Bramblepoint when the cold wind is a'calling

The first light of dawn stretched across the landscape, illuminating the dew-kissed grass and painting the world in soft pastels. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scents of pine and damp soil, mixing with the gentle aroma of wildflowers that dared to bloom in the fleeting warmth of spring. Gwyn stood on the edge of a small clearing, her amber eyes scanning the horizon as the sun broke free from the grasp of the night.

She had wandered far from the remnants of her old pack, each step taken with cautious optimism. The forest felt both welcoming and strange, its whispering leaves and rustling underbrush offering both solace and uncertainty. Though her heart longed for the comfort of familiar faces, Gwyn was driven by a desire to explore, to connect with the world around her and perhaps, in time, find a new family among the trees. As she padded softly through the undergrowth, the gentle chirping of birds echoed overhead, and she paused, tilting her head to listen, a small smile creeping onto her muzzle. Nature had its way of healing, and even in her solitude, she found beauty in the symphony of life around her.

But then, a sudden shift in the atmosphere caught her attention—a slight crack in the underbrush, a sound too sharp for the gentle morning. Gwyn's heart quickened, instincts sharpening as she turned her head, curiosity piqued. What lay beyond the safety of her solitude? Would it be a friend or foe? With her gentle heart racing, she moved quietly, the hope of connection guiding her toward the source of the sound.

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all welcome!

She had gone for a walk. It felt like a better way to appreciate the sunrise as opposed to perched on the peak of a mountain. Sparse clouds blotched the lavender sky, morning birds darted hither and thither. Her skull was canted back to take in the sky until the canopy of trees obscured most from view.

Her tongue damped her nose as her gaze shifted to what was before her. Leaves littered the ground; stubborn ones continued to cling to the branches overhead, unwilling to let go and join the fallen. Bushes still carried their browning foliage. Left ear flicked at squirrels darting away from her presence, rushing to stuff their caches for winter.

In her carelessness, a branch snapped underfoot and she winced. She lifted her right fore paw to find of the twig still clinging to her—a thorn pierced a paw pad.

A soft huff escaped as she dropped gracelessly onto her hindquarters. Teeth snapped at the twig. The excess fell off but the thorn was still stuck in her pad. Arnarkla tried to nip at the thorn but the angle was awkward and she missed it each time.

Trailing behind Arnarkla, Cole moved with a lazy but watchful stride, his eyes flicking between the surroundings and her—a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She had a way of walking as if she owned the land beneath her paws, yet today, a little clumsiness betrayed her ease. The sharp crack of a twig snapped him from his thoughts, and he glanced up to see her slumped on her haunches, fussing at her paw.

Hold on now, let me take a look, he murmured, stepping closer. The light played against her coat, accentuating the specks of dirt and dust that clung to her fur as she struggled with the thorn. With a gentle nudge of his nose, he urged her to sit still, offering a brief, encouraging nod as he lowered himself beside her, intent on prying the stubborn thing free. When it pulled, he consoled her the best he could with a nudge of his wet nose. Careful, now.

His gaze drifted past her momentarily, catching sight of a figure just beyond—another wolf, soft and golden, standing at the edge of the clearing. The way she watched them was curious, tentative. Cole straightened, casting a sidelong glance toward Arnarkla before turning his full attention to the stranger.

Morning, he greeted, his tone easy but wary. Don’t mean to startle ya. What brings ya out this way? He gave a short nod, a silent invitation for her to join them if she wished, but he left the choice up to her.

The male was the first to notice her, his voice a low drawl. She could sense the unspoken invitation, and though a small part of her cautioned against intruding, her heart often outweighed her reservations. Gwyn moved with unassuming grace, careful not to encroach too closely. Her presence was gentle, as if to assure them she posed no threat. She wouldn't be much of one anyways, she supposed.

Amber eyes flitted between the two wolves. She dipped her head gracefully, a warm, almost shy smile playing on her lips. "Good morning," she replied, as warm and gentle as the first light of dawn.  "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just… well, the forest has a way of pulling one along." 

Her gaze lingered on the darker, taking note of the wolf’s discomfort as she tended to her paw. "That looks a bit stubborn, doesn't it?" Gwyn remarked kindly, her own posture relaxed, hoping to put them at ease. "if you’d like, I know a trick or two for thorns. Sometimes, just a little tilt of the paw helps coax it out." she offered, inclining her head toward the woman’s paw. Her movements were slow, deliberate, an invitation for trust rather than an assumption of it. "May I?"

Arnarkla had failed to notice Cole until he was joining her flank—too lost in her reverie to have clocked him. A soft oh was made at his appearance, more of a dazed sigh than proper vocalization. Her affronted paw was held for him to doctor while her head was canted out of his way. When the thorn was extracted, a scarlet bead replaced it. 

Takk, she said. 

She had taken to lapping at the paw. Each swipe of her tongue made a new spot of blood blossom, gradually becoming smaller and smaller. 

Her right ear lamely flicked at the arrival of another. Cole spoke while she continued to mind her paw. The she-wolf spoke easily before two strangers, even offered to assist as Cole had. The thorn seemed to have made an undesired spotlight settle upon the dark wolf. 

It's alright. She set the paw on the ground to stabilize her own ease. A small nod toward Cole was made. He got it.

Cole straightened up, an unmistakable glimmer of pride lingering in his dark eyes at Arnarkla's quiet acknowledgment. He had, indeed, "got it." And perhaps he enjoyed the small, fleeting spotlight more than he let on, even if it came at the expense of her comfort. Still, he’d done his part, and that was what mattered.

The unexpected guest—the ginger and white wolf—had stepped forward with such softness that Cole’s natural suspicion of strangers eased slightly, though he kept a wary eye on her. She didn’t seem threatening, more curious than anything else, and her gentle manner suggested she was as much a wanderer as they were.

Forest does have a way of bringing us together, he replied with a hint of amusement in his accent-laden drawl, his dark gaze flickering over her with interest. You come through here often?

A pause lingered. He shuffled closer to Arnarkla, something protective ebbing within him. Then, he asked, Got a name, stranger?

Gwyn observed the small exchange with a warm gaze, noting the quiet ease between the two, even as the she-wolf tended to her paw. A lighthearted warmth flickered in her own eyes, and she dipped her head in silent respect for the care he offered his friend. She glanced at her, noting the small dot of red on her paw.

"If it begins to bother you," she added, her voice soft, "a poultice of sage can ease the sting. It grows in small patches not far from here."

As he addressed her again, Gwyn’s gentle smile softened. "Not often, no," she replied, her voice as soft as the early morning mist. "S' pretty, though." Perhaps she would stay for the week, make a home in the abandoned burrow she'd passed on the way here.

At his question, she met his gaze, her amber eyes flickering with quiet warmth. "Gwyn is fine," She inclined her head with a soft, respectful nod toward them both, a peaceful steadiness about her. "And yours?"

A small smile and nod were made at the prescription, knowledge to store away. Although, if she couldn't handle a meager prick in her paw then she could hardly call herself a mountain wolf—her line held no room for soft stock. There were other wounds she may acquire down the road that may benefit from sage, she was sure. 

Briefly she glanced toward Cole when he inched nearer, but then she-wolf, Gwyn, caught her attention again when she asked of names. 

Arnarkla, she offered.

Cole couldn’t help but smile at the easy exchange between the two. There was a gentleness in Gwyn's demeanor that made him feel more at ease as well. “Nice to meet you, Gwyn,” he said with a nod, before turning his attention to the she-wolf beside her.

She seemed like a nice girl. On the younger side, but she spoke with a reverence that was wiser than his own years. I’m Cole. He paused for a moment, considering his next words. You mentioned sage. You seem to know your way around healing. Is that something you learned on your travels?

He leaned slightly, intrigued by her knowledge. I’ve seen some packs put a lot of stock in herbal remedies. I’m curious if it’s more of a common practice or just something you picked up along the way. He felt a flicker of interest—her skills could be invaluable, especially for someone like him, still learning the ropes of pack life and survival.

Gwyn’s gaze softened, taking in the names with a warm sense of familiarity as they offered them up. “Arkarkla. Cole.” She repeated the names with a smile as if tasting the weight of them.

She inclined her head, an appreciative glint in her amber eyes. “I’ve learned here and there,” she explained, her tone gentle but sure. “My birthpack held a deep respect for the plants—my mother taught me the most.” A light chuckle escaped her. “But the rest... well, traveling teaches you plenty.”

“If you’d like, I can share what I know with you. One day, you may find yourself in need of more than sage.” She winked softly, warmth radiating from her every gesture, offering to share the quiet, healing knowledge she’d gathered through her journey.

As she listened to Gwyn, Arnarkla thought of the herbalist who had tended to the wounds the raptor had left. While her hide had been marred, her pride had been gutted. She cared little of how the woman treated her wounds; young Arnarkla merely pouted over the attention of the brusque herbalist and her nosy child. Even afterward, herbs were given little regard, let alone any reverence. 

At the offer to learn more than sage, she made a small shrug of a shoulder as she politely said: If it's not too much trouble.

Plants went over her head but if she managed to retain something that could be used down the road, she saw no harm in learning a thing or two.

Cole gave a slow nod, tipping his muzzle in acknowledgment as he listened. Gwyn’s offer sounded kind, genuine, and it softened the edges of his usual guarded expression, just a bit. Plants were hardly his area, but survival was. He respected anything that might help them scrape through when times got rough.

Reckon it’d be wise, he drawled, glancing over at Arnarkla with a hint of a smirk as she gave a shrug. It was clear she wasn’t one for plants either, yet there was a glint in her eye, that willingness to learn just in case. Cole respected that.

With a slight dip of his head, he added, We’ll take ya up on it. No fuss, no extra words—just an open acceptance of the help she offered, quiet and sincere.

She nodded in gentle affirmation, meeting Arnarkla's shrug with an understanding smile. "No trouble at all," she murmured. The girl glanced around for a short moment before padding gently toward a patch of earth—a small cluster of sage, its silvery-green leaves distinct and fragrant. She crouched beside it and gently plucked a few of the leaves, their scent sharp yet comforting.

She held them out for the pair to see, the leaves delicate in her paws. "This is sage," she said, "good for easing pain, settling nerves, and—if you crush it just right—helping to draw out toxins. It grows just about everywhere, but it thrives best in open space."