Fairspell Meadow I told the witchdoctor

He knew that he had returned the moment he saw the dark blob of Blackfeather Woods on the horizon, floating, a stagnant island in the midst of the Flatlands. A wave of something fell over him as the wind swept over him, carrying a pouperrie of smells. Some brought back memories.

He wondered what had happened to the Woods since he had abandoned it. Was Vaati still there? Koume and Kotake? What about his younger siblings, Ramsay, Maegi, and Euron? Most of all, he wondered about his mother. His poor, poor mother. The last he had seen of her she was a drug addled mess, half coherent as she dragged herself through the Woods, forced to live by the will of her children. He would not be surprised if she had died. It wasn’t like she had much to live for, anyway.

Ganondorf could feel tension in his limbs as he walked towards the forest. The tension traveled to his stomach, then his chest. The witch gritted his teeth, pushing through the apprehension that had crept into his body unbidden. He chose to return. He wanted to. How dare his body freeze up at such a moment! He was not afraid. He was not worried. He was not. He would return and confront whatever reality lay in the Woods, no matter how dark and twisted it might be.

ousted from her birthclaim by the fresh settlement of a new pack in blackfeather, astara longingly lingered the fringes. her eyes were ever turned inward: she thought of relmyna most, her spirit somehow intertwined at the altar — and wondered what her mother would have thought about the takeover.


resting under the fanning tail of an evergreen, astara shifted in the shade as a flame-drop wolf passed by her vision. the girl noticed his attention was drawn within the depths of the pack; her tail flicked possessively, but she made no move to intercept him. after all, it could hardly be called her home anymore, and she was just a vagrant shade that cursed its’ borders.

He would have ignored the tree had it not been for the telltale sign of a wolf lounging underneath its spray. Ganon stopped in his tracks. His eyes washed over her slender frame and a glint of recognition enflamed his eyes. He knew her to be of his line, no matter how deviant he himself was from the trademark Melonii visage with his shades of flame and sunlight. It was hard to ignore: the black void of fur, the indigo of her eyes. She was a Melonii through and through…right? It was possible that this was a coincidence, but that seemed strange given how close the were to the Woods.

Are you a Melonii? He asked the girl. He did not approach her, not knowing how she would respond. The tension that had been in his limbs — the anxiety at returning to his birthplace — shifted into apprehension. He did not know if his name was known to all the new children of Melonii. Neither did he know if those in charge hated him or vaguely remembered him. So, he stood some ways from her, keeping his body neutral and his face impassive but curious. He wondered whose child she was.

far away as relmyna's relics were, when ganondorf laid eyes upon her, astara heard the susurrus of distant whisperings. only a few times now had she heard this dark chorus: once, when relmyna's soul had fled, once, when she and maegi had touched the stone, and once, when averna had called her thief with relmyna's bones around her neck.

the cub stretched out from under the awning of pine and stood to greet him, meeting his fiery gaze with curiosity. ganondorf would find no verbal answer, for astara was mute -- but if he walked with one foot in the void like the rest of her kin, perhaps the voices would affirm his suspicions, and tell all there was to tell.

She moved, but she said nothing. Ganon did not recall Relmyna, perhaps for some fleeting memories of a pale woman who slunk at Cicero’s heels. He had no knowledge of how she had filled his mother’s role and bore Cicero’s second litter of children. The girl in front of him was technically his cousin — the daughter of his mother’s brother — but Melonii family trees were complicated, even with ‘normal’ genetic relations; Potema’s malformed brood were both his siblings and his cousins.

Well? Ganon’s voice became impatient as silence filled the air around them. Can you not speak? He peered into her eyes, as if he would gain some kind of confirmation. He lacked the connections that the rest of his kin had to the Daedra. It was not a quirk of his genetics but a purposeful rejection of the Daedra’s control over his life. All that was left was a vague murmuring, a general feeling rather than the clear voices. So he felt that vague, gentle pull as he glared at her. He nodded. What else would you be? he said, more to himself than to her. A Melonii, not a mute I mean. He snorted. You could just be messing with me with the silence. He grinned.

sorry she is so boring! but glad you are back <3

when the full bore of the man's gaze pressed into astara, she looked away. as defiant as she was, she was not so stupid as to challenge a wolf's ego alone. he was hale, and more experienced -- astara was in no position to fend off a fight. peering back at the blackened forest with a detached sense of longing, she remained quiet even as the male continued to speak.

she did not know yet that he shared her blood, though the whisperings continued their torment in her mind. thus far astara had only met wolves of her kin that were either white or black -- or some variation between.. and besides vaati, their sigil seemed to be fathomless indigo eyes.

the man's impatience molded into something else. astara lifted her gaze in time to see his features had split into a grin. her tail wagged softly, but still the girl did not speak. instead, she motioned to the forest and tilted her head, wondering why it had held his attention and if he too, was somehow her blood.

She did not respond, so he assumed that she was very adamant in her silence, or truly mute. It was within his nature to be skeptical — he rejected their gods, but he was a child of the Melonii, followers of Mephala above all. He knew what he lacked in terms of physical signs. It was both a good and a bad thing. His bronze fur and orange eyes were markers of his less muddled genes. Not that he was insinuating that she was a lesser being because of her genetics. He wouldn't do that. I know I don't look like it, He flicked his tail, emphasizing the brightness of his fur color in contrast with her own. But I am Melonii. He looked down at her, own raven fur. By blood at the very least, Potema was my mother. His chosen tense gave him pause. How was she? Was she still alive? Had she succumbed to the thick fog of opiates, gliding into nothingness, or had her death been violent? Or did she just leave? Do you know her? Is she still alive? He asked, but he didn't know how he could glean a response from her silence.

astara studied ganondorf as he spoke of his relation to her empire; whether it was understood or not was difficult to disseminate from the girl's dull stare. she did, however, step forth and draw her thin muzzle along his shoulder (if he would allow). here she gathered the sundry scents to his pelt, and thought deep.

once done with her silent ritual, astara turned her gaze to blackfeather pointedly. she had no answers for him, but blackfeather might -- after all, there were wolves in the dark keep that spoke, and were far more useful than simple cubs.

Though he expected no concrete answer, he was startled for a moment at her approach and subsequent touch. He flinched at it, completely unexpected as it was. He cocked his head at her, confused and trying to get something out of her face in regards to what it all meant. She simply turned her face towards the Woods instead.

You don't know. Someone there might? Or is the evidence there? Or is she there? He says the words with uncertainty, trying to parse out meaning from this strange charade that they had. He wondered why she would be mute. Was it a quirk of her birth — more of those skewed Melonii genetics — or something else? An injury, perhaps? She wouldn't be able to tell him, unfortunately. He wished that muteness would not be his fate. He couldn't imagine such a world without a voice. Who birthed you then, eh? he looked her over. Given how uniform all of the Meloniis were, it was hard for him to tell her parentage without one of the more trademark signs — Cicero's mismatched eyes, Damien's pale ones. Tell you what. I'll rattle off a bunch of names I know, and you can tell me if you recognize any of them. He paused for a moment. By nodding. Be extra vigorous when its one of your parents.

ganondorf may have been intent on a guessing game, but the dark melonii had already begun walking, her steps slowing only as she glanced back at the male. like as not, he could rattle off all the names he knew, and would likely not utter her dam's name.

astara's ears slipped back as she paused, a small, knowing smile playing her features. her mother's name, much like her body, was dead and buried in the ground -- and the only wolves that knew it were residing in the black forest nearby. ganondorf would have to go to them for answers.

She ignored him. Ignored everything he said. He let out a gust of air, annoyed and amused by her. Wait! he trotted after her. She turned back to look at him, smirking at him. There was a faint glimmer of recognition, and had he been more fine tuned, he might have placed her in his family tree. But the message was lost on deaf ears and he caught up to her, looking down indignantly at the smaller Melonii.

ganondorf's chuff fell on deaf, or rather, oblivious ears, though his wait elicited the upright twitch of her tail, much like a cat's when an owner called its' name. astara continued onward, halting only as he caught up to her and his perilous orange eyes gazed down upon her with something akin to indignity.

she glanced up to his fire-singed features, her black skull rotated to the side in a silent inquiry that seemed to say, well, what?

He strode alongside her. He had to walk slower — his stride was longer than hers. Ganon looked down at her, as she looked up. He saw something again in her and he couldn't understand what it was. You're a member of the Woods? A Dark Sister? Her being a Melonii didn't necessarily mean she was a member of the Blackfeather Woods (or whatever it was called now), though he supposed that since she was familiar with the Woods as his source of answers, she was. This is way too awkward for me. he muttered. Her silence was frustrating and unnerving.

ganondorf was not the first nor the last soul to be perturbed by the insistent silence that shrouded astara. his questions again went unanswered, though she stole him a glance as he muttered his discontent. she was not blind to body language, and saw the misgiving as it coiled in each of his steps.

they were close to the border now, and astara drew to a halt. a current played under her skin, rifling her coat so that her hackles lifted ever so subtly. she stared into the woods, her gums lifted in a silent grimace -- and then, before any member could intercept her presence, the dark ghoul made to slip off back into kintla, away from blackfeather.

He got nothing from her, as expected — but mute people could communicate in their own way! She could at least try to give him something instead of knowing looks and invasions of privacy. He followed her to the edge of the Woods, his apprehension increasing with each step. By the time they reached the Woods, Ganon barely paid attention to her anymore. When he finally broke from his silent reveire she was gone. He blinked once, twice. Had that been a ghost? A spirit? A shiver ran down his spine. He was glad she left. She was creepy.

thank you for the thread <3

astara had not glanced back, trusting ganondorf to stay put; and stay put he did, casting her a shrewd glance that she might have recognized as distrusting if she had looked back in the first place.

onward the night-cub went, though night-cub she was no longer.