Whitewater Gorge thy waters rise

Pumpkin had gone around the gigantic lake in half a day it was so big. She had found a river on the other side and followed it once again northwest, finding herself in a spooky hollow on the edge of a forest. She loved spooky places like that, but hadn’t remained for long, for it was clear that there was nothing for her there. Her end goal was to find a pack to join, and she had smelled no one around. Besides, she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live in a place like that. The river had straightened out and then she was traveling simply north.

Soon, she found herself meandering along the edge of a gorge, the water rushing loudly below her. At times, the space between the cliffs on either side were so small that she could have hopped across, but she resisted the urge. She loved splashing in rivers, but a glance below her told her that if she fell into this river, she’d almost certainly drown. The current was far too strong, the water churning so much as it smacked into the cliff walls that it looked like white foam. No. She kept herself on the left side and back far enough from the edge that even if she slipped, she would not fall in.

Ahead of her, in the distance, she could see that the gorge didn’t last forever. She wondered where the river would take her next.

me, knowing damn well i shouldn’t be joining more threads against my better judgment
since classes have started but marching my ass on in & Doing It Anyways

As the early harvest snuck its burnished, browning leaves into late summertide, Aurëwen  (sat near such a treacherous ledge)  watched as her mourner swept low in the midday skies, and wondered why, in all heavens, had she been set with a dove, of all familiars. They were peaceable creatures, meant to bring easement — why could she not have been a falconer, then? Surely she would have been given a fate with a feathered-one who was just as callous as she’d begun to feel.

Somewhere within herself, faint and eternally forthright, she ... knew the answer as to why. But, Aegelius was rung so in sun’s light that the silver must shy her eyes; casting them down and away from the rumbling waters, just as glimmering.

With Egg’s whistle of wings, though, the figure of another female forms; cloaked in a white, just as the druid herself. And yet where Aurëwen’s is a wisping cold reminiscent of frosted spires, the kindly vagrant before her is draped in a finery of smothered warmth that bespoke restful places. 

Whoever she was, she was hearth, entire, and the herbalist could only breathe a gentled  “Mára rë,”  through the ebbing ache in her glass-metal heart, argent half-sight pensive as ever.

what is this word vomit. i apologize.

A dove appeared seemingly from nowhere above her head, and Pumpkin smiled as she watched it. With the summer nearing its end, she wondered if it would fly south for the impending winter. Did doves do that? She knew geese and ducks did, but that was all she had learned of that subject before leaving home.

After a moment, she brought her orange eyes back to earth and spotted a white wolf sitting on the edge of the gorge. Another white wolf—the second in a handful of days. Was this a land of wolves who looked exclusively like her? She doubted it, and besides, that would be boring. The world needed color, which was why Pumpkin’s favorite feature were her eyes.

“Hello there!” she said, approaching the female with a wag to her tail and a grin on her face. She thought the woman had muttered something but had been unable to hear it over the sound of the rushing water below them. She took a seat nearby, though without getting too close. Her mother had instilled some manners in her (though she didn’t always follow them), and those included not popping others’ personal space bubbles. It had nothing to do with caution, for Pumpkin was naïve and didn’t ever come into a situation thinking someone might be anything other than kind. This had been fine in her home, where everyone was safe and warm, but out in the unknown, blind trust could be foolish. Whether this lesson was burned into her brain at some point would be left to time and chance.

The woman before her looked mild enough in temperament, even if she had plenty of scars along her body and face, which Pumpkin tried valiantly not to look at. She turned her face away, watching the sky instead.

sorry for the wait!! rambly phone post

The cant of her marred crown was as mild as she seemed, too, and though the eyeing towards her guise was absently noted, airgetlám did not take offense. She knew now her worth: she remembered the learned mannerisms of being looked in the eyes just as any other respectable kin, discover their truths, and after so long without such courtesies now found herself in the presence of ... one born of likewise, learnt mannerisms. Here, at this gorge, she was tethered to no place, and was merely a wanderer in her own right. 

“I do not mind,”  she lent, voice a gentled consideration; a contrast to the marks hewn into her pale masque. There wasn’t anything truer, though — before the many seasons, she had turned a cheek, felt ashamed to to be looked upon with whelphood scars both visible and veiled. It had been an irritance, then. And yet, over all those years, she ... had simply come to accept the glances; the sneaking glimpses, polite or no.

Ears cast away, she gave a curious cant of her narrow skull.  “I am Aurëwen, and ... I assume you are on travels, of sorts?”

The woman told her gently that she did not mind if Pumpkin looked at her scars, but still, the idea of openly doing so made her feel uncomfortable. Her mother had taught her to think about how she would feel if someone did something to her before deciding to do it herself. And if she’d had that many scars, she wouldn’t feel good if someone just sat there and stared at all of them. Or… maybe she would. Maybe her scars would mean she had survived many battles! She supposed that if they were war wounds, she would feel proud of them…

The woman asked a question, and Pumpkin shook her head, coming back to the present. “Yeah, I guess I’m traveling,” she said. “I’m Pumpkin. I’m looking for a pack to join. It will be Autumn soon, and I’d rather not be on my own when the weather turns. Besides… being alone is… well, lonely.” She remembered her siblings and wondered why they had all decided to split from one another. Would it not have been more fun to remain together? Explore the new lands together? A small sigh escaped her. Well, it was too late to think those things now. Of course, she had run into her brother a small time ago, but their reunion had been short-lived, and they’d once again gone their separate ways. She wondered about Cinnamon, her sister, and where her adventures had taken her.

“And what are you doing out here?” she asked casually, as a way to spark conversation. It was rude to ignore someone who had been talking to you.