Honeyed Pasture and watched an aspen that confirmed it

trade thread!

the morning was overcast; a drab and dull grey settling over the heather grasses of the pasture, painting the landscape an ill color. even still, the drab day does not hinder ingram's purpose as he prowls the tall grasses. it's easy for him to slink in their cover, even if the keeper is not camouflaged. instead, he stalks like the shadow of death; ignoring the deer that drink with a blissful ignorance in the nearest water source.

he can hear them but it is not a live specimen he seeks.

with his moss covered antler having been abandoned in ursus where he'd left it ( in some hole he'd claimed as a 'den' or another ), he was in search of a new one. a better one; assuming that morgana — even if he suspects they got off on the wrong paw ( his fault ) — or trikova could use something like it for a ritual.

not that ingram pretends to know much of religious rituals. he suspects regardless, and in time, he will learn. for now, he is content to do what is asked of him and search for trinkets he thinks might be of use.

she too roamed the dreary field that morning, though without stealth. there was no need for it. it was not her plan to ambush the deer she stalked from afar. only to search. to study.

and as morgana carefully picked through the herd she spotted an inky blot amongst them. the boy.

she settled on her haunches and turned her attention to him. she was curious to see what he planned to do.

it is not an antler from a live deer he seeks — mostly because he was only one and he did not have the skills to take down a buck by himself ( even if he would've been an adult ) — but the scents tell him that the deer roam and linger in this area.

he follows where the scents hang thick and heavy into the air — unaware that he is followed — discovering what he was looking for: a small pile shed antlers; covered in spiderwebbing moss.

a low rumble of content lingers in ingram's chest as he plucks the biggest antler betwixt his jaws; tasting deer musk and earthy moss. he turns to make his journey back in search of trikova or morgana ...only to see speaker's form in the distance, watching him.

he approaches her and sits the antler down at his paws. for your rituals. he offers, motioning to the antler with his paws. many questions bubble to the edge of his tongue ( annoying as it was because he didn't enjoy talking and instead preferred the silence he'd once held to ) and he sorts through them. let me know if you and the listener need anything. he almost calls her trikova but stops himself: that name is for them, between them only.

the boy grabs an antler from a buck’s recent shed — one draped with dirt and moss — and turned to face her. her tail whisked gently, catlike, as he approached with his find.

it’s for rituals, he says.

the listener will appreciate your work.

morgana’s eyes trailed across it’s sharp ends.

i wonder if this fell from the head of the ill. she looked up at ingram. have you seen the disease?

ingram only barely resists preening beneath morgana's affirmation that trikova would appreciate his work. though it was surely visible to anyone with eyes how utterly devoted he was to her. enough that she'd returned and he'd turned his back upon ursus without second thought, how he'd missed her with a physical ache in his chest when she'd been gone.

regardless, her approval was the goal. even if he was a bit of a fumbling foal when it came to religious things, especially the religion the pair appeared to practice. but! he would learn. he was willing to learn, even if he could not entirely shake all of his mother's ingrained beliefs ( to his dismay ).

his brow furrows as she speaks of illness and he peers down at the antler for a few moments, before his seagreen gaze lifts to morgana once more. no, he says, remembering the felled goat he'd feasted upon and then fallen quite ill from afterwords ...but that had been some time ago and he hadn't come across it since ( and it hadn't smelled ill ). it looks old. he observes, even if he had no way to logically know that and drew that observation solely from being moss covered.

ingram shrugs his broad shoulders and tries to think of something to speak to her about. conversations weren't exactly his strong suit — he favored grunts, growls, rumbles and non-verbal communication — but he wants to know her better, for she is still an unknown player, to him. an enigma ...and not in the way he finds endearing of trikova ( but he's probably extremely biased ).

i want to learn more, he announces, a bit caveman-esque, as if he'd forgotten words to elaborate. about the unnamed god and ...rituals and things. it wasn't a great attempt but it was honest and surely that had to count for something? and i do not want to take up all of the listener's time. for her time was precious and surely could not be stolen all by him ( despite how much he wished to ). would you ...teach me? he asks.

he claimed he hadn’t seen it, and morgana believed that. he did not see because he was blind to it. many wolves were, she imagined. they most likely saw this as great fortune. she saw it how it truly was; the beginning of an end. a curse, one that would not affect her, nor the listener. and now it would not affect ingram.

he asked something of her. knowledge of which she could provide very little of. i am… still learning of this god myself. to be left in the dark like this brought her discomfort. she clung onto whatever sliver of light that beamed down on her, and happily shared that to the boy. it was to feel as though she was well within the light.

but they have been with me for a long time. they told me of the plague that’s beginning to infect these creatures now long before the first fell ill. it is a sign.

to her words, ingram offers a softened noise of contemplation as morgana admits that she is still learning herself. it leads ingram to consider that perhaps the unnamed god was not keen on letting every facet of itself known except to perhaps its most devout. or perhaps that was something that was only ever strove for but never accomplished. admittedly, his lack of knowledge regarding religion of any sort left him with the feeling that he was a fumbling foal in the dark: determined and eager to learn but unsure where to start.

so, he looks towards those who know more to guide him.

the knowledge that the unnamed god told her of the plague she'd asked him about does draw some surprise from ingram. a sign, morgana tells him.

a soft shiver slithers up his spine. a good sign or a bad sign? was there such a thing when a deity was involved? so many questions batter around within ingram's mind that he struggles to grasp one. a sign for us? or a sign for those who do not know and do not believe?

the idea that morgana may not have an answer does not cross ingram's mind. he assumes that the unnamed god was always forward with their omens ...still too new to understand that such is perhaps not how things worked.

both. she felt it so.

a curse for them, but a blessing for us. this plague marks the end for wolves of simple minds. and they were blind to it.

but it is a new beginning for us.

both.

ingram lets that thought linger for a few moments, contemplating it.

survival of the strongest. he murmurs in a rumble, a small grin tugging at the edges of his scarred lips. strongest of body. strongest of mind. it didn't matter. strongest in any and all of its forms.

i should probably get back. he says after a moment, his seaglass gaze scanning their surroundings. he is loathe to be absent from trikova's side for too long.

he grasps his finding betwixt his jaws once more, adjusting it so the antlers weren't stabbing him in the cheek before he silently invites morgana to join him on his journey back with a tip of his head. she was welcome to accept or decline if she had further business. either way, he began retracing his steps, hoping that trikova would like her ritual gift.

last post for me & ingram. feel free to reply once more or archive as is. <3