Morningside Cuesta song sung blue

Not much had changed about this part of the country. Moorhen felt strange as she walked the old paths, gazing into the middle distance as she thought about the past. Here was where she had very nearly been married. Where she had learned her real name. Where she had found love and succor amongst the wolves of Undersea. Where she had realized her purpose was to protect what was hers.

She had many daughters, now. They were much like her, and they would protect one another on the coast where they'd been born.

But Moorhen had been born here. Well — not here, but in this general direction. She kept one ear cupped toward the coast, but of course, there was nothing for her to hear. She would not travel that way just yet. She did not want to know what had become of those often war-torn territories. Part of her feared the would be ruled by wolves all too familiar to her. Part of her worried she would find it just as unchanged as the valley of sunshine.

The erne shook herself from her rumination to resume her hunt. Just in time — she pounced on a rabbit with a spry precision that defied her aging body. She had good days and bad days, growing old. But she had some years in her yet.

Carrying her prize, Moorhen trotted off toward the ridge in hope of finding a sunny spot to have her dinner.

this is far from kvarsheim, she knows. yet the walk to the hunt had undoubtedly changed something in her. proven to her that she could make travels quick and safe. perhaps she is small, a wisp of a thing. it means she moves fast.

however she watched as someone moved stronger and faster than herself.

the woman was cloaked in smoky hues. marked with lighter colors as if a skeleton clung to her. some part of her felt jealous of that haunting looking older woman. if she looked like that, it would never matter how fast she was.

her interest is high enough that she does not wish to leave, even if she did not speak yet. there was no attempt to hide her presence either. she only made sure she kept her distance safely. watching, waiting to see if her own interest waned or was fed further.

At her age, she read situations far more easily than she had in her youth. But, even if she'd been a yearling, she likely wouldn't have felt threatened by the presence of the girl. She was still small, even if she was no longer quite young enough to be called a pup. Too old to be begging meals from old women — but, considering the respectful distance she kept, Moorhen was inclined to be generous.

The stood a long way apart, regarding one another with care. Something tipped the scales in her favor, and the erne fluttered her tail in greeting.

Pleasantries out of the way, she changed trajectory and moved purposefully toward the girl, rabbit still hanging from her silver-flecked muzzle.

petal is all wolf with some sprinkling of something more canis familiaris. however she had learned some important instincts from a trusted coyote. mainly how to be as loud as possible as needed and also a few skittering movements.

she may have never took to dancing, but she knew how to move now. a little older and a little more refined.

unlike the older woman, petal has not yet learned how to read every situation perfectly. to her this might very well become a display of who was more in place here.

like a troubled cub, she crouched down with ears swept out. tail curled up close to her now. she had made herself small but she was prepared to rush away if needed.

waiting, waiting, waiting. it seemed that was all she ever did!

The girl quailed; this lowered her just slightly in the erne's esteem, but she was no less inclined toward friendliness. If anything, she made a more effusive show of it, lowering her head and splaying her ears. Her tail wheeled more tellingly, though it now flagged just slightly, held above her hocks. If the girl wanted to submit, Moorhen would make up for the deficit.

She dropped the rabbit as she drew near. Too near, perhaps. Her scarred, black nose was twitchy, now. If allowed this close, she wanted to snuffle over the girl's pelt and investigate what scents she carried. It was an unmistakably presumptuous gesture, but her tail continued to wheel in friendly encouragement.

"Naame?" she requested, regardless of whether or not her investigation was allowed.

very still. very behaved. in this moment, she acted as if she was nothing more than a babe. ignore the fact that was quickly approaching her first year.

she allowed herself to be sniffed over. even as her mouth found itself wanting for a pound of flesh from the rabbit. she behaved herself. if only because the woman did truly seem to have no ill intent.

petal, she squeaked out.

then stretched her neck out ever so slightly, hoping to begin her own sniffing investigation.

It was a fitting name for one who seemed so delicate. Flowers did not last very long along the bay, but as they were much further inland, the erne felt little urge to correct this softness. In her memories, this was a place where she had been allowed to be soft. To be a girl. Even when she'd been claimed as a wife, she had been treated very gently. Nurtured.

For the girl that she'd once been, Moorhen held herself still and allowed the nearness of this girl. Petal. It was a pretty name, to be sure.

"Moor," she offered, and then, with a no-nonsense shake of her pelt, she decided that she'd had enough of being sniffed. But in the next moment, nonsense began in earnest. The aging woman spun to snatch up the rabbit and spun again to bow to the younger shewolf, ass in the air and tail wheeling in invitation.

She gave a mock growl to challenge Petal to a game of keep away — or tug of war, if she was quick enough.

moor.

moor who was both kind and hard in equal turns. this was how she wanted to be. strong, but never losing that shine. the last thing she had expected was being invited to a game!

quickly she dashed forward, snipping at the other end of the rabbit. she hoped to hold onto it as tight as she could. even if it meant she might be dragged along in the process.

And she was dragged, almost right off the bat. The girl was quick enough to catch the other end of the rabbit, and so Moorhen spent the first several seconds making shallow attempts to shake her free. Her snarling picked up with her efforts, but her tail continued to wheel in delight.

Whether Petal succeeded in holding on or not, Moorhen's game soon shifted. She gave the girl a moment to get a better grip before giving the rabbit another vigorous shake. Broadcasting her movements, she then swung her head wide, throwing her body behind it to try and drag Petal along. Could she get the girl fully into the air? They would soon find out!

for a moment, she likely was truly airborne. in that brief moment she had quickly decided that she was okay with never flying. perhaps the birds had it all wrong.

it was also in that moment of deciding she did not like the air, that she released.

which meant she sent herself off with the momentum from moor. skidding along the grassy ground. uncertain when or where she'd stop.

these seconds felt like hours.

The game had been thrilling, for Moorhen. It was nearly time for whelping season, but what Moorhen liked more was when pups were big enough to throw around but still small enough she didn't break her back. Petal was far on the latter end, but Moorhen was nostalgic enough to play the game anyway.

Too bad there hadn't been an ocean to rocket her into.

The larger wolf bounded after her tiny playfellow, tail still wheeling jauntily in enjoyment of their game. When she reached Petal, she checked her over with a snuffling nose, and quickly, determined that it had not been as fun for her as it had been for Moorhen. A pity!

"Eat rabbit," Moorhen commanded, dropping it at her feet. This was an apology.