The Sentinels these ancient stones will tell us our love must make us strong

deirdre's interest died the moment the item her sister played with tickled at her hock. deirdre spun to face it with wide-eyes, and watched her sister combat it. deirdre herself was amazed at the way her sister could make it move with the bat of a paw. deirdre shirked at the play, gentle in her own interest of changing and moving things, but she would forever be interested in emaleth's doings. her pale furs melded against her sisters, and there was peace in her world again. deirdre herself had felt a void when her sister was missing; there would always be a quality of emptiness that presented itself to deirdre baldly when this was so, but that had faded the instant she pressed against her other half.

whats this? deirdre babbled to her sister in their shared language, and she spun to move behind her littermate, and then beside her. the language spoken was not solely their own, of course; it was the language of any new to this world, this life, no matter their origin or their language. if, for instance, their father placed a cub in their den born to wolves who spoke solely french, so long as they were at the babbling stage she and her sister were in, they could speak to one another and understand perfectly. it seemed those grown who could speak in their language were forbidden from understanding them; but deirdre herself would soon come to understand them. for now, all things the Others—those older—said were nonsense; but she did so love to hear them speak it.