Sunbeam Lair already choking on my pride

Apologies, I am a bit rusty. For Andraste + anyone else who wants to join!

It wasn’t usual for the young wolf to travel during the daylight hours, but she was desperate. Isolde had told herself that she had to keep moving, no matter how sore and tired her paws grew or how high the sun rose in the early morning sky.

The female had travelled many miles over the past few weeks in search of somewhere new to call home, but so far every time she thought she’d stumbled upon the perfect location to settle down, something had spooked her, causing her to abandon her haunt in search for the next best alternative further over the horizon. Now though, after days of little sleep, Isolde was simply in search of somewhere which felt safe enough to rest her head for a few hours.

She had so far managed to avoid stumbling into any of the wolves belonging to the pack which claimed the most eastern mountain peaks. The pack smelt large, with many scents intermingling in the air, creating a stench which was admittedly very intimidating to the lone yearling. She had made sure to give their territory a wide birth, for fear that she would be chased down and killed if she dared to wander too close.

The scrawny female had continued westward, heading for the next mountain peak as the orange and pink streaks from the recent sunrise faded from the pale winter sky. As she moved alongside a rising cliff edge, her golden-amber eyes scanned the rock for any openings, hoping for a small indent in the mountain stone to curl herself up in for the remainder of the day. What she found was something far better. A cave had formed itself in the side of the mountain, one which she immediately advanced towards, albeit cautiously.

Bright eyes scanned the gloomy darkness as her muddied paws tentatively stepped inside, her heart fluttering anxiously inside her chest as she sniffed the crisp air for scents of the cave’s previous or current occupier.

ur good boo <3

She wills it all to recede;
the lullabies, the faces that come and go, flourishing and unfurling in the cottony hands of her faded mem'ry  —  emil, atar; yondo, yeldë; lovers who would only ever leave her and a heart that bleeds rivulets of everlimned love and this gate will not shut! All peering down at her from their unfathomable height as she watches her life, who she had been entire, churned into a swill of once-was and parted by the pulls of the undertow. Wills it all to wend down that endless, printed Road; into the stygian depths of a remade life; leaves her, until there is naught but soot simmering embers within the chasm of her where she is aching, absent. Godless, gone;
the fairylight shakes her rubied crown, must be truthful. This ordained need to know what smothers her, stuttering and affrighted; an insistence come to her from all those exalted palms she has refused faith of that had pushed her beneath the waters all the same. And there is another, here—

Halfsights flit to find the molten gazeglim of the gainsboro girl; sculpted spry, with the airs of some manner of anxiety piqued through the very vessel of her. Thin ears tuck away, then, into her own wisping ruff; turning from what-ever she has been foraging for, Andraste looses a gentled chirrup of acknowledgment her way.

A menagerie of scents filled her nose; damp earth, pine, aspen and rock, all intermingled with the scent of another. Isolde’s small ears drew back, pressing cautiously against her ruffled crown as she inhaled the crisp air deeper into her lungs. She was not alone, of that the yearling was sure, but how the other wolf would take to her presence, Isolde could not know. Not until she dared to move a little closer and face the stranger head on through the gloomy darkness of the cave.

Head held low, and scraggly tail waiving uneasily behind her, the young loner advanced in search of the cave dweller. For a moment her bright amber eyes sensed movement, a flash of pale fur catching her attention through the thick veil of shadows that loomed before her. Immediately she paused, a single forepaw dangling tentatively above the cold stone floor as she willed her eyes to adjust to the darker surroundings. Blinking, her pale lashes fluttered open as a chirp met her ears – a sound which took her by surprise.

Somewhere in the gloom the stranger had acknowledged her, but had not yet taken any further action. Instead the gentle tone of their voice seemed almost pleasant, perhaps even inviting. Reassured, her tail moved to wave more freely behind her as she carefully sniffed her way deeper into the cave, responding with her own quiet chirp as her golden gaze finally settled on the pale, scarred face of the older female.

“I’m not disturbing you am I?” Isolde asked shyly, her pale brows pinching together in concern.

“Not in ze slightest,”
the willow wisped, looking now in full of the coltish yearling who made her unassuming entry to the Lair and where the stricken rested. Her presence was, truth be told, a welcome diversion to all such that she would rather not think up;
and so it was with an absent roll of spire-shoulders that Andraste regarded the grayling before her; the sight welcome welcome welcome to the mists within her. For now, she did not offer her own calling  —  instead choosing to enquire:
"How have your travels been, amidst all of this winter? This Lair is one of ze few that seem to retain its greenery."

The yearling’s shoulders visibly sagged when the woman assured her that she was not a bother, her posture changing from one which had been tense and rigid, to one entirely more relaxed. The frown which had been pinching at her brow softened too as she dared a small step closer. Only now did her eyes stray away from the stranger as she sought to distinguish the features of the cave, noticing how far back the chasm cut into the mountain stone, the small pockets of light which filtered down through the crumbling walls, and the plants which bathed beneath it.

Bright amber gaze returned to the marred face of the woman who lingered before her, pale ears pricking in acknowledgement to the question directed toward her. Charcoal lips pursed together as she deliberated over her answer. “Hard…tiresome.” Isolde admitted with a heavy sigh, her naivety showing through. “It’s tough not having a warm den to return home to, but instead having to flee from one place to the next.” Her brows pinched together again as her gaze dropped to stare at the floor, and then at the cave around them, not wanting to maintain eye contact for fear of the judging stare that might look back at her.

Her mother had warned her how harsh the world outside a pack could be, had insisted countless times that she stay and help look after their growing family. Isolde had accused her of scaremongering, had declared that she would not remain alongside her siblings as yet another caregiver to her parents newest litter. The headstrong yearling had wanted more from life, but now as her eyes danced about the gloom of the cave, she wandered what more the world really had to offer her.

She focused back on the stranger, eager distract herself from her own sombre thoughts. “You must be local to these parts, or at least familiar with them?” Isolde asked, curious how she knew of the plants which persisted through the winter inside the cave. 

late murry crimmis <3 sorry for my slow replies/tiny posts ;a; got sick

Gray gaze anything but judging;
a gentled smile of some nostalgia came to perch upon the shorn lips at the yearling's weary and weighted words; in seasons past, Andraste had thought very much the same when she herself had been awander ... and though she has not seen the companion in her brother for several moons and several more, her mem'ry of him is still fond, nevermind distortion.  "To travel by oneself is comendable,"  the fée muses, tugging herself from within her head to refocus upon the girl before her:  "It is no evil to wish for a den's warmth, for ze life of a loner only suits certain molds."  The sprite before her still stands before her  —  and it speaks volumes where shyness has rendered silence.

As to the enquiry:  "I suspect that I am of both, surely,"  canting marred features yonder, back from whence the traveler had tread.  "My hold is in a vale, not so far past those very spires. Each time I come to ze Lair, I am humbled that such a gem is not too arduous a trek."  (Not to discredit the greyling's efforts, of course, for she has more than held her own.)