Hushed Willows woman is a word

It never happened as quickly as she had imagined it would, as a child. When Olive was but a young pup, she would watch her father pray and commune with the gods and he, a man of utmost grace and sincerity, made it appear quite effortless. It was not so with Olive, though her father had seen the most spiritual promise in her of any of her siblings. It had been a process that she was required to develop within herself, of course with the help of her mother and her learned ways of midwifery — whether it was religion or the birthing of babes, similar tactics yielded similar results. Perhaps it was why her parents were so good together, and how their union yielded olive, a druid gifted with natural and innate physic abilities — and also gifted with the sheer force of willpower for when it was not so natural and innate. 

So, slowly she stilled her breath and timed her inhalations and exhalations with that of the earth. Her eyes closed, and attention turned inwards. Her sensitive nose became dead to the outer world, and the woman began to feel colorful ideas bloom and blossom in the silver, pensieve-pool of her consciousness. It was often nonsense until it wasn’t; and besides that, it was often only a matter of these ideas leaving an imprint on her heart and soul than remembering the real meaning of it all. After all, meaning was subjective, and any sense to understand it logically would prove to fail because she was not the gods, and she was not any other wolf or being or sentient creature upon the planet. She was only Olive, and she could only understand the world as such. 

There was little that could rouse Olive from this state — or ever register upon her sense high enough to warrant a reaction — but Seabreeze’s arrival was one of those things. A grin pulled tight against her pale, pink lips and one ear swiveled to the side to draw her lover into her awareness, and maybe deeper into prayer, for love was sacrosanct and Olive always found prayer easier when in love or near love. Olive lingered in silence, letting her unspoken conversation come to a natural, gentle close [and giving Seabreeze a chance to do the same]. When it was over, and Olive felt good about it, her eyes peeled open and she offered the greyscale woman, almost her perfect mirror, a sleepy smile. “What did you pray for?” she cooed to the endearing seasprite, her lips almost immediately tracing her feathered ear’s cupped edge. Her pawpads left the mother willow’s trunk and drew close to Seabreeze as she nuzzled, dancing lazily in place in time with her muzzle, which kneaded and traced patterns of love and light into the woman’s shoulder.