Hushed Willows [festival] so twice five miles of fertile ground

aw but looking for @Isleñaa especially <3

the sounds of revelry do not escape her notice, beginning with the call to gather in the first place. she is undoubtedly intrigued, drawn to the willows like a fly to sweet things, eager to feast. it is a festival, she infers from the message. no, more than that—a fertility festival.

tashkent will whelp this year; she is sure of it. her body has long been ready for pups, and her mind even more so. it isn't as if she has any particularly strong mothering instincts, only that she knows that children are power, and power is everything. children are the foundation of legacies; children raise armies in your name; children conquer on your behalf.

her sons and daughters will whelp, too, and their descendants will rule this land. the gods have willed it. and the gods will bless these willows, especially, for a festival that will put a charm upon her womb. this is where it all begins.

in more than one way.

for as she wanders through the willows, drawing close to the crowd of wolves, she sees an all-too familiar dark-brown pelt, like muddy water in the moonlight. a flash of blue-green in the gaze, and her heart stops, her stomach drops. tashkent feels genuine joy for the first time in a long while, and she struts onto the scene, heedless of all others but the woman toward which she is quickly headed.

and her voice is calm but undoubtedly excited, high enough to carry over the mingled voices but still regal, always regal—

cousin!—

Isleña was a woman made for parties, though many of the wolves she met might be loathe to agree with that. As a Luk, she was social by nature — her power and strength came mostly from their numbers and finely-tuned sense of oneness. Without numbers behind her, Isleña lost most of her strength, but she did not lose her appreciation for parties, even if this place was full of strangers and she barely spoke their tongue. 

The chocolate-dipped banshee could not have been more in the thick of it, balancing many other’s attentions and relishing the limelight, when a voice struck her. It might have been the last voice she had ever expected to hear, having wished to hear it for so long and only experiencing disappointment as a result. Isleña had put the want of it so far from her consciousness that, at first, it did not even register with her and she went on being a spectacle in her own little show — but then she glanced over her shoulder, and saw the form of a wolf who proudly sported her same genes, and knew the day had finally come!

Isleña whirled on her heels, greeting Tashkent with a stupefied look and inability to express a single thought. She couldn’t move either; her feet had become permanently cemented to the ground, fearful of moving and waking herself up from this dream of dreams. She twitched her tail, and when she did not wake into some other reality, she began to beat her tail wildly from left to right. Her heart began to thud in her chest, and she surged forward, face brightening and expressing pure happiness rather than disbelief. 

“Kanım qan! Mən sənə inanmıram! Harada oldun? Başqaları var?”

So many emotions whirled around her head that Isleña did not know which one to give herself over to. She was overwhelmed, then joyful, but almost too quickly she found herself slipping into anger. Where had she been? What was the explanation she could possibly have? Isleña had wondered this for so long and had played out so many different scenarios in her head that she figured they could all only be dead. Death was the only thing that could separate a Luk from the hoarde, wasn’t it? Tashkent was here, not dead —though alone, it seemed — and Isleña wanted answers. Abandonment wasn’t a part of their code. 

“Qəribə torpaqlarda məni tək buraxdınız, mən də yaşamağa məcbur oldum.” she stated curtly, eyebrows furrowed, not knowing what to make of this.

so many exclamations! so many questions! tashkent wants to answer them all and to embrace her cousin with fervor, but before she can, anger has clouded isleña's visage, and the woman hurls an accusation at her instead. she handles it in stride, lifting her chin primly and letting the heat simmer for a beat before responding. after all, isleña has no way of knowing what had happened. tashkent may as well have abandoned her.

tawlardan qulap kettim, she responds, stomach churning at the thought of it. she has no memory of the fateful fall, nor the moments that preceded it, but clearly recalls the aftermath—the pain, the emptiness. men oyanğanda, bul meniñ estelikterim bolmadı.

she lets out a breath, gaze level but wide, gently imploring isleña to understand. men jaqında tek kim ekenimdi esime tüsirdim. meni keşiriñiz, nemere ağası - men sizdi ädeyi tastap ketpeymin.

tashkent stretches out her muzzle as if proffering an olive branch of peace, her face warm but sorrowful, happy but contrite. she had not considered that isleña may have suffered just as much—if not physically, then at least in spirit—in the wake of her tumble down the cliff. now faced with it, she is sorry. luks were quick to anger and slow to forgive, and it may take a long while to regain her cousin's trust, if she indeed holds a grudge even after the explanation.

forgot to post, so sorry ;a;!

After seeing Sanguinius, they proceeded to move on with the mingling, losing themselves in the exultion and elation of the fertile season. As the festivities wore on, Aure had enacted herself as Isleña's advocate, in way; but she was fair in her translations, and since had assumed an almost mentor-like role eyeing what her pupil struggled against or stumbled over. But nothing could prepare her for the flurry of absolute and very foreign-tongued euphoria that leapt from Isleña herself and another of her make.

Through the crowd of bustling attendants. Through the clutches of mauvy, winter heather and patches of bramble, Isleña twirled like a sooty feather into the dancing embrace of another, and words surged like a river from either; too fleet, too rolling for Aure to even comprehend. The reunion reminded her sorely of her own with her twin. Although she knew now that he was well and roamed with breath still in him, her heart strained for the day when she could hold him again.

Modest and feeling intrusive, her argent gaze flickered unassumingly elsewhere as she remained lingering a whiles from the brana. This was a private affair, and one word — well, gesture — from the cocoa she-wolf and Aure would make to excuse herself. Would've left already, had Isleña not become a sort of tether to the skayona in her own way.

Of course, there was no hiding her interest, no matter how humbled she made herself appear; pale ears still curved about in the change of pitch and emotion, and regardless, her eyes once rose to Isleña's... cousin, if she'd heard right.

As quickly as Isleña’s anger had risen did it dissipate; upon hearing about Tashkent’s plight, the confusion that jumped up the back of her throat settled and was replaced with the most sincerest empathy for her fallen family. Then she felt silly for having assumed that the Luks would purposefully leave her alone, in a strange place. There was no room for such victimization in this life — pity did not yield results, only action. So now, they must move forward.

“Bu sizin üçün baş verənlərə görə üzüldüm.” she said, falling into an embrace with Tashkent and appreciating the familiarity of her closeness. “Başqaları haradadır?” she asked quietly, as if this was a clandestine question that she wanted only her cousin to hear. Really, Isleña’s lost family was a poorly kept secret, and she had belabored her solitude to anyone who would listen. Everyone knew the Luks were gone, and the fact that Tashkent resurface alone only confirmed such a thing. Still she wanted to know what happened to the wolves she had loved for all of her short life.

The bedouin shimmied backwards, meeting Tashkent’s sea-green gaze and allowing her voice to color with a tinge of dread. “Sənsiz və qardaşlarınız olmadan yaşamaq - mümkün olmadı.” The outside world — the festival, Aure, the serious of beautiful men in attendance, faded away and her halo of attention encircled only her and Taskent, two like souls in this blazing new world. They had both known what it meant to rely fully on their hoarde, then to lose it and nearly die in the process. Isleña could still feel the hunger simmer in her stomach, and the cold frost of winter as it began its deadly approach. She had been lucky for Drageda, and for Aure and Mallaidh who had found her in her frenzied state.

Isleña looked to the ground, almost in shame at her next admission. “Drageda adlanan bir qrupla yaşayıram. Onlar bizim kimi bir şəkildə var.” But not all the ways. Isleña still had a difficult time adapting to a non-nomadic lifestyle, but if she narrowed her gaze and squinted her eyes, Isleña could almost mistake the hardened Drageda for the roughness of Khorasan — albeit with a lot of fucking and fighting, but Isleña was trying her darnedest to change that much. Slowly, the pack upon the cliffs was becoming home.

She then turned her attention to Tashkent, giving her body a once-over. She did not appear to be starving or on the verge of death. Tashkent could always hold her own in uncertain circumstances, which is why Isleña had chosen to follow her in the first place. Still, Isleña questioned “Sağlamsınızmı? Biz - onlar - healers var. and, suddenly becoming aware of the pale women at her heels, turned to introduce the only healer Isleña actually knew.  “She is Aure,” Isleña beckoned with a smile, hoping Tashkent would notice how much her common tongue had improved, despite her slow tongue and lengthy pauses as she strung the words together. “A friend.” Isleña gave a laugh, then reverted back to her mother tongue, as she usually did when saying something she did not want others [anyone who was not a Luk] to understand.  “Onun kişi çox gözəl. Onu görməlisiniz!”

she swallows when her cousin asks the question, shaking her head ruefully in response. men bilmeymin, tashkent whispers. tipti olardıñ jüzderin körgen bolsam da, olardı jaqında ğana bilmeytinmin. and that makes her feel even more powerless—to think that she might have seen one of them, even from afar, and not known them for who they were. luks.

isleña's sob story goes mostly unheard by the princess, racked with her own grief. it is only the arrival of the pale woman, and her cousin's subsequent introduction, that she snaps out of it, half a smile oozing onto her face. hello, aure, she purrs, dipping her head in greeting. they are of similar stature but near-opposite pelages, like the moon and the sky that embraces it.

she snorts gently at isleña's quip, grinning fully now. o, men onı köretinime senimdimin, she says lewdly, sliding her tongue along her chops. she pauses in thought for a moment, weighing her options.

well. . .what options? she either goes with her cousin back to this drageda or continues to wander alone, untethered, without family. the latter seems excruciatingly hard to bear.

men kelemin, tasha answers decisively, nodding. she turns, then, to aure. does drageda have room for one more barbarian girl? she asks, raising her brows, a giggle in her query. i promise that i can be of use to your tribe. in infinite ways.

Aure was by herself through the entire foreign exchange, smiling unawares and entertaining her ears to the melodic tumble of this language she’d never heard before. It was good that the herbalist hadn’t been born to the tongue of Luk. Let them think she was beguiling, blithe; let them think that there was nothing that aches within the recesses of herself. Had she’d known what was truly being said, that little deception may have been doled out a bit more severe.

As it was, though, she didn’t understand a thing, nor possess that malicious and seething intent. If anything, by their edged words, she simply assumed their eyes had been caught on passerby or some shared memory. (Then again, the one she loved was roguish, ravishing — so could she have ever argued, had she known?)

Regardless of every intent she didn’t know, and merely assessing what was displayed before her, it was with a further smile that she addressed Tashkent. ”Barbarian you claim to be, but Drageda is such that appreciates ze beauty of brutality.” The starlit gaze glinted, with her own sort of impish humility. ”Our cliffs always need beating hearts; I suspect that additions will be more welcome now than ever.”

The medic spoke true — at least, as true as she could lent out. She was not so enamored with the horde as to be unwary of those who wished to become initiated. All the same, however, the geda-by-the-sea has since dwindled in numbers following the loss of its commander. Aure only hoped that this survivalist could be of as much use as she claimed to be.

Isleña watched as Tashkent asked Aure permission to join their ranks, she assumed. Why else would she be mentioning Drageda, which was about the only word she understood from Tashkent’s flowery language. Isleña has always been jealous of her cousins grasp on the common tongue, but hadn’t realized just what a valuable skill it was until she had been thrust into the world of wolves who were not Luks. Whether that’s what Tash had asked or not, Isleña threw back her head and gave a hearty laugh.

“Dostum, başqa bir yerə getməyə icazə verərdim!” she shouted, happy and thankful to finally say these words. It was an amazing feeling not to be so alone in the world, surrounded by two wolves that — at this moment in time — meant the most to her. In fact, she was surrounded by many, many wolves, several of whom she actually knew and were friends with, despite the obvious language gap. After things being bad for so long, things were finally becoming good.

That was not all Isleña had to say, though. “Lüks bir-birinə bərabərdir - kiçik olsa da, ola bilərik. Bir dəfə daha güclü inkişaf edə bilərik.” she reached her head out and tapped their foreheads together. Their story want not over yet. “Sizi Xorasandan izlədim, indi də bu dəniz canavarları arasında yaşayırıq. Bu, növbəti çağırışdır.” Isleña meant it as innocently as possible. She wanted to truly live amongst Drageda, and now Tashkent would get the same chance — perhaps, honestly, it was their only chance.

Isleña did not feel bad for using her language with her cousin, after so long of being relatively mute, but she eventually switched to the language the entire trio understood. It was not nice to leave Aure out of these things; she very clearly wanted to be a part. “You go with us,” Isleña said, hyper-aware of how dumb and clunky her voice suddenly became.  “but the first thing is party,” she didn’t really know where she was going, but she wanted to talk so she said “— and celebrate —” and choppily added on “…the happy things.” to form a fully-fledged sentence. She was making a fool of herself in front of Tashkent, now… everyone else must have just gotten used to it.

she gives a grin at her cousin's jest and at aure's approval, wagging her tail in earnest. it is settled, then, tashkent remarks, sea-green eyes glimmering. she presses her head against isleña's, breathing deep. biz jeñe alatın mindet, she purrs, not so innocent in her meaning.

qajet, qabılda. it is a phrase passed down from luk to luk for generations, the crux of their bloodline. she says it with quiet pride, not the battle roar of days gone by. . .but it holds the same strength, nonetheless.

tashkent nods at the idea of celebrating, though she does have to interject one thing. i will look for family, luks, in the mountains, she explains, trying to make her common tongue as simple as possible for her cousin while still including aure in the conversation. i will come whether or not i find them. . .but i must look.

but for now, we celebrate! tasha exclaims warmly, giving her cousin's cheek a nuzzle before extending herself in a mock play bow before aure. celebrate with old friends and with new, she adds, beaming fiendishly up at the white woman.

last post from me <3 smol today

She could understand the urgency belying Tashkent’s words, the same way she’d understood Isleña’s desolation in the time prior to this festival. No one should have to go through that pain, and yet, everyone does. Dragostea’s words came to her, then; all but forgotten from the time she’d arrived with winter. ”Take all ze time you need, of course. To lose those of your blood, your heart, it is...” Her scarred lips thinned, saying everything she couldn’t.

So much had happened with them since then — she’d never thought the brawlish male she’d known nothing of would become father to their children, much less have become so in love with him; lesser still that he would’ve led to her brother's discovery. And she suddenly ached for Verx, then, as she often did, yet gazed with quiet kindness at the two Luks.

Something a bit elfin pranced in argent eyes as she took in Tashkent’s display, trilled, ”What are we waiting for?” and knew it wouldn’t be long before she lost herself to fervor once more.