Ouroboros Spine xii. it's spiraling down

AW, naturalist #5

Lótë spotted it after coming across the tiny hot spring, its edges and bottoms covered and ringed by water-smoothed stones. She couldn't help but dip herself in the warmth of the waters, finding she greatly preferred it to washing herself in the chill of the lake in the foothills beneath the Spine -- even if it was refreshingly cold. When she had emerged and shaken the moisture from her pelt, spruce peridots fell upon the clusters of white flowers with a keen eye.

The herdstalker had no desire to touch or gather any of the hemlock but pattered closer regardless and scanned over the length of the plant curiously, wondering if it might ever come in handy to have the water hemlock at hand. Perhaps at the very least they would know to keep any pups the spring produced away from this place -- lest they ingest the poison.

It took a while for Nuak to gather his bearings upon the mountain. He had never lived anywhere higher than the Bearclaw Valley and unfortunately, did not know of his bloodline's affinity for the higher reaches.

He kept the gifted pelt with himself at all times — carrying it to new locations where he would hide away, nap, and occasionally stow the red fur while he explored.

One such moment came when he discovered the hot springs. The smell of the steam was thick in the air. It wasn't unbearable to the boy, so he investigated the edge of the water until he heard someone else coming up the path; at this point he turned and moved towards the cover of trees, where he'd stashed the fur.

When he turned again to watch from the shadows, he spotted a wheat-gold figure following the spring's edge. When she began to wade in the shallows he averted his eyes as one might when catching a stranger bathing; but he was still curious, and feeling safely hidden, he stole some glances.

The ground beneath her paws was blanketed in springy mosses in hues of green and brown, soggy as it squished between her pawpads. It masked the boy's scent from the ecologist well, the air humid and thick with a musty perfume like bog water -- or sulfur perhaps from the heated pool. He was hidden well, his presence undetected by the birdwatcher (who was not accustomed to being the subject of observation rather than the observer).

The she-wolf continued to study the plant for another heartbeat longer, trying to ascertain for sure that it was truly poisionous. Some plants had a habit of resembling harmful relatives to confuse those that might consider eating them. Hemlock in particular was known for looking suspiciously like wild carrots and parsnips, which were edible if not palatable to most wolves. 

The woman had her eyes on some plants. Her focus drew his eye, and when Nuak saw them, he recognized them from the storehouse in Ursus; they were more lively in appearance here where they were rooted rather than hanging and dry, like in that cellar. He did not know their name — but they had been kept with the more dangerous collection left behind by Evien.

A part of Nuak was intrigued to see them. He wondered what the woman wanted them for, or if she even knew what they were. If she grabbed the wrong part of the plant it could hurt her. If he intervened he could help, to some extent... But Nuak was more interested in seeing what the plants did, rather than trying to lend a hand.

He wondered if all the women of this place knew herbs like Evien, and spirits like Averna. From the dark recess within which he hid, Nuak continued to watch and bide his time — hoping she would reach out and try something with the nettles and shoots of green, for his own amusement.

Fortunately for her, and unfortunately for the boy watching, Aiwë was knowledgeable enough not to touch the plant -- even if she wasn't yet sure that it was truly harmful. Most botanists, at least those with common sense, would know better than to risk grabbing any part of a suspicious plant in their mouth or even touch it with their skin. 

Instead, the doe bent and began to scrape away at the soft, moist earth the stalks were rooted in. She would destroy it, she decided, for she could see no reason why they might need poisons and there was no sense in risking one of their packmates ingesting it. She would dig it up, root and stem, before fetching a hide to wrap it in and dispose of it beyond their territory, she decided as she tore at the ground.

The moment was lackluster in the end.

She wisely began excavation of the roots, while Nuak observed, but he grew bored of the stranger's antics.

As he turned his attention away - listening to the trees and the wind dragging between their branches - he was briefly distracted.

Dust, or maybe one of the white motes of dogwood, tickled at his nose. The sudden sneeze resulting from that would inevitably betray the boy's position among the ferns.

He sat upright after, stunned by the sound that he had made.

Lótë froze, experiencing a horrible rush of déjà vu as her flesh pimpled and her fur spiked with fear -- the acrid tang of it perfuming the damp air surrounding the herbologist. She imagined she could feel his eyes roaming over her, devouring her. 

She blinked the memory away, returning to the present as she turned sharply towards the noise -- task abandoned for the moment. Wary jade gemstones scoured the treeline, searching for the silhouette hidden there but he was dark and blended well -- a broken mosaic of a boy, an ankle here and an ear there like a scrambled Picasso. "Hello?" the two-year called out softly, though the word was edged slightly -- sharp with her nervousness at being spied on. 

Nuak struggled to right himself. He was all manner of stilt-legged and gawky, like a baby giraffe. During his spasm one of the boy's hind feet caught among the bushes and he had to yard on it to pull it free, resulting in some more stomping around, and by the time he had managed to draw himself together he was found-out.

The stranger's face had gone from peering down upon the plant to stare directly at him. Nuak saw a ripple of movement as they approached where he had been hiding and his own fur bristled, his body snaking as low as he could make it, while baring his teeth defensively. His tail struck at the bushes behind him and made them shudder until he stiffly drew backwards.

More akin to an angry badger or something of that sort now, Nuak did not answer their greeting save to snarl and paw the dirt, warning the stranger away from him. Nobody in Ursus would have accepted his lurking without contest, and so he anticipated a challenge to arise.

Lótë hadn't expected him to be afraid of her, mainly because he was the spying culprit in this scenario and also just because it was hard for her to imagine scaring anyone. Regardless of her surprise, the herbologist splayed her fallow ears against her skull in a gesture of apology and stepped back a pace from the treeline. Both to reassure the youth that she meant him no harm by approaching and to avoid any further aggression should he come bursting from the trees to attack her anyways. She sat on her haunches, head lowered as she curled her shoulders to avoid standing at full height -- making herself even smaller and less threatening. 

Her features and voice were softer when she called out to the snarling shadow again. She could remember her adolescence clearly; the herd-watcher could recall vividly being younger, smaller, frightened. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You can come out if you want to." 

She fell silent for a moment before thinking to add: "I'm Lótë."

She did not come for him. If anything, his dispay had cowed her. The woman backed off and for a moment Nuak felt powerful — also, confused. It was rare that anyone take him seriously. What should have bolstered the boy's ego only perplexed him.

No assault, and no escape, from the woman. Only the sinking of her posture and some words to try and ease the tension from Nuak; he did not like what he did not understand, and this was new behavior. Was he a threat to her, or not? If he was, where were the teeth? She only humored him as a plaything, he reasoned — unreasonably suspicious — and when she named herself, he only met the word with a sneer and a low hiss.

Nuak would not say anything to her. He could not trust what she would do with his name, and backed away through the shadows, unwilling to turn his back until he had wound his way apart from her safely. The glower of his dark gaze -- catching a shaft of light, glimmering like rueful fire -- was all that could be seen, prior to fleeing.

He did not emerge. Rather, the herd-stalker heard a low hiss and caught the glimmer of a hateful ochre orb -- skittish and mistrustful. Another rustle and she was left alone in the trees. She sighed, slightly frustrated, but couldn't quite say she was surprised. She probably wouldn't have come out if she were the boy either.

The greenpaw turned back to the half-finished furrows, digging until the stalks of water hemlock collapsed to the disturbed earth. Aiwë left the fallen plant where it lay, trotting back towards her ulaq to retrieve a pelt that she could wrap it in.