Cassiopeia's View And I'm still so blue,

The mountain breathed quiet against Morwenna's skin, the night settled thick and deep around her, stars stark against the blackened sky. She lay sprawled atop a flat rock, a lone sentinel above the world she’d distanced herself from. Each breath she took was slow, steady, echoing against the cliffs, and for once her mind did not rage—it merely lingered on everything that had been.

She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of a life lived beneath betrayal, of her choices winding upward until they led her here. Her body was cold, yet her heart felt warm, almost light—a stark contrast she hadn't expected to feel. She was better off here, she realized, letting go of the past with each exhaled breath. Her purpose was hers alone now.

A gust swept past, brushing the edges of her fur with a chill that nudged her awake, and she sat up, preparing to descend back toward the foothills. But as she did, a scent struck her—a haunting familiarity that stirred long-buried memories and opened an ache she'd thought dulled.

It was unmistakable, that soft, wild edge, tethered to someone from a life once close to her heart. Morwenna’s pulse quickened, and she hesitated before breathing out the name, half-disbelieving, yet yearning for it to be true.

…Gjalla.

@Gjalla

The name hung in the air, a whisper carried by the wind, and as if summoned by the call of the past, Gjalla emerged from the shadows of the jagged stone path, her figure half-illumined by the faint, silvery light of the stars above.  She had been tracking a path well-worn by her own restless thoughts, guided by an instinct she could never name. And there she was—Morwenna, the queen without a throne, silhouetted against the midnight sky. It suited her still.

Her heart pounding in her chest, periwinkle eyes searching her face like she would disappear. When she did not, Gjalla closed the distance to embrace the woman. Gjalla's neck curve to fit against hers, drinking in the scent of plum and sleet, nose buried into her mane.

"Mo," Gjalla whispered, huffing a disbelieving laugh. Her voice was low, steady—a stark contrast to the years that had passed between them, yet the warmth of her words had not yet left. The sight of her spirit sister stirred something deep within her, an old ache. Something potent and undeniably soft.  There was no need for pretenses here, no guarded masks. She'd found that Morwenna often saw through hers anyway, too alike in their natures.

"I've missed you."

A shuddered breath escaped Morwenna as she collided into her sister’s embrace, the years melting away with each touch. Her neck entwined with Gjalla's, bodies curved to fit like they’d never left one another. She pressed kisses into the silvery fur along her sister's neck, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent that could only be Gjalla—a blend of juniperberries and something achingly comforting.

Oh, Gjalla, she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders, one she hadn't known she'd been carrying until this very moment. The relief flooded her, settling into her bones as though she'd finally found her way back home.

When she pulled back just enough to search Gjalla’s face, a gentle smile touched her lips. Skoros issi ao kesīr? she whispered, almost afraid that asking the question might shatter this fragile, beautiful moment.

Gjalla’s heart stilled as Morwenna’s breath ghosted across her fur, a tether of warmth pulling her back into a past she’d tried desperately to forget. It was all at once a balm and a raw ache—her sister’s embrace, her murmured words, the familiar weight of their bond wrapping around her like a shelter she hadn’t known she needed. She softened, pressing her forehead gently to Morwenna’s as if grounding herself in the presence she’d thought lost to memory.

Morwenna’s question, whispered in their mother-tongue, stirred Gjalla from her silence. She pulled back just enough to meet her sister’s gaze, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, laced with a touch of wry humor that masked the bittersweet sorrow lodged in her chest.

"Ao pendagon nyke would've umptan isse evenspire tolī everything pōnta gōntan naejot ao?" She murmured, a fierceness threading her tone. "Issa pazavorve iksos naejot ao, mo. Va moriot."

Morwenna felt Gjalla’s words settle into her, a powerful balm against wounds she’d tried to bury. As the strength in her sister’s voice threaded itself through her like a lifeline, Morwenna’s eyes grew wet. Her own heart clung to Gjalla’s gaze, unable to hide the depth of her relief and sorrow.

Sepār ao gīda daor se visshagon iksis aōhon, she whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned into the warmth of Gjalla’s forehead against her own. A tear slipped down her cheek, unbidden, and she couldn’t hold back the raw tremor of her voice. Ao istan ūja hen sepār, taoba.

The intensity of her gratitude, layered with the ache of lost time, overwhelmed her; she swallowed down the knot in her throat, breathing in the comfort of her sister’s scent as if to replace all the days she had been gone.

Gjalla felt her own heart twist as Morwenna trembled against her, weight pressing into the spaces between them like echoes from an old song. Her sister’s voice filled the night with a warmth so familiar, so achingly dear, that Gjalla could do nothing but hold her closer, unwilling to let the moment slip away. She closed her eyes, letting her cheek rest against the softness of Morwenna’s mane, breathing in the scent of plum and sleet that carried her back to a life they once knew.

"Shijetra issa," she murmured, low and raw. "Syt leaving, syt everything." Morwenna’s shuddering breaths against her neck spoke more than words ever could. Gjalla felt the delicate tremor of her sister’s heart, and a pang of fierce protectiveness welled up within her, mingling with her own remorse. She pulled back slightly, enough to see the tear slipping down Morwenna’s cheek, and with a tender brush of her muzzle, she wiped it away, pressing her forehead gently to hers once more.

"Darkness kostagon māzigon," she whispered, a promise waiting on her tongue, "Vyn ziry jāhor dōrī sagon enough naejot qūvy īlva apart. Daor while nyke emagon jelevre, mo." And with that, Gjalla stood rooted, a shield forged from loyalty and love, ready to face whatever came for them both in the light or the dark.

Morwenna felt Gjalla’s words settle into her, a powerful balm against wounds she’d tried to bury. As the strength in her sister’s voice threaded itself through her like a lifeline, Morwenna’s eyes grew wet. Her own heart clung to Gjalla’s gaze, unable to hide the depth of her relief and sorrow.

Nyke gīmigon ao issi mōris, kostilus. Yn syt ānogar emilun se dāezira ūndegon, īlva rūsīr iksos iāngilūks, iā īlva skoriot. Kesir hēnkirī gīmigon ao rūsīr issi īlon iā vie ziry. Kessa nūmāzma gaomagon naejot ēdruta,

Morwenna’s voice was low, barely a whisper against the dark. Her gaze softened as she spoke, the words soothing yet weighted, each syllable an offering. The last few moments between them had tugged loose every carefully woven thread that had held her heart intact. Gjalla’s warmth was a balm she had nearly forgotten—nearly, but not quite. She leaned into her sister, the briefest smile flickering at the corners of her mouth as she pulled herself closer to those days when they knew each other like their own breath.

She exhaled deeply, pressing her forehead against Gjalla’s for a moment longer before drawing back, her eyes catching the glimmer of moonlight reflected in her sister's.

Morwenna paused, searching her sister’s eyes, wondering if all that had once bound them could be re-knitted, if their rift could be bridged by the strength of their loyalty to one another. Kesīr ao māzigon īlva rūsīr ēzi hen hen qintirī, ao gīmigon iksan iā ao iā lēkia syt nyke jāhor jorrāelagon ao sesīr. Ānogar vaores hedrī daor naejot ilzigon. Aō gaomagon aō sōvēt? Aō gaomagon nūmāzma rūsīr, kostilus?

Gjalla held Morwenna's gaze, her sister’s words echoing against the quiet of the night, each one an assurance that wove itself tightly into her heart. To know that she had been forgiven, not just in words, lifted a weight from her spirit. She had carried her own remorse like a burden, a reminder of the rift that had marred their bond and the years she could never return. Yet here, beneath a ceiling of stars, that gulf felt insignificant—a shadow against the strength of Morwenna’s loyalty.

At her sister's question, Gjalla’s expression flickered with something close to sadness, a shadow that quickly hardened into resignation. She pulled back just enough to look into Morwenna’s eyes, the faintest of smiles softening an otherwise steely countenance. A pack had never felt like an option, not when her heart had always returned to the mountains, to the shadows of Stormrift and her spirit sister’s side. But Morwenna opened a possibility Gjalla had all but abandoned. "Daor," she'd confess it freely. "Nyke mērī, nykeēdrosa." The North had always been her home. It shaped her spirit, a land steeped in memories—for better or worse.

"Yn daor longer. Skoriot ao jikagon, nyke jāhor follow." Gjalla felt no compulsion to move on, no need to chase the cold solitude she had worn like armor. Not before her sister. "Nyke rūsīr ao hae bōsa hae ao emagon jorrāelagon hen issa." she whispered with an sure nod.

Morwenna's gaze softened as she took in Gjalla's words, feeling the warmth of her sister's forgiveness wrap around her like a protective cloak. The bond they shared was a thread woven through time, stretching across the years of separation and hurt.

Come home with me, she urged gently, her voice low and inviting. We have so much to mend, so much to share. The pack could use your strength, and I— she hesitated, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features, I need you. We could be whole again, together, side by side.

Morwenna stepped closer, her heart steadying as she searched Gjalla's face for a sign of acceptance. The mountains will always be your spirit’s song, and I know the call of the North runs deep. But you don’t have to walk that path alone anymore. Let’s return to the warmth of family. Let me show you what it means to come home.

Gjalla felt Morwenna’s words seep into her heart like the warmth of a long-lost home, grounding her in a way she hadn’t known she needed. She tightened her hold on her sister, the weight of her loyalty settling comfortably into place, no longer a burden but a source of purpose and strength. She had found a new path—not alone, but side by side with the one soul she had always trusted.

Gjalla would never need a pack to know her place beside the matriarch. Her lips parted in a soft exhale, words resting on the tip of her tongue with no finality. You are my home, she wished to say. The dark princess swallowed her statement and nodded, lips curving into a warm smile, however slight. There would be challenges—and pain, but together, they could withstand anything. She was certain of it. "Tell me of this home, then, hm?"

Morwenna settled against her sister’s warmth, an unexpected comfort weaving through her as she thought of Swiftcurrent Creek. She hadn’t known she’d need to describe it, to try and capture its peculiar simplicity, its odd blend of freedom and warmth.

It’s…different, she began, her voice tinged with faint surprise. There are no titles there. No Kings, no Queens...simply a basic hierarchy. She let that sink in, her tone holding a hint of shock. They all live and work without gods or rituals. It’s hard to explain, really. It feels strange… freeing and yet unsettling.

Her thoughts drifted to Akavir. His tall, commanding presence stood out in the creek, with a coat dark as midnight and eyes that seemed to hold a quiet wisdom. He wasn’t imposing, not exactly, but there was a strength in him—a warmth, too. Morwenna felt her lips twitch with the memory. There’s one there, she added softly, Akavir, the Alpha. A handsome gentleman, one who’s shown me… kindness. The word felt strange on her tongue, as though she hadn’t expected to find that from anyone.

Swiftcurrent is quiet. No demands, no order of how things must be done. Just… wolves, living by their own means. It’s almost shocking. She glanced at Gjalla, wondering if her sister could fathom a place without the weight of expectations, of duty and ritual. They don’t see the world like we do.

Gjalla listened intently, periwinkle eyes fixed on Morwenna’s face, absorbing every detail, every nuance of her sister’s description of Swiftcurrent Creek. The absence of rituals, of structure—even of kings and queens—was a notion she could barely fathom. Yet the faint awe in Morwenna’s tone softened her skepticism, and she found herself strangely intrigued, if not slightly wary of the unknown territory her sister spoke of.

“That is... peculiar,” she murmured, a small frown tugging at her brow as she digested this idea of life without expectation, without the layers of reverence and ritual that had been the foundation of their existence. Her tone held a trace of incredulity, but beneath it, a flicker of curiosity sparked. It felt foreign, almost heretical, yet she knew her sister’s judgment was too keen to be easily deceived.

The mention of Akavir drew her attention back, the subtle softness in Morwenna’s voice threading through Gjalla’s heart like a bittersweet reminder of the vulnerability they so rarely allowed themselves. "This Akavir,” she echoed with a faint smirk, masking a surge of protectiveness she hadn’t felt in years, "He is a suitable leader, I trust?" There was an amused lilt to her voice, though a glimmer of skepticism remained.

Yet as she studied Morwenna’s gaze, glimpsing the embers of hope and belonging flickering there, Gjalla felt the rigidity in her own heart soften. If this strange place, with its quietness and unassuming ways, could bring her sister some semblance of peace, perhaps it was worth knowing. Her gaze drifted to the horizon, tracing the distant silhouette of the foothills. She could almost imagine this place, a land untouched by blood-soaked tradition, existing quietly, free of the burdens they had carried for so long. She let the thought linger, a rare openness softening her features as she turned back to Morwenna, something close to a smile faintly curving her lips.

"Very well then, sister," she said, voice low and certain. "If this Swiftcurrent holds the peace you say it does, I will walk beside you. We’ve both earned our freedom from the past... perhaps it’s time to learn what it means to live without its chains."