Lake Rodney Where does a mind like yours wonder

Her time spent with the young wolf had been relatively short, but Damsel had managed to see the value in it. Conversation had been casual, sharing small details of their rather different lives, but it wasn't what they talked about so much as the strange relief it brought her. She had spent so many months acting cold and untrusting to the wolves who resided in these lands and it had only left her lonely and borderline depressed; learning that one could be as civil as herself gave Damsel room to believe that others were the same way. She was still cautious, but the need to intimidate and play the unspeaking beast had left her.

She still missed her children, still wished her home was whole, but lazing next to a lake she felt that her heart could beat a bit slower for the first time since Barley left her side. She did wonder where he had gone, if they would ever have their fuzzy halfbreeds like they planned. Maybe that didn't matter now. Opening her mouth for a long yawn, the hound rested her head on her paws; there were no more plans, so what was next?

As much as she adored her two younger siblings—Pie loved them unconditionally the instant she saw them—she could not bring herself to stay in the Hobbit Hole. When night fell and the Redhawks gathered to rest, she slipped away into the darkness.

She climbed the northwestern wall with ease, then paused at the crest. The waxing gibbous moon lent just enough light for her to see Moonspear silhouetted in the distance. Treepie’s heart constricted. Much as she loved everyone here, she wanted to go home.

But what would she find there, aside from memories? Tiuttuk’s muzzle slanted downward as she stared at the patch of ground between her feet. She drew a few deep breaths, then pushed back onto all fours and descended. She refused to look upward again.

She forced her yellow eyes to the west, where a great lake sprawled. She could hear the gentle lapping of its waters. As the yearling moved toward it, she heard another sound, a familiar one. Pie looked up and saw a shadow flitting in the moonlight. The corner of her lip lifted, glad to have Wyvern’s company at this dark hour.

But the two of them were not alone. The nightjar dove again, making the trademark noise and drawing Treepie’s attention to a pale figure huddled by the lakeshore. The wolf went still, tipping her nose into the air in an effort to catch a scent. She thought to call out, though the stranger appeared to be asleep…

The caw and swish of a bird pulled her back to reality. Her first thought was a wondering of if the creature would make a good meal, but after lifting her head she spotted the canine who lingered nearby.

Another young one, she was sure. There were a lot of those around here, weren't there? Though she supposed it made sense; old fragile bones never made for good wandering. Why they were here, alone, in the dead of night she wasn't so sure of however. When did wolves sleep anyways?

Her head leaning with a hope of finding a scent on the wind to tell her more, she said nothing just yet. She couldn't know if this one would be anything like the boy in the dunes.

The stranger’s head lifted, looking toward her. Treepie’s mouth fell open as she beheld the… well, ugliest wolf she’d ever seen in her life. She couldn’t even begin to guess at a gender as her yellow eyes roved from the short, thick muzzle to the ears that drooped past their pale cheeks. Pie even spotted a tail so thin and bare of fur that it reminded her of a rat’s.

But just because they hadn’t been blessed with good looks didn’t mean Pie couldn’t be polite. Drawing in a breath, she padded a little closer, wondering if the light was playing tricks on her eyes. But she stopped about two yards away from the unknown wolf—female, if her scent was anything to go by—and realized she was even more hideous up close. She didn’t smell diseased or anything, so at least it wasn’t anything contagious.

Greetings, the Ostrega offered quietly, her tail giving a single flick. Are you from around here?

Surely this peculiar wolf didn’t belong to the Redhawks. Treepie cringed outwardly as she inwardly scolded herself for the uncharitable thought. But deep down, she still felt certain of her unkind assumption.

The wolf spoke first, and Damsel felt sure that something was bothering them. No. She reponded, I came from the south. Non-specific but still conversational, her quest to be friendlier was going well for the time being.

I always thought wolves travelled together, but whenever I see you young ones you're alone. She felt that she was repeating herself from the conversation she initially had in the lowlands, but it was hard not be curious. Why is that?

She was from the south. Pie idly wondered what had brought her here, though it seemed too personal a question to ask at this point. They should probably exchange proper introductions first, though before she could initiate that, the unsightly she-wolf asked a pointed question.

The implication was terribly sad as she said, I can only speak for myself, but it’s because most of my family left and my village, it… What was the right word for it? Considering her grief, it felt like a death. It’s gone. She paused. I do think it’s fairly normal for yearlings to disperse, though, in case you prefer to take the more optimistic view.

Of course, she wasn’t feeling optimistic about much of anything. But Tiuttuk didn’t burden the stranger with that. She probably had enough to deal with, considering her looks and her apparent solitude. Pie felt a heaviness in her chest as she studied the unfortunate creature.

What’s your name? I’m Treepie.

She could understand that. Her home had been abandoned in a sense too.

Quail. She responded. I'm sorry about your village. I know it can be hard to lose a home. It was hard to know if that was the right thing to say; not everyone wanted sympathy. The lingering presence of the bird was admittedly making her uneasy, Damsel looking up with the hope of spotting it.

Do birds usually follow you?

It was hard, probably the hardest thing she’d ever dealt with in a lifetime of hardships. It was a depressing thought, though Tiuttuk reminded herself that life hadn’t been all bad. Especially those early days—when Sialuk and her siblings had still lived on the mount—had been wonderful.

Quail’s introduction was quickly followed by a question which earned a blink from Tiuttuk. She tilted her head upward, yellow eyes roving the dark skies for any sign of Wyvern’s silhouette. She didn’t see her, though she heard her soft wingbeats somewhere in the distance. Ah, there she was, flying overhead and vanishing into the darkness.

Just the one, she quipped dryly, gaze dropping back to Quail’s unlovely face. Her name is Wyvern. My GG says she’s a nightjar, Pie added, using the nickname Towhee had recently embraced. She came to me not long before the fall of Moonspear. Even though she didn’t live there long, it’s still sort of like having a piece of home with me. Wow, that’s cheesy, she acknowledged with a soft snort.

She wished Quail could get a glimpse of Wyvern up close. They both had strange faces, though the more she looked at the she-wolf’s, the more she realized it was just different, not necessarily ugly. Just like Wyvern’s. She wondered if she could summon the bird at will. Although she’d landed on Pie’s shoulder a few times now, the yearling had never asked it of her.

I can try to call her down if you’d like to meet her. I’m not sure she’ll cooperate, Treepie admitted, but I can try.

She thought it sounded more like a bad omen, but kept her mouth shut. No, I understand that. She responded, raising a paw to poke at the feathers hung around her neck. It's the same reason I haven't gotten rid of these, though I'm sure one day they'll fall off or the leather will rip.

Treepie offered to call the bird down, and Quail shook her head no almost immediately. I'm not sure I'm ready to make friends with birds. She responded, letting her gaze settle back on Treepie. Is that silly? I only stopped growling at wolves a few weeks ago, I've been a bit too cautious. But look at her now - chatting away like it was nothing! She was almost proud of herself.

Pie didn’t know what Quail meant by “these,” though her attention was soon enough drawn to what looked like a strip of rawhide fastened around her neck, with feathers dangling from it. Something about it set her hackles prickling. How had she not noticed it? Never mind the darkness or Quail’s odd appearance, it was her queerest feature by far.

What is that? she asked, squinting. I’ve seen treated skins turned into blankets or pouches but… I’ve never seen anything like it. How did you get the feathers attached to it?

She was so distracted, Treepie hadn’t entirely registered the other canine’s words. She didn’t want to meet Wyvern, which was fine, considering Tiuttuk wasn’t sure the hawk wanted to meet her either. But why had she been growling at her own kind until recently? What had happened to this poor she-wolf to make her so incredibly strange?

What came next were all fair questions, but none could be answered by Quail herself. I'm not so sure, I didn't make it. I've always had them though, gifts from the beasts I lived with - funny looking creatures. Rather flat-faced and lacking the fur or feathers most animals were gifted, but with long toes on upper paws that allowed them to do things that baffled her. It doesn't have any sort of purpose, not really, but I like it. I used to have more.

Quail had to assume that Treepie's youth meant that she probably hadn't seen much of the world. You could only walk so far. Have you ever left the wilds? She found herself curious, although she could assume that a 'no' would be the provided answer. Quail felt that this was one of the few places in which she had seen no sign of her flat-faced beasts; they were impossible to avoid nearly anywhere else.

Her fur stood up a little more when Quail explained that some beasts had fashioned the collar and applied the feathers for her. She called them “funny-looking” but Treepie needed to know more. Some primal instinct demanded the knowledge, even as she innately sensed the danger in it.

No, she answered by rote, then in the next breath asked, Tell me about these beasts you lived with?

Treepie asked her for more information, leaving Damsel to click her tongue. She had been around them for so long, but it was so difficult to find the right words.

Mine was good. Saw through at least three generations of my family. She responded, though the sudden reflection was difficult. They're hairless all over except on the top of the head, and they stand on their back legs all day. Can't be too comfortable, probably why mine used a pole to help him walk. Me and the others lived with him out away from everything, but he died months ago. Right where he always sat too - at least he was comfortable.

They're strange. Made to live with dogs, but not all of them are so good at it. Their pups are sticky too, and they grab. Damsel never liked the other beasts that visited, but they hadn't come for years. The female always put Damsel's face in it's long paws and squished, and the pup would try to climb on her. They were much heavier than her own pups, uglier too.

The image Quail painted in her mind put a pit in Treepie’s stomach. Hairless beasts who walked on two legs… it was difficult to imagine and, naturally, her imagination ran away with it. She shuddered a little and decided she didn’t want to hear any more. But Quail wasn’t finished. Pie felt actual nausea hit her when her acquaintance described their young as “sticky.”

I’ve heard enough, she said faintly, feeling rather rude. She’d asked, after all. I’m sorry, they just sound… Well, Quail didn’t seem to mind them, so Pie didn’t know if she ought to share her real thoughts. Strange, she found herself echoing the woman’s own words, indeed.

A slightly awkward pause ensued. Tiuttuk knew she should be the one to fill it, to say something to redirect the conversation. But as her yellow eyes lingered on the leather belted at Quail’s throat, she found she wanted to get away from here—away from her, specifically. That was more than rude, though Pie simply couldn’t silence her instincts.

They’ll be wondering where I went off to, so I should head back, she said, which was true enough. Pie let out a sigh that was entirely authentic. ‘They’ being the Redhawks… what’s left of my family in the area. They live there, she added, pointing at the caldera’s silhouette in the darkness. Good night.

Feeling more than a little uneasy, Pie pivoted and began walking back toward the caldera. She heard the soft rush of Wyvern’s wings overhead as she accompanied her. She didn’t think she would go too far into the territory, if she went into it at all. There were some trees growing here and there along its foot. She decided she would settle beneath one of those for the night.