Fox's Glade Quam bene vivas refert non quam diu

It was a moonlit winter night and Sarah was lying awake under the starry skies. She had survived yet another day and it had been just as bleak and empty as the ones before. She had resolved to deal with her issues professionally and not show her weakness and weariness of life to others Sticking to a simple routine helped to keep oppressing thoughts at bay. Hunting and walking herself dead-tired, helped not to think about the future. Choosing not socialize with other people in the pack helped her to avoid the necessity to pretend and lie - two things she was very bad at. But if it was so obvious that she was not doing well, if Gannet's keen observation on their first meeting had not been some special talent of his, then the last thing Sarah wanted was to explain herself every time she made a new acquaintance.

It was easier to avoid them altogether, which she had done by leaving Lost Creek Hollow behind her, when it had too difficult to breathe freely there and sought out solitude in a different area not far from it. Here with the red-pelted canids as her only company and the sound of their stealthy steps in the background she felt at peace. She watched the moon and stars, while her thoughts were miles away.

FROM THE MOMENT AURE had wrested herself from the Tanglewood's grasp, it'd been nothing but hard travel from the past two days. It was the words of the wanderess and blessing she'd bestowed upon the skayona, and whether or not she'd returned to Stigmata's claim yet, Aure had been too restless and fitful to wait any longer. If she could listen to this Stigmata, and hear from his own lips that Vonn had breathed, then it was myth come to life for her. Something she wouldn't let herself believe because it nigh on defied logical; but no. Vonn had survived that fall. If she'd known he'd fallen into Diasporan lands in a similar manner, she may had made it known he was practically heavensent.

O, brother mine, her aching heart whispered. Never again will I let you fall from me. I will find you, hanar.

So entranced by her course of travel was she, she almost didn't take notice of another draug's pesence, who gazed heavensward in the manner Aure tended to do. The pallid herbalist, for one, didn't mind the scarlet spectres that flit through mist and moonlight; but she drifted towards the star-stricken she-wolf all the same. "Good night," rather than chuff-or-such in greeting, she merely lingered at the corner of her peripheral vision; not unlike a haunt herself, as if her lost soul couldn't bear to part from the stream before them.

But, no, she was tangible, one would find, as she wisped inquisitively, "Would you happen to know if I am on ze right path to a claim called 'Diaspora'?" She didn't doubt the stars that guided her. Not when they would be the same to lead her back to Vonn's side; and draw her back into her cheka's embrace. But this little valley was unfamiliar to her, even as she recognized the spires she'd first met Wintersbane under.

But she wanted to be sure nonetheless.

"For every great and remarkable person there is a constellation. For every good soul there is a star," Osprey told Sarah, Wraen and Terance, tired four-month-olds, who had curled up next to her and had listened to one of the usual evening stories. Wraen, being the smallest and most exhausted, had already dozed off, but she and Terance were still up. "Just as constellations are made of several stars, no person's road to the greatness is ever done alone. There are many people that stand behind them and often the history remembers the name of a leader, forgetting that his soldiers have been his pillars."

There had been other evenings like this, but she was drawn away from the memory lane, when someone addressed her. She blinked her eyes few times, shook her head and got to her feet to be within the same eye level of the pale-ghost-like she-wolf. Were it not for the warmth she radiated, Sarah would have believed her to be a ghost. "Diaspora?" she repeated, taking her time to mull over this word in her mind, trying to recall, if Terance had mentioned any pack of such name. But nothing came up. "Never heard of them. Lost Creek hollow is that way," she beckoned in the direction of her pack's residence, in case this name rang a bell to the stranger and could be used as a landmark to steer her on the right path again.

THE GREY SHE-WOLF WASN'T the only one who hesitated at first glance; Aure's neck arched a tad, unable to start when she saw the balding about the gray one's practical face. But the response snagged her attention once more, and she couldn't help as her feathered ears splayed uncertainly. "They must be recently formed, I suppose." Nonetheless, she followed the slate female's gesture, glancing over her sharp shoulder from the way she'd come. "I'll admit, I have a, ahm... hunch, if you will, that they may be to ze south."

A little flustered of herself - for hunches were known to be entirely in the air, more oft than not - Aure turned back to the one before her. "I seek one named Vonnaruil, a brother who I have been parted from for too long. I come here on a Diasporan's blessing, and so..." Fidgeting a bit, she scuffed a rose-padded paw through frost-limned ferns. "I can only hope that this residence truly exists." The wanderess ended her contemplation with an anxious nip to her lips, quietly watching the female before her for any spark of recognition, knowledge, anything.

Sarah found it was easy to talk with the stranger, when it was concerned only about it's own problems and did not burden her with any questions of a personal nature. Getting her mind to work on something else than her issues, was helpful too, therefore she listened with interest, but somewhat weary expression that told, how tired she really was and how much effort it took to keep up. 

"I don't know any packs that are South," she said, wondering, if Terance had mentioned any other neighbours, save for Easthollow, but not recalling them. When stranger mentioned "coming on Diasporan's blessing", Sarah furrowed her brow in confusion. How could that be? But in the end, if this character contradicted herself, it was none of her business. "Have not heard about a Vonnaruil in these parts," she offered, though realizing that this was hardly helpful, because she had not cared to pay much attention to strangers or other stragglers that had passed by the hollow.

"When did you lose him?" she asked then for lack of anything better to offer.

so sorry for my short ass replies ;o;

HER SADDENING OF THE prospect that neither Diaspora or her brother had been borne on the winds was palpable; ears curving away, and an unresisting frown tugged at her lips as her ears splayed. If anything, it only heightened her sense of urgency to get where she needed to. To find and listen to what she needed to... all she'd been told was that Diaspora vaguely lay somewhere, vaguely, in the south, and possibly near Easthollow. Half of her logic had been cast to the sea upon departing. Damn.

"It's been three months since I've seen him alive." Not 'well', not 'healthy': alive, breathing. "Ever since I came to ze Teekons, I guessed my way to ze coast that he may have headed there... somehow. But, two moons have passed, and I haven't heard a single word of him -- until a few days ago." Her tail feathered uncertainly at her hocks as she bit into her lip about all of this. "I... was never able to begin my search sooner, otherwise, as much as I tried to." And really, she had, with her little voyages along the coast, and even with foraging. But they'd still come up empty.

Some of the best posts I have read have been few sentences long - it's an art to write with few, but well-chosen words. And - short posts are easy on the eyes to those, who have to read them. I prefer them over "blankets of texts". :) In short - don't worry!

Sarah could sympathize with the white wolf - she too had lost track of her family and not knowing about their fate was the most difficult thing to live with every day. Part of the reason, why she had hard time recovering from the fire that had devoured her parents and her home. She was torn between the fervent hope that all of her siblings were alive and healthy, thriving somewhere else and accepting the fact that they had perished. There were days, when she believed one or the other and she knew not, which assumption was better. 

"I am sorry that I am not of any help," Sarah told the she-wolf and part of her felt sorry for herself that this was a problem her mind could not busy itself to keep the depression at bay.