Ravensblood Forest Home // Dirty Paws

It wasn’t long until Olive found herself amongst a reunion. 

First, a being of silver and brown materialized nearby in the form of a young male. He was a kind thing, eager in his entrance as well as his salutation. Olive’s wide smiled received him and she pivoted her body to look at him, face to face. Silently, she hoped his of her trade had fallen upon only their four ears. Olive had no wish to masquerade as the pack’s healer and encroach upon the actual healer’s authority - whomever that may be. 

Olive’s apprehension towards misinterpretation had been instilled in her from puppyhood. In her birth pack, to parade as anything but your authentic and true self was to commit a profound disservice to your potential. All wolves who found their true calling would always achieve greatness, but misaligned energies always manifested itself as suffering and evil… or so she had been told. It was for this reason that Olive’s ambitious father acted as her shepherd through many spiritual journeys and sacred pilgrimages, in search of her own divine avocation. The day she had seen [in a moment of clairvoyance] her distinct future as an astronomer was the proudest day of her father’s life.

Before she could breathe a word to the male, a distant and rhythmic thumping on the dirt heralded the arrival of yet another wolf. She too was younger than most wolves Olive had encountered - this was likely an effect of circumstance, as the loner lifestyle of Olive’s past appealed to an entirely different demographic than what lay before her. Quickly, all the reflective thoughts from mere moments ago were dashed and feelings of gaiety swelled to fill their place. In a playful manner the girl lumbered over and launched herself at the young chap, who’s question [Olive realized] she had not yet answered.

“Had she succeeded in her attack, we both would pray that I was a healer!” Olive chortled at the silly, lightheartedness of the entire act. It was both refreshing and inspiring to be surrounded by youth, the wolves who so often shirked the doldrums of adulthood in favor of a life in prisms of bright colors.  It was a characteristic that Olive held in very high regard, as she the weight of her own thoughts and her responsibility to the cadence of nature occasionally evoked feelings of melancholy.

“It would seem that you two are already familiar with each other, but I am not as fortunate. My name is Olive,” the grey mistress greeted in an exaggerated bow.