Arrow Lake — tied knots in the laces of my worried shoes,

set in early, early 24/04 after these events.
tagged for @Oath, @Aurëwen, and anyone else from Diaspora! ♡

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Despite the subtle helping hand of the warming touch of Spring that had settled itself into the day with the rising of the morning sun — which was only a mere hour ago — the dove couldn't shake the chill that had snuck itself beneath her powdered coat and had announced it's unwanted stay as it clawed close to bare skin. Maybe sunrise wasn't the best of times to make a visit, but she relished in the possibility that the lake that Diaspora claimed would be quiet, save for hopefully the huntress she was ever so hopeful to speak to. Her other half had still been slack with slumber when she had risen; but the dove had left a trail, her destination hardly far from where they slept, in the event she felt inclined to follow.

The femme wasn't cut out for the sharp edges and steep ascent of the mountainside, regardless of how much the puff of her pelt would very much like to disagree; there was no denying she was not much more than skin and bone, still yet to see herself fill out from her whelp days which looked to be dragging on and on. The lack of a pack and the scarce meals between Oath and herself probably contributed more to this dilemma than she was willing to let on, but nevertheless she allowed this train of thought to drift off as she came upon the clear waters at the bottom side of the lake and the distinct pack scent of what could only be the border's edge.

How did this dame — who called herself Aure — navigate such terrain with bairns and a wounded shoulder to boot? the girl pondered, brow furrowed in confusion as mahogany hues ambled upwards along the edges of the falls. Once halfway between the mouth of the lake, where the river expanded, and far enough away from the roaring of the falls where her voice would surely be lost, the pale dove sat, tentatively, face flushing with a gentle heat at the thought of this endeavour. Should she have brought herbs, something for the matriarch's shoulder? Food, as a peace offering? Her last attempt at a civil encounter at a territory border had all but gone sour, and the girl found herself briefly flustered with all the possibilities that may soon unfold. Who was to answer her call, if not Aure?

So the wraith sat in silence for a few minutes, shoulders hunched and tail tucked tightly around her front mitts, fumbling over what she should do, how she should call out. Just procrastinating the inevitable, really. Hopefully the rushing water would drown out her calls and she could return back to their den because at least she had tried. Maybe Oath would come up from behind her, sly as a fox, accompanied with that hoarse sleep-slick drawl to save the day.

Eventually coming to the conclusion that the former was unlikely to happen, much to her chagrin, the dove decisively swallowed the lump forming in her throat and puffed her chest, ready to roar —

— and instead chirped the most pathetic awooo the adolescent could muster.

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