Panther Park white winter hymnal

He was hungry, she knew even before he opened his big beautiful mouth to speak. They had been kept incredibly busy for [what was supposed to be] an unfettered peregrination, leaving them not much time to feast. First, they had wed. Then, they had procreated. Then, volatile weather kept them constantly moving, seeking better shelter as the snow fell and descended around them. Those significant life events were lubricated with playing, laughing, singing and dancing. Their schedule was also encumbered by the additional burden of Olive’s minuscule attention span, which followed every moving shadow and every snapping twig. Due to this, much of their time was simply spent exploring, conquering new lands and learning about these new places together. Though she had always loved to travel in seclusion, it was much, much, much better to travel with her kindred spirit. Before, her traveling was almost a type of liturgy; a way to dedicating herself to the earthen spirits she admired so. For that the act deserved some sort of sobriety, but here she was, drunk as a skunk on her hot love for her dark king… and she had never felt so consecrated in her life.

Perhaps there was more than one way to serve a god.

 No matter where they were in the world, it felt like home. It made Olive yearn for her time as a vagrant; those liberated 8 months she spent living amongst the world and its oddities. The lamb longed to run away with him. It was so tempting, to never face the world and its trivialities again — but her love for Teaghlaigh [and the teensy tiny babies in her belly] kept her tied to the eventual end of their honeymoon. They couldn’t keep this pace forever, especially not with the temperature dropping as quickly as it was.

But in the meantime, she would enjoy these carefree weeks. This was her time to spend time with Dakarai, to love him and to learn everything there was to know about him. Olive marveled at the way in which Dakarai viewed the world; when he spoke she drank in every word, appreciating the thoughtfulness in his comments while tasting his voice’s divine uniqueness. She loved that realness about him. Dakarai made her see things that she had been blind to before. If they came across a beetle, it would be Olive who spoke of the beetle’s spirit and Dakarai who made sure she did not miss the beauty that lay in it’s polished, jade-green shell. Dakarai brought her down to earth, like an anchor — and it came from a place of love and caring. It was all so reassuring. 

When he asked her to hunt, she knew that she could not rightfully deny him this [for their corporeal feast could not satiate real hunger]. Not many wolves would choose to devour berries, leaves and roots over the act of killing and devouring prey — her husband included. She could not fault him for this, as he was free to make those types of decisions for his own life. It wasn’t as if Olive never indulged in flesh [she was a carnivore, afterall] but simply sought to distance herself from the act of taking a life. …But Olive had been feeling particularly free and footloose that day relished the idea of moving her body in and mind in a tactical way. A herd was scented and a question was asked. The misty druid gave one, affirmative nod and followed him as he began to track down their prey. This is where Dakarai shined and she would let him take over completely.