Sea Lion Shores 1957

Her question seemed to have struck a chord with the Akhlut, Olive could tell from her shift in demeanor.  Olive’s attention was brought from the afflictions of Doe’s body to that of her spirit. There was no outwardly sign of to signal Doe’s inner turmoil [save for a gritted jaw and a certain distant, glassy-eyed visage), but Olive could feel it. It was often that Olive could perceive other’s state of being through her own intuition. She was an empath at heart and could nearly feel others’ emotions just as they experienced them — and she felt incredible sadness radiate from Doe.

Olive considered herself irrevocably distressed from this, but it was clear that Doe’s was feeling her own distress quite keenly. The druid had been subject to such sadness after the deaths of both the red herring and her crimson-eyed brethren. But since then, i had subsided to a ever-present, pulsing ache. Olive no longer spent her days sobbing, pressed up against the cool winter stone of her den. Perhaps she were getting used to the sensation of sadness — and as much as that thought scared her, being without her family scared her more. If this was the price to pay for love and family, she would gladly pay it.

This was a realization that had only recently come to pass. For the longest time there had always been a small voice in her ear, whispering to she were setting herself up for disaster. To settle down and become comfortable… it almost seemed to be against nature itself, who thrived off of endless change and variation. Olive was slowly realizing that her ‘no woman no cry’ detachment philosophy had been born from an mortal desire to protect herself from these types of extreme sadness, not necessarily from any deeper spiritual understanding. It did its job though, and had protected her from any major devastation well up until she joined Teaghlaigh.

Looking at the stranger again, Olive found herself wanting, no — needing her closeness. The pale sylph shifted her slight frame closer to Doe, but did not press up against her as Olive dearly wished to do. Respecting the woman’s space and rank, Olive place a small, milky paw atop Doe’s. Atop the flowers, this touch was a act of solidarity rather than intimacy. Again, Olive’s words rode atop a soft exhale. “We are the masters of our circumstances and not slaves to them,”  she spoke kindly the small, unwarranted piece of Olive-esque wisdom.