Hushed Willows 1936

Olive was thankful for Lily. She was young, but she was experienced in so many ways — and old soul in the truest sense of the word. It was almost as if the woman was without a single fault or moment of awkwardness. Olive saw her as a dear friend and, as such, she was placed upon a high pedestal. The druid was thankful for these moments where they could speak, in peace.

When Lily asked about the fertility festival, Olive knew there was a conversation to be had, is she abandoned her muddy gardening and sat a few feet away from the blackbird. She felt a little silly, being so dirty — but she was in heat, and such things were excused during this week only. “It was so splendid, wasn’t it? To have so many packs all in one place?” Her voice was sincere and full of life, and her mind slid back to that wonderful bacchanal amongst the willows. “It’s a wonderful tradition you started. We should continue it, often.” She nodded and smiled at Lily. It really couldn’t have happened without her.

For a moment, she fell hushed. The festival had also raised some questions within her — thought she took on the appearance of having fun, she was watching her attendants keenly. It was almost as if she had expected the Diaspora General to show up, but he did not. Even though he was represented by several others, it still left her wanting — hungering for more information. In the throes of her season, Olive found that her mind had wandered to her shadowed eidolon more than once. Olive gave Lily a sidelong glance. “That one pack, Diaspora…  What do you know about them?” Lily was a scout, and continued to be active in this endeavor even when pregnant. Surely, she must know something about this group that she didn’t.