The Heartwood Why does thou sit upon my grave

@Alduin — A bit short, but I think it contains all the necessary details ^^

The winds of change never do cease, for the world will never remain the same. The grave is not unquiet, but it does not speak. There are few words to hear, and yet, there is so much left to understand, to learn, to know. We are all one, but our spirits separate us, pushing us further and further from one another. When we speak truth, lies are what we hear. And when we tell lies, we hear only truth. What is life, but a reality none of us can truly comprehend? Well ... not all of us.

---

To her, in the depths of the heartwood, the wolf-dog would come to her. In the stead of her presence, she had left behind a set of clues. some, if not all were obvious. But as to whether or not he would know where the led, would be entirely up to him.

The clues left are as follows:

A single, smoldered branch, half ash and half buried in a cloak of dried moss.
Tattered and broken, the skeletal antler of an elder elk. A stench consumes it, rotting and fresh of its corpse. Even the weakest of noses could follow its malodor. 
And finally... the smallest, tainted reek of her urine, lining itself along the outer veil of topiary. It is there that the heartwood begins, but further within does she wait.

Incessantly, she waits. Even the tiniest scuffle beckons her attention, skull jerking and ears swiveling. There may be a timely delay, but he will come. What doubt could there be? There is none, the seer believes. If there were, the elder spirits would have told ill ridden lies- ... and they never lie.

Set right after this thread!

When the hellhounds eyes blink open, still blurry with a restless sleep, he swears he’s still dreaming. Banesteppe is gone for some reason and the bleary eyes beast even looks around for him too. To no avail of course. He brushes it off though, feeling groggy because a few hours sleep and not getting any nights prior. 

Until instantly, he remembers the dream he had. No wonder his head is throbbing — it was fucking weird. It felt too real and he’s had many other dreams to compare it to. Ultimately, he concludes that there was something different about it. 

And then there’s the clues…she told him to follow the clues. What clues? Should he really be thinking this hard into this? No, probably not, but something is practically forcing him to investigate.

So he does. 

Getting up with a huff of breath rushing from his nose, he gazes around tiredly. Where would he even start? He doesn’t know, so he just begins walking. Head hanging between wide shoulders, his eyes absentmindedly drift to the ground and he catches smaller paw prints only a fair two meters from where he was laying curled up beneath a tree. 

Bloody eyes squint as they focus in on the paw prints as he lowers his upper body to sniff them. Dirt puffs up around his face and his breath stirs the earth and he determines that they’re possibly only a few hours old, but there is a scent there nonetheless. 

Was someone watching me? He thinks.

All the while eyes never leave the prints in the dirt. They’re smaller than his, so he doesn’t feel threatened per say, but it doesn’t exactly make him feel comfortable with the situation. So, leaving his head at ground level, he follows the scent. It’s displaced and spotty at best, hardly there at all and completely gone at some points. 

Some ways away when he’s sure he’s lost the scent, the bright green color of moss catches his eyes. He lumbers closer and inspects it, finding a burnt, ashen branch. 

His body and mind still.

A place of ash and soot — find it. 

Follow the clues…

His first though is that this can’t be real. His second thought is that this is so fucking weird, but honestly, he speaks to a the ghost of some alien being so can it really get any worse than that?

He continues an about two hours later a scent hits his nose — elk, blood, flesh. Yet, when he follows it he finds nothing but a tattered and worn crown from that of an older bull. It has the same scent just barely mixed in with it. They’re full, an impressive set of antlers and Alduin finds the need to keep them. So tipping them onto an angle that allows him to slip his head beneath and balance them on his neck. 

He moves forward, antlers in tow, until he spots a black forest mostly devoid of life and vegetation. 

A place of ash and soot. Find it.

This is it, he knows it is. And that becomes much clearer when he begins tiptoeing along the borders and smells the very obvious scent of urine — a female wolf. 

He follows the scent further into the ashen forest, stepping casually over fallen, burnt trees and paws imprinting in the packed in soot below. Now, he wanders once more. Why did that woman in his dream lead him here? His mind is reeling at possibilities, but another part of him thinks he’s crazy for even entertaining her. But that thought flops really fucking fast because he knows he is crazy.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Pacing commended for many moments, seconds, minutes, until soon the time seemed to drag into hours. She was patient, but could only be for so long until it was worn thin and exhausted. The dark hound was cutting his bounds close.

Little known by most, the keenest of patience comes with great reward and satisfaction. All the while, the lithe, creeping creature had kept her ears riveted. In doing so, soon she was able to make out a light scuffle, then a heavy thump...

Something approached.

Lapis darting upward, aiming for the direction in which the sounds came. Slowly, deviously, a wry smile curved along a thin lip. Someone was here, and she knew just who.

Slinking her way forward, the creature lifted her head high, cyan blue gaze beaming towards the nearing figure. 

Welcome home. She rasped, loud enough for him to hear, but quiet as though she were whispering. A new voice, but familiar. He had known her once, but even now, it would surely be estranged to his memory. 

Behind the fray of chocolate fur, the heartwood began to chime in, elder trunks bellowing and the leaves upon them rustling to a neat rhythm. They sang the song that had once been foretold. It was fate that called him here, and so fate he would continue to follow. Now the woman waited to see how he would accept the words given to him, or if more would be necessary to come.

Alduin’s heard the tales of old. His father, Kynareth, told him stories about witches and shamen all the same. A mysterious bunch, though Alduin would not consider himself even a pinch religious, he does believe in mystics. Magic or spells as some would say and today he would have it proven to him that things of the such do actually exist.

Especially when he hears the crackling of bark and the rustling of foliage telling the presence of another. And when he turns to see exact what it is, he finds a sight that genuinely makes his mind go blank. 

A she-wolf of dark and light browns alike, lithe and mysterious. The image of the wolf from his dream sprouts in his minds eye…they look identical. The confusion shows on his face, whereas usually, his expression shows nothing. With furrowed brows and a tight mouth, he tilts his head as he gazes upon her form appearing from sheet of fog and ashen trees. 

Welcome home. She says, it cause Alduin to lift his head some as he looks upon her. He even widens his stance some, puffing out his chest to make himself bigger. Blame the toxic masculinity. 

Yet, with all this, he can’t help but think that she seems familiar. Not in the sense that he’s seen her in his dreams, but at another time on his life. But his sickness, it causes his memory to be just as unreliable as walking along a cliff at night.

“Who are you?” The hellhound breathes in a deep tone.

The bold words below are meant to mark her "hints" as to the titles and ranks of the pack's hierarchy

Oh, the sweet sensation of his behavioral response. All males had a sense of masculinity, this was known. But was there ever a time it was too much? There always was ... but did they show it? Hell no.

Smile fading into a small scowl, the faint glow disappeared, eyes narrowing heavily, scornfully. 

Though small, the woman moved rather quickly, seemingly slithering closer until she was parallel to his flank. She stood there for a long moment, silent, while hot breath fumed from her flared nostrils. From his shoulder, then his cheek, and finally to his ear, the creature searched for a target. If man would not give up the flames that ignites their dominant nature, then it would simply put out by a willing force. Shortly after the decision had been made, she reared upon her hind legs and targeted her jaws towards the man's ear, hoping to either leave a mark or tear the cartilage entirely. Either would do, so long as she made her point.

Point made.

Then on to business. "Who are you?" He'd asked. A fool, or so she'd now made of him. How is it that she could recognize him, but he did not reciprocate? If light hearted, perhaps she would have been offended.

There is great sorrow and disappointment I carry, for you do not remember my face. But unfortunately, familiarity holds no importance for your future ... our future.

The woman stopped ever so now and then, teeth snapping at each paw and quarter to be sure the hound was paying attention. 

Your soul, your spirit- it has been split, broken, condemned; you are damaged by means of no repair ... however, you can make use of what you have become. Before you lies the heartwood. Here, you will build your nest to give life to what will soon be yours. You will become the master of the damned, lord of the forsaken, guiding those who cannot even begin to fathom the realities they walk with. This world has not accepted you for who you are, nor who you can become..- and they never will.

Now she circled to his front, staring crudely towards his mottled face. You will be something great. All you must do is believe it and listen. Listen to those who are here to provide the steps you need to find and secure your brighter future.

She'd told him what he needed to know. But now she needed to know whether he had been listening and would continue to. For if not, this would have all been a waste.

It seems with just three words, her entire being changes. A scowling type of disappointment shifts onto the dark woman’s face, yet all Alduin does is watch her. He tries to read her, but she is just about anything but an open book — besides her obvious distain for the hellhounds answer of course.

In response, she stalks forward. Nostrils flaring with the intensity of obvious disappointment and perhaps even anger. He can’t tell which one, but it must be one of the other — maybe even both. No, most likely both. And judging by the look on the supposed strangers pretty face, she looks just about ready to bite his face off. Little does he know that she will actually do it — and soon too.

So he tilts his head towards her as she stands beside him, wary of their close distance, but alas, he does not move. He is not scared of a small woman such as her. And in his lifetime, there will be no physical being that will frighten him so. She follows in that category, but out of everything he expects her to say or do, he does not expect her to lash out at him. Him. A scarred, burly, beast of a man — the reaper and hellhound himself.

For a pinch of a second he is struck with surprise as the small, thin woman uses his bulk as a stepping stool just to rip a bite from short, round, ears. That is until he too is quick to react. And he reacts as soon as his usual fiery hatred that continues to drive him forth in this world rears it’s own ugly head.

As blood trickles thickly from a slashed ear, he turns on her quickly with a snarl being ripped from massive jaws. A simple snap in her direction would suffice, for the only reason he doesn’t attack her is because he wants to know how all of these so called coincidences fall in place. Yet, his right mind hardly gets a hold of him — with Banesteppe whispering in his ear and anger licking at his chest, saliva falls from loose, snarling lips. And to make his male pride hurt even worse, she’s right back to business soon after. As if she hadn’t just drawn blood and just about asked to be ripped to pieces. He’s killed others for much less than that.

Plus, Alduin feels as if he’s getting whiplash. She speaks of familiarity — she knows him — but why can he not remember her? He’s had this problem since he got back to the wilds and his brain bounces off the walls of his thick dome trying to find that own familiarity within his distance and blurry memories.

And then she moves around him, speaking once more and snapping pretty white jaws at any angle she can get. The hellhound growls menacingly — a threatening sound deep within his chest that comes with a promise of blood and gnashing teeth. 

But he does not move or snap back. No, he keeps a tall, ferocious stance, following her with a fiery gaze everywhere she goes. Burning her visage into memory and trying to place it in his past.

How does he know her?

He can’t think long, for her words echo in his mind. She says his spirit is broken — split in half and condemned. Yes, he knows this, but how does she? It bothers him. 

But then,

You will become the master of the damned, lord of the forsaken, guiding those who cannot even begin to fathom the realities they walk with. This world has not accepted you for who you are, nor who you can become…

And they never will. 

That. That is his reality. She knows it too.

Only then, she’s circling around to bravely look death right in the eyes. He stares back, fiery and defiant, but listening nonetheless.

Her last words ring in his mind just as the others had. 

A brighter future. She says.

But those specific words make his cynical, self destructive, maniacal brain want to laugh. 

So he does. 

It’s borderline humorless and more sarcastic than anything. A harsh bark of scratching laughter grading on listening ears. It even sounds cynical to himself. Yet, the sound drops into a deep rumble and smoothes out until it is no longer.

“A bright future?” He purrs back, bravely stepping towards her, towering over her smaller frame. “I am sick and I will die sick.” He spits. “But my suffering is only temporary. Or so I’m told, but I believe it to be immortal.”

He stops for a moment, taking another step towards her. If she doesn’t move back, he will lower his head, practically nose to nose, before speaking again. 

“Tell me, witch. Is that why you’re here? To brighten a forsaken man’s future?” A squint of his eyes separates his sentences more abruptly. “And tell me, witch,” He repeats. “from where do I know you? Or are you exclusive to my dreams?”

As to prevent too long of a post and to be sure I do not prolong any wait to get this reply out, I will be focusing the response towards the last half of Alduin's.

 "A bright future?"

 "I am sick and I will die sick."

 "But my suffering is only temporary. Or so I’m told, but I believe it to be immortal."

This man had indeed been condemned and broken; lies in which have been told by a single evil soul, or more. She knew not how to appease him, and so she would let the elders speak through her.

But you are wrong, damned one. Your suffering is at the hand of another. Someone has poisoned you; corrupted you. There will be no such thing as immortality for your physical being. But, with my help, your spirit will live on to eternity. You have been given a second chance to make use of what time you have left to live. None can say how long it will last, but you can improve your chances. Whatever dark spirit haunts you... force them away. They will only lead you to your death.

His future would indeed be bright, but only if he allowed it to happen.

 "Tell me, witch. Is that why you’re here? To brighten a forsaken man’s future?"

 "And tell me, witch," ... "from where do I know you? Or are you exclusive to my dreams?"

The babbling... the constant, useless questions — they were driving her patience to its bitter end. Why could he not just simply accept it? It wasn't a difficult thing to do. And yet, he was as stubborn as stubborn could be.

I am here as the elders have bid. My gifts are not meant for the use of all; but only they are meant for one. As if it would be difficult to assume who would the recipient. Wake yourself, Khasni snapped, yet again looming to nip at any angle of the man she could reach. I am as real as any eye could ponder. You are no stranger to me, as I am not to you. Think. Snapping teeth commanded that he do so, pearls targeting tufts of fur to prove that this was all real. Think! Louder now, she spoke. Her voice boomed, quaking the grounds beneath their feet. Slowly, the woman began to circle him, eyes never leaving the frame before her. Take my image and run it through your past. Only you can find the truth. Figure it out, for I cannot tell you. They would not allow it, but how would be believe this if she told him? So she would give no reason.

Sry for the slow replies :’) I’m trying to play catch up.

Oh yes, the hellhound is indeed broken — damned to suffer for the rest of his short life. And even in death, he will be meant to suffer. Suffer along Banesteppe — his would-be god — for all of eternity. It doesn’t sound fun, but the more Alduin has to deal with the ghostly figure, the more plausible it seems; the less he hates the idea. 

Acceptance is key, right?

No, not to this witch he has found himself speaking with. Who appeared like magic in his dreams and further thrusted into tangible being (if her teeth have anything to say about it).

And so she says she was sent here. Sent here in his benefit no less. Interesting. He wants to hear more, only without her teeth gnawing at him. Only now he’s feeling more inclined to bite back.

He listens to her first words, eyeing her down intensely as she goes. But her last words stick with him.

Whatever dark spirit haunts you…force them away. They will only lead you to your death.

What if he doesn’t mind death though?

And still, when he asks her what she is doing here, she continues. Her words cryptic and mysterious— he likes the way her voice sounds despite the way her teeth bite. Venomous — small but deadly. Like a rattlesnake. 

And then suddenly,

Wake yourself!

Teeth snap at a rounded shoulder. He snaps his head in her direction once more, lips wrinkling slightly. 

I am as real as any eye could ponder. You are no stranger to me, as I am not to you. Think.

He knows her. Another snaps of teeth brings back a flash of memories. It stunts him — shocks him like lightning — leaving a twisted, vein like scar. 

A scar on his memory. 

Think.

Take my image and run it through your past. Only you can find the truth. Figure it out, for I cannot tell you.

She circles him like shark herding seal. 

He twists himself to look at her — stare into her eyes. A burst of silvery ice and red hot fire — clashing. And then it’s like a movie plays in his mind completely out of his own control.

Her face — much more youthful — shows before him. 

A memory.

Accompanying it are words — conversations. The way they tiptoes around once another. Her secretive confidence mixed with his own dark aura.

Khasni. 

The hellhound blinks his eyes and stares at her once more — visible surprise written on a usually stoic face. 

“Khasni.” He confirms, hoping that if he says it out loud he will not forget. And then once more, “Khasni.”

And then he moves to turn his body in her direction then. “What tricks have you learned in order to find me — to invade my dreams?” He wonders, familiarity coloring his eyes, as a hardly there smile moves onto his scarred muzzle. He snaps out at her with his own jaws this time, purposely missing, but toying with her nonetheless. 

“You are a proper witch now then?” He rumbles. “How did you make me remember?”

The damned beast did not simply stand there. No, he fought back. She could have almost admitted she enjoyed the retaliation — craved it, actually. As his lips curled and his teeth snapped in echo of her own, a crude glimmer shone through her gaze.

Think, think! Silence demanded. He was thinking hard, but not hard enough. It was taking too much time. Why was his memory so desolate?

   "Khasni."

Ah, yes. There it was. The realization. A long awaited smile formed upon her lips. He remembered.

   “What tricks have you learned in order to find me — to invade my dreams?”

Now, now, little hound... If I gave away my secrets, I would end up the creature to cause your demise. A jest; nothing of truth. It was nothing short of simply asking around and tracking the familiar scent, but nonetheless, she found pleasure toying with him. 

   “You are a proper witch now then?”

The smile faded rather quickly into a tightly drawn grimace. Witch. How cruel. The nickname had to go. Now.

Muzzle jolting, a crack-like sound split through the air. Her teeth came close to biting a sliver from his snout, but stopped a centimeter away from doing so. I am no witch, brute, She snarled, saliva turning to froth against her tongue. Never call me that again. From there she could have easily made her point, but just for added measure... Are. We. Clear? Up in his face now, a pointed, broiling stare waited expectantly for a response. If it wasn't the right one, she would be sure not to miss with her teeth the next go-around.