this foul prison. She could smell Abraxas and Atshen, and the woman who had shown her a deceptive sort of kindness, and she whipped around, but this time no wolf was regurgitated from the ‘Skull’s inner seams. Flinging her head up, her dry, cracked nostrils flaring, she leapt clear over the incisors like an agility hurdle and made her escape in not a proud sprint but a series of scuttling darts and pregnant pauses.

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Coelacanth hadn’t been on the lam for long, but already she was regretting her decision to R-U-N-N-O-F-T. The darkengrove was unsettling in daylight, but it was utterly terrifying at night. She didn’t have the faintest idea where she was, and every little sound spelled danger. Her lips trembled with longing and fear as she dipped her sharply tapered muzzle to drink from a stream lying just east of the Wolfskull, but just before they broke surface she paused. Distrust cricked her tiny body into a series of jutting angles as she curled her lips at the chill froth and her own reflection, backing away and veering sharply northwest. The scent of the Blackfeather wolves was everywhere, and it was hard to tell where it was thickest — but she knew that north meant the sea, and west meant away from the cave. With another quick glance skyward, she kept moving.

[table width=80%][tr][td]It wasn't unusual to see the girl alone and far from the others, especially at night. She had just returned from her mission to Northstar Vale and wandered into her home without keeping an eye on whoever was still awake. She had not expected the thunderstorm to come quite so quickly, even though the drops of rain had awakened her mindless journey from the Greatwater Lake back home. Even with the cover of the woods was she drenched and smelled like wetness and foreign lands, yet the scent of the brotherhood hadn't washed out. She turned her muzzle skywards, feeling the cool rain on her face as she closed her eyes to enjoy the damp smell of her home. This was what it needed - it had been warm for far so long that even Nyx had grown tired of it.

She was just on her way to her secret den that held all the things she treasured when a shadow slipped by the seemingly darker surroundings. Moist pawsteps were heard and Nyx's ears swivelled and perked. She was quick to realize what was happening, even though she had not directly met the mute prisoner they had taken prisoner, and sprinted towards the north-west border. What the prisoner was doing wasn't safe, Nyx noticed, and seeing that she held no attachments to her as it was just her mother's captive she would take it upon herself to get the other out. It wasn't like she was of use to them and was simply a way of showing how thoughtless and dumb her "mother" really was.

She tried to catch up, and if she succeeded at this would try and stop the fleeing stranger from advancing further by blocking her path or even physical restraint if it were necessary.[/tr][/td][/table]

An eerie sanguine glow to the northeast gave Coelacanth pause, and she adjusted her trajectory a few clicks due west to avoid it — but during this period of brief reconnaissance she was swiftly found out.

The wolf who materialized before her was all streamlined muscle and regal grace, and she quailed briefly — but she reacted with instinctive alacrity, whipping around on nimble paws to stretch her spindly legs in an outright sprint. It was the unfamiliar terrain that foiled her, for the dark consort seemed to be everywhere at once — and ultimately, wicked fangs caught and held the sheepdog’s scruff fast. Seelie skittered and struggled, but the long weeks with inadequate sustenance and gnawing hopelessness had her beat. She went limp in the younger wolf’s grasp, tufted ears skimming back to express her compliance.

[table width=80%][tr][td]The sheepdog did not cower at the mere sight of her nor was she perplexed by the personification of night itself. Brows furrowed slight as she began her chase again, not needing to run long before the thin mute's scruff was caught between two sets of strong teeth. You understand me. She nearly ordered, voice slightly muffled and soft. Listen to me. Even with the other's scruff in her mouth did her slight accent pull through. Come with me - I will give you freedom through a safer passage. No one will suspect you, as long as you are with me. It was a bold promise, Nyx knew, but the wanderer knew even the tunnels by heart. Their captive running 'round their territory would be a riskier way of escape.[/tr][/td][/table]

The puncture wounds inflicted by the Silencer had crusted over, but they broke open as his sister held Coelacanth fast and murmured promises that fell upon deaf eras. The stray had lost all hope, all reason to believe that this young wolf with the enchantingly mismatched eyes would truly aid her, but Seelie was utterly outmatched either way and had little choice but to comply. She nodded, the movement so feeble and quick it was visually indiscernible, but the tautening of her muscles would surely be felt by the stardust-dappled Prowler.

Whether the captive was simply playing mute or not, Nyx knew she had understood her. Whether she'd liked to be found and killed or gently escorted out of their wood by the disowned daughter was up to her. She felt the captive nodding and slowly, as to not make the taste of blood worsen as droplets came in her mouth from her rough grabbing, she let go. She waited then, ready to sprint after her again if she had just done this to be free once more. The seadog needed to be a symbol of Nyx's kindness, and it would not help her if she were to get herself killed. Follow me or face something worse.

When she was released, the tiny sheepdog crouched where she’d been placed, shaking out her dusty fur and biting back a soft whine of discomfort. Timorously she stretched out her finely tapered muzzle, prepared to flinch back and draw away if the young mistress showed any sign of aversion. If she allowed it, the little Groenendael would touch the tip of her quivering nose to the pert curve of Nyx’s chin and trace the elegant line of her jaw with a reverent tongue in submission. Her feathered tail clamped to her abdomen, tufted ears flat against the graceful sweep of her crown; and her willingness to follow and to obey was made plain by the way she fitted herself neatly into the younger wolf’s shadow.

With a high head did she watch their former captive, shrinking beside her. Nyx did not move and let the underfed female touch her, knowing that even if she tried to fight, it was likely she wouldn't win. The disowned daughter cleared her throat with a flick of her speckled ear, turning to where she knew lay the Weeping Meadow. As far as Nyx knew, not many dared to come close, and so it was a perfect way of escape. Of course, she wasn't planning to take the weak mute through the dangerous meadow, just around. On the borders is where she would be left to flee for herself.

Coelacanth followed Astrid without questioning why the lupus sidereum saw fit to free her. The unobstructed sight of the moon loosened the constriction of her tightly held breath as she turned her face toward the night sky, emaciated frame tinged with the scent of iron as beads of blood welled like molten rubies upon her flesh and eventually congealed. A questioning whine tiptoed up the column of her throat as she dared a glance at those bright, mismatched eyes. Was she meant to go through the meadow? The tiny sheepdog was ignorant of its dangers, but something in the air just didn’t seem right about the place, so she paused to await further instruction. Lest the speckled female doubt her gratitude and submission, Coelacanth made herself low, tufted ears nestled against the slope of her crown, and curled her feathered tail demurely under the sharp arch of her emaciated abdomen.

Mother could rot in hell for all Nyx cared, but she'd make sure none would suffer because of her hatred for the innocent. She had done enough damage, and it looked like the mute had been starving rather than being questioned (for how could she be?). The blue-eyed stranger had been not more but a prize, set upon a closet to never be looked at again. Nyx would dust that prize off and let the gold she was sure it held melt by the sun so it could be used again sometime.

At the edge of the meadow did both of them halt and Nyx looked behind to look at the shadow-like, bloodied captive. The scent of blood was not one to turn her stomach, nor was it particularly one she craved. We better stay far from the spores - I have not heard much good from the wolves who had dared to walk near that willow. She informed with a slight yet strangely sweet smile. It was then that she removed herself from the very edge of the meadow, aiming for where she knew was the border. She expected the sheepdog to do the same. Make sure you wash our scent off of you as soon as you can - we are not wanted by many. At least you cannot speak of all you have seen here. She advised as she cleared a way through the underbrush for them. Get to a healer for your wounds - try to scavenge or even hunt. Go somewhere far, far away from here. These were obvious points, but she felt like she had to show at least some concern for the other's future.

Thank you for the thread, Meebee! Feel free to have Nyx avoid the last sentence. ♥

A lifetime of meticulously attentive servitude made it easy for Coelacanth to move in tandem with the speckled minx; she moved when Nyx did, stopped when Nyx did, and always kept the tapered tip of her muzzle in line with the angle of Nyx’s elbow. They moved as one, being and shadow, and despite her predicament the sheepdog craved companionship on such a deep level that she easily fell into the rhythm of being led. Something inside her relaxed, although her wound-wracked form was still wrought with tension, but when it came time to part from the bewitching lady of the wood, Coelacanth hesitated. Her psyche was prime breeding ground for Stockholm syndrome to take root, and as this was the first overture of kindness she’d experienced since being reunited with Komodo in the early spring, it was all too easy to look upon Nyx and wonder if staying with her, serving her, would really be so bad.

Komodo!

It was the brief, fragmented memory of the angakkuq that ultimately saved her — not any particular string of words or fondly recalled tableau, but a simple feeling of urgency that drove her on. When the territory borders came into view, she turned to the inkstained angel and made to kiss her mouth, tapered muzzle gliding upward from her low-slung state to nibble in submission and gratitude along the strong, dark jaw if Nyx would allow.

Was it a true miracle that this was the first time Nyx had been truly kind to a total stranger? She found it to be rather lacklustre, for she was doing this just to defy her mother. She pretended not to care of where the sheepdog would end up; as long as it was not in their caves. Nemesis did not deserve prisoners as long as she was trapped in her own mind - her own ways of cowardly behaviour. She was pathetic while the shadow next to her was, perhaps, innocence itself.

Her expression did not falter, even when the appreciative licks graced her tight, pretty face. The sheepdog was free to go now - to live life, or whatever was left of it if she could not find help soon enough. May you fair well. She nodded stiffly, feeling rather tired all of the sudden. Or, perhaps, it was sadness seeing the mute go. The other had not judged her for doing this, - was, perhaps, the only one thankful like her brother was when she had lied for him. Quite the saviour she had become, even if most had been for personal gain.

The stelliferous female wished Coelacanth well, to all intents and purposes setting her free — and for a moment, the diminutive creature didn’t know what to do with that freedom. She lingered just a little too long, and when she finally began to move her steps seemed to be in slow motion. It was the magnetic pull of her mantra — North is home! West is freedom! — that eventually drove her on, nipping at her feathered heels. She picked up her pace at last, disappearing into the darkness like a blot of calligrapher’s ink on black velvet.