Totoka River compose a poem, an honest verse of longing
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Ooc — Rosie
Astronomer
Master Ecologist
Master Midwife
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#5
do wolves know what ships are? *ponders*

To the young mother-to-be’s delight, the sheepdog moved silently, cloaked by the dark blanket of the night. Upon her demonstration, Olive’s head bobbed in immediately understanding — Olive had made the assumption that the dog’s true name would forever remain a mystery — but this was the first time that the sylph had been able to stop and muse upon the sheepdog’s furtive monkier. All experiences they had together [before this one] had been so busy, so… messy. The flurry of emotions present in each and every one of those moments prevented from her from ever stopping to ask, or even stopping to consider, what her prodigal healer’s name was. For that, Olive felt a thin veil of guilt settle upon her spirit. The stranger deserved more than a name [for all the assistance and kindness which she offered Olive so freely] and felt remorseful that her focus on her own problems had made her blind to those around her for so long. 

Just as she nursed her own sense of uncertainty, Olive was sure the silent women did not think so highly of her either. And why would she — what had the cream and ash shewolf ever done to improve upon the stranger’s associations? The sides of Olive [that she worked so hard to conceal, to forget, to pretend they don’t exist], this small medicine woman had seen them all in blazing technicolor. Olive had never felt guilt like she had felt with Doe and Szymon, never felt rancor like she felt when Dakarai had been stolen from her, never felt shame like she felt when Arturo chastised and berated her. The sheepdog had been there for all of it, silent and affirming, but never judging.

“Carina,” the shrouded shewolf spoke after some moments’ silence. Now it was Olive’s turn to tip her head back in demonstration, pointing her black-tipped muzzle towards the night sky, bright with a smattering of stars, like paint pushed about on an artist’s mixing palette. Carina, the constellation in question, was a long string of tinkling stars that shone in a bright zig-zag patten before doubling back upon itself [much in the manner of the big and little dippers]. It’s location in the southern sky meant that such a constellation radiated supportive and nurturing energies, much like the foundation of a building or…

“like the keel of a ship, working to keep the entire ship upright.”  Olive explained further, keeping her voice soft and lilting on her breath. Olive believed the constellation Carina paled in comparison to the newly christened Carina that stood at her side, and she hoped the name would be satisfactory to her new friend. But, even words as beautiful as the stars couldn’t represent that sense of gratitude that Olive had for Carina, so Olive stepped her slight frame closer and, if her shadowed companion would have it, she would lay her milky crown across the dog’s set of slender shoulders in an embrace — a silent act of intimacy and trust. 

“I— I have a question,” Olive asked, remaining close.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

Messages In This Thread
compose a poem, an honest verse of longing - by Olive - February 27, 2017, 12:07 AM
RE: compose a poem, an honest verse of longing - by Olive - February 28, 2017, 12:53 PM
RE: compose a poem, an honest verse of longing - by Olive - March 05, 2017, 07:06 PM