The Sentinels burned away to ash

"Deirdre!" she had screamed, over and over, until her throat had gone ragged and her voice was hoarse. There was no going back on her commitment to Drageda, for her safety net— her very heart— was gone. Some of the tall giants remained, their bark merely blackened and scorched, but others had burned at their bases until they were weak enough to fall. If any wolves of Donnelaith had survived, they were no longer here, but Emaleth could not catch her twin's scent— not even at their father's grave— and the dark witch lamented.

She had dreamed of this, but dreams were merely dreams; a projection of one's innermost anxieties and turmoil. But it had turned to reality, and as Donnelaith had, her heart had burned away to ash.

Hope you don't mind me. :)

He'd slowly but surely traveled the coast, heading northward all the while. His family was no longer in the bay, but he knew they were nearby. He'd left them, angry and confused about the death and destruction he'd seen, and had only returned after his own heart had quieted. The world had not shown him any kindnesses, except perhaps his ability to remain alive in even the harshest conditions, and now that he was back in the teekon wilds, he knew he needed to find his family.

Levi came upon the burnt ashes of trees, an entire territory scorched to the ground. The area was eerily quiet, the birds and creatures fled from the fire. Levi knew fire all too well - the storm that had destroyed his home had caused one, too - and treaded carefully through the ash. A voice, a shrill cry, split the silence in two, and Levi's ears perked at the noise. He followed the sound to a dark wolf searching the ash for something. He paused far enough away to not appear a threat, and spoke, Hello. Levi dipped his head once she saw him, and offered a piece of himself. I'm Levi. Do you need any help?

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“Deirdre!”

The dark witch’s ragged screams had split the sky again and again, drawing the Leviathan reluctantly from his brood. The Blackrock warband had been all but decimated by the loss of Skellige and the subsequent inferno, and Szymon’s full attention had gone toward placating the Sea and keeping Doe, Muses, and the remaining children fed and cared for. In between times, he searched for his first daughter, coming up short every damn time — but what he feared the most was the faraway look that appeared more and more often in Doe’s eyes. She was like quicksilver to him — always had been; hollow-boned as a bird and just as eager to take flight — and the thought of losing her was worse than the prospect of living inland the rest of his days.

He followed the keening wails to the brittle edge of Donnelaith, his hackles bristling and lips curling reflexively at the smoke that hung still in the frigid air, and he arrived just in time to hear the grayscale male offer his name. It was a fortunate thing that he’d caught the wolf’s introduction, because at first sight — grayscale fur, turquoise eyes, tall and sturdy build — fury swam through Szymon’s bloodstream. His trained eyes wanted to see Rannoch the Deserter, but they marked the differences in pattern and scent with fierce alacrity. A low, guttural chuff announced the alpha’s presence and served as a succinct greeting as he drew in the female’s scent as well, finding an unfamiliar wave of wolfscent tainted with brine. Without preamble, “You are Deirdre’s sister,” he guessed, his bass timbre weary and heavy with grief, his scarred legs and sand-caked paws braced with readiness should either of the strangers provide a threat to his person.

It did not escape his notice that she could be the sister he sought.

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Glad to have you both join. <3

Nothing was sacred; not her father, not Donnelaith, not Deirdre. It was a bitter medicine to swallow— if it could be called that rather than poison. She had left this place with the knowledge that she could return with little consequence, for it was her birthright to call the Sentinels her home. Of course, this had only been an instinct, not a thought pure and in the forefront of her mind— not until this moment when she was met with the undeniable finality of her decision. She had lost everyone and everything she had ever cared about.

This world was not hers. Every bond she thought tied her to this place had been shattered. It only brought her grief and pain.

She felt a wall go up instantly around her heart, her mind's way of protecting itself. Emaleth would lose herself to rage and sorrow if she allowed herself to continue to feel. A breath or two later, and a male approached— she hadn't heard him until he began to speak, and it wasn't until "..need help?" that his voice registered as words. She winced at the rumbling voice of a second, for she hadn't heard his approach either.

"Can you make the forest whole again?" she asked bitterly of the first, "Can you bring back the Mayfairs?" It wasn't fair of her to be so hostile toward a bystander, but evidently her walls were not so secure as she believed. To the second, the dark witch said with all the remaining pride she could muster, "I am Emaleth Claudette Mayfair, yes. Deirdre's twin." Wouldn't that mean she would have felt it if her sister had truly perished? Or had that message been delivered in her nightmare?

Levi watched her carefully as she reacted to him, her wails silent for now, but the stress and grief still evident in her movements, her voice, her gaze. When she demanded if he could bring back the forest, or return her family, Levi simply shook his head. Nothing can undo the damage done here. My own family lands were burned over a year ago, and I haven't been back since. His gazed turned toward the shore, where incidentally Szymon now lived with his flock. He swung his gaze back to Emaleth with a frown on his lips. I'm sorry, Emaleth, for your loss. It seems we've both faced it too young. Though Levi was about a year her elder, he well remembered the loss, the grief, of his family dying, of the land being burned, of his remaining family fleeing the fire.

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Szymon faced the wave of bitterness impassively, one tattered ear fanning out and away before pressing forward upon his skull in tandem with its mate at the dark witch’s next words. “Emaleth Claudette Mayfair,” he repeated, treating the unfamiliar syllables with the same care he’d treated Deirdre’s. “I am Szymon Cairn.” He hesitated, no longer certain that he could believe what his mind swore he’d seen: the lissome, beloved silhouette, limned by fire, leaping headlong from the cliff and disappearing from sight. “Your sister was — ” His throat grew tight as he thought of Deirdre, seeing the viridian-eyed dryad not only through his own eyes but through Skellige’s — through Doe’s. “Loved,” he said finally, licking his lips uneasily at the usage of the word he normally only used in relation to his wife. “By many. My wife and I have been searching every day for her — and for my brother.” He blew out a heavy breath.

Tact was normally beyond the black-banded Leviathan’s reach, but he found himself in thick supply of it as he questioned, “Where can I find you again? My mate and I will keep our eyes turned to Donnelaith — sometimes the Sea provides — ” A few beats too late, he followed Levi’s gaze toward the shore, and his lean, angular shoulders shifted in a shrug as he made a snap decision: “The bay is always open to you, Emaleth. The Mayfairs — the Mayfairs loyal to Deirdre — are allies of Blackrock Depths.” He was sure that Doe would support him in this. Then, abruptly, without fanfare or farewell, he turned and loped back to the bay.

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