Witch's Marsh Gypsy Caravan

Spring had not yet arrived. For the remainder of the cold spell, she hunkered in the bypass, leaving just as a whole slew of wolves arrived. She was glad she moved as she did, hurrying as fast as her stiff limbs could take her before she arrived at it: the marsh. Had she known the name, she might have called this an auspicious occasion — Bokht —  but the Chovahani merely knew this marsh as her new home; her new Tserha, her new home.

Božena found a den rather quickly — in a rather dry part of the marsh, moss hung over the entrance like curtains, a fallen log draped over the jutting outcrop, the cavern below nice and dry. The moment the Bebee, the old woman, saw it and settled inside, she knew she wouldn't be keen to leave. Once winter finally ebbed away and spring took over the land, she would make this dry spot of the Marsh her own; her final stop.

She did not deny her feet their fancy. They led her where they wanted to go, and she followed as pleased as could be. Though she'd had an offer for a home, her heart had not wished to be tied down yet. The snow was delightful, of course, and the idea of living somewhere where she saw it often would make her happy. Still, her heart yearned for something else. So she continued, a viajera, a traveler. 

As she traveled it struck her that she could change her name entirely. She didn't need to be Quetzalli any longer. She could be whatever she wanted. She could name herself snow, or Viajera even. This idea, especially the part of naming herself Traveler, brought a grin to her face and a laugh forth from her chest, but it flew just as quickly from her mind as a bird slips from perch to perch. The idea was abandoned, for now, it had not taken.

She found the terrain changing under her feet, and watching with interest. How strange a place this was! So big, and so full of many different types of land. There was less snow here, though still snow of course. She could recognize a marsh when she came across one. They had those at home, at least. Winter made for more peaceful traveling, thankfully, the mosquitos were hibernating still and the ground was harder than it would have been in summer. She picked her way carefully through still, wary of places that might plunge her into freezing water.

From the corner of her eye she noted a den, a rather ominous looking den but a den all the same. Her legs were weary and the cold bit at her. Perhaps she should rest. She regarded the idea for a moment, mulling it over in her head as if waiting for some coin to land one side or the other. Finally it did, heads, she would take a rest here if she could.

She was only a short distance from the den when she noticed the pawprints in the snow, and she bent her head as she walked to sniff them. They smelled fresh, of a female wolf. She frowned, pausing in her steps and peering at the den. "Hola? Alguien ahí?" It was natural to attempt first in her native tongue, but after a moment, she thought it best to include english as well. So far she'd met one wolf, and they had spoken english. "Anyone inside? You have a visitor in the cold! I am Quetzalli, cuál es tu nombre? Who are you?"

Within the few moments that she settled inside the den, Božena felt herself quickly ebbing away into sleep, her body finally comfortable in the soft marshy ground. But her respite did not last for long. Despite the soft ground absorbing the sounds and vibrations from overhead, she woke from the small movements, bleary eyed, then her eyes snapped open at the voice. The Chovahani snarled in annoyance, moving forward the confront the woman, her head poking through the entrance roughly. I avake now, idjeet, 

She didn't have long to wait before she could hear someone moving in the dark. A small snarl initiated this movement, and she wondered if she had woken the other traveler. She kept her smile on her face, tail waving softly behind her, ready to reassure this wolf that she meant no harm. Suddenly a dark face emerged from the equally dark den. Her voice was full of annoyance, but this did not phase Quetzalli. Quetzalli noticed that this woman too bore an accent, though it did not match that of the last female. Perhaps she too was a real and true viajera, just as Quetzalli was?

She was somewhat surprised to see the female was an older woman. Instinctively she calmed herself, slowing her tail and letting her smile lessen, she had not meant to disrespect the woman, nor to disturb her. Her culture placed great importance on their elders and their treatment. Though running from home hadn't been the most respectful thing she could do, she was not one who commonly went around throwing dirt in someone's face.

"Perdóname, Doña." She said, her expression more serious as she dipped her head in respect to the woman. She referred to her as was polite in her language, Doña. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to wake you, Aunty." This, too, was meant respectfully. "I am Quetzalli. I was passing by and saw the den, and thought to rest. I wondered if I might still, and share my warmth, por favor?" She blinked softly at the woman, holding herself at a lower height. This woman was not her pack leader, but purely by being older she was above her and deserved her respect. Especially when Quetzalli was asking something of her. "I would be happy to find a meal for us both, Aunty, as thanks. Qué hay sobre eso?"

Sorry man, @Quetzalli

Despite the woman's polite demenour, at least towards her, Božena is still peeved by her rude awakening. She is too old to be so quickly woken in unfamiliar territory. Her eyes remained narrowed as her golden, wobbling eye was turned towards the woman as she observed her truly. Her eye scanned the woman, noticing the soft, floral colors of her aura; light colors of pink and yellow, blue and lavender, a true kytice bude as she called it. 

Her normal eye turned towards the unknown woman, as she began to recognize the language she slipped in between her use of the common tongue. I not yer 'aunty', She snorts. You hunt for me, zen I vill see if you kan kome in, She lays at the entrance of the den, blocking the woman from forcing her way inward.

No worries!

The woman does not soften as Quetzalli speaks, and the younger woman's head dips low again in apology. She seems to be looking her over, turning to watch her with first one eye, then the other again. Perhaps her vision is bad. Old age takes many things, and that is why the elders are to be respected. They have lived through much and have much wisdom.

Her voice is harsh as she rebukes Quetzalli's nicieties and while the smile fades from the girl's face, her mood is not affected. In fact, she wishes to smile at the woman, for being so full of life and spunk. She knows that it would be seen as being disrepectful, though, so she keeps the emotions off her face. The woman demands that Quetzalli hunt first, and then she'll decide if she can sleep there.

Having disturbed her sleep and brought her out into the cold, Quetzalli finds this to be a suitable price to pay. If she must continue, then she must. At the very least she hopes the Doña will be slightly less irratated with her. "I'll be back soon, Doña. Go inside in the warmth and rest. I'll say when I am back." With a dip of her head she turns and heads off, searching for tracks or the scent of a rabbit. 

As she travels, spreading further and further away from the den, time slowly ticks onward. She wonders if perhaps she will have to turn up empty handed to the Doña's den. She wouldn't just leave here there, that would be too rude. She would rather take the shame of showing her failure than leave the woman waiting. The idea of it sits wrong in her chest.

Near to an hour has passed when finally her tracking has paid off. She leaps out atop a plump hare, silencing it's scream with ease. Her own stomach is empty too, but she does not want to make the woman wait any longer. While the hare is still warm and fresh she lopes back to the den. Thankfully it doesn't take another hour to run back to the den. She stops a decent distance from the den, not wanting to clump right up and yell in the woman's ear again. Her voice is softer as she calls out, unsure if the woman would have fallen asleep again.

"Doña, I am back with your dinner. Disculpas, I did not mean to make you wait."

She lays with her head between her paws, eyes squinted as she watches the woman disappear into the distance. She shifts occasionally, feeling her bones lock up from sitting still for too long. Within a few moments, she drifts off into a dreamless slumber.

The Chovahani snorts awake, the girl's voice reaching her. Her body slowly raising as she wordlessly examines the carcass, sniffing it first before taking a bite. The warm umami-taste pleases her, and she drags herself out of the den, chewing loudly as she gestures for the girl to enter the den.

The older woman wakes with a snort, and Quetzalli lowers herself once more in respect. She watches the woman rise, then sniff at the offering. When she samples of it, Quetzalli lifts her head a little more, watching for the verdict. At the gesture and obvious pleasure in the meal, Quetzalli's tail waves behind her and she beams. She moves forward and dips her head again to the woman as she passes her. "Gracias, Doña." Her voice is warm, but she does not stay to pester the woman. 

She moves into the darkness and warmth and heaves a sigh. She is tired, and so very cold. Snow is beautiful, but she never thought it could be so painful. She sniffs about to find the place the woman lay before, and then lays away from it. She does not want to kick the Doña from her bed. She starts at a polite distance away and merely sits on her hind end. She will not lay down until the other is finished, and then, once she is, she will offer conversation and warmth. She wants to know the woman's name, and where she came from.