Kildeer Rest Bring back the summer

Wildfire doesn’t ask much more and as she focuses in the distance, she doesn’t notice the change in the younger girl until she hears the shuffle of her standing. Her head turns and she watches the quirk of her brow and her own breath slows, locking in her throat until she stands and follows the beckoning movement. She finds her steps in tune with the other, carefully keeping her gait slow with her longer legs. It’s quiet for a moment and she enjoys the comfort it offers, something that often comes easy for the dark leader.

They reach a grassy spot and the flowers on the ground don’t hold her attention. Thuringwethil’s dark eyes sweep upward, letting Wildfire take a step so she is ahead of her and her gaze is hidden, but she focuses on the way she watches the beauty of nature below them. Her own rests easy on the reddish color in her cheeks, ears cupping forward with the question. 

“Our first leader, generations ago, had been able to house the commander’s spirit because the vessel for her soul had been big enough. When children are born, it is split among your litter mates, but when there is only one of the litter—the Fos Goufa—it is intact and able to withstand Heda’s power. There is lore that one wolf had survived the conclave, only to die within a matter of days. It came to light there had been stillborns in his litter and it had torn him apart from the inside,” she tells her. Years ago, before her—before her parents. A tale passed down over the generations with no one alive anymore to speak of the truth. Another had been found that had been overlooked, protected by her parents so she would be subject to the training and grooming of power, only to lead to her death in the conclave, but had taken over easily.

Thuringwethil shakes her head once to clear her gaze from staring at her companion. “I was the only child of my litter and survived my conclave against three others when the commander had died.” She knows she is young to lead, each wolf in her conclave had more than a year and upward to three, but somehow she’d survived against them all. "It seems like so long ago," she murmurs as an after thought, looking somewhere else. The lifespan of the commander is never long, taken one way or another in the dangers of battle.