Moonspear but be the serpent under it

spiritualist thread I.

heavy snow drifts consistently from the sky, at some times making it hard to see what is in front of her and forcing praimfaya to slow her gait as she weaves thru the trees at moonspear's base. it is here that she has made a 'makeshift' den of limbs from evergreens propped against a boulder and fallen tree. a collage of pelts from her kills has been collected to make a rugged loose quilt of bedding. though the limbs shed their needles it offers decent shelter against the worst of the snows.

praimfaya can't force herself to burrow in the ground anymore than she dares to climb higher to find a cave. both would offer more warmth but she doesn't wish to share her mother's untimely and gruesome fate.

after waking abruptly she knows she will not get back to sleep and so forces herself to stretch out of her den and trudge thru the deeper parts of the snow. she doesn't have a particular destination in mind though she briefly considers walking a patrol in an effort to clear her thoughts still hazy with the image of linkoln. it is the first time he has manifested into her dreams and the would-be commander isn't sure what to make of it; only knows that it is significant.

Desdemona was always on the move, she knew who was awake, or who was walkng about and who was not. She was always patrolling or guarding, one and the same, and always kept alert to what was around. Mistakes were made at times, but she deemed to be useful in the only use she needed to have; to serve and protect. Life was full of more then that, but she felt that was her life, to become someone important to rely on.

Through the snow, a white wolf nearly blended in if she did not keep watch with keen jades. A nod to the other, an acknowledgement of their being, but in a way, that wolf seemed a bit off to Desdemona.

while praimfaya doesn't feel threatened nor afraid of the image manifestation of her keryon she is, nevertheless, perturbed. trying to refocus her thoughts and energies in the here and now, praimfaya takes a couple deep breaths and lets them out, mercurial gaze lingering on the snow layered path before her. it is not long before the sound of footfalls pull her from her attempt at grounding herself and shaking off the vestiges of her dream. nearer and nearer they draw; it is only the confirmation that they come from within moonspear's claim that keeps praimfaya calm.

an earthen pelaged woman emerges from the shadows of the evergreen trees; manifesting into being as if she, too, were apart of praimfaya's dreams. the keenly felt nip of the cold snow around her feet assures the young wanheda that she is very much awake. frostbound gaze catches the dip of the woman's head — a nod of acknowledgement. hei, praimfaya breaks the silence, calling out to the other spearian, the trigedasleng slipping off her tongue as effortlessly as the draw of breath that follows behind it.

There was something strange about this woman that she didn't understand. Dream-like, but she felt that word wasn't right, "I am Desdemona," the wolf started, "are you alright?" She couldn't help but ask this, feeling the entity the other had was concerning. To the spider, she looked dazed, like in a trance of some sort, perhaps lost in thought, or hidden with problems. It caused her to become concerned, a rare question sprouted.

praimfaya, she offers the earthen pelaged woman when a name is offered to her first. are you alright? the older woman asks her then. for a moment that is naught but a hairsbreadth — and yet feels like eternity in and of itself — praimfaya considers lying. visibly, she hesitates; hesitates to trust someone whom she has only just met. but ...she needs to speak about it, she realizes. praimfaya can't rightfully judge how desdemona will react to being approached about the idea of a spirit guide but ...even if praimfaya is left being scoffed at, maybe talking about it will help soothe whatever perturbs her the most about it.

in my culture ...wolves like me have spirit guides, it is the easiest way she can give some context without going into copious amounts of detail. i've 'heard' him ever since i was a cub — which just being less than a month shy of entering the adult ranks she doesn't truly consider herself a 'cub' anymore. but last night he showed himself to me in my dreams. she admits with some reluctance, half expecting herself to be met with skepticism.

"Who is he?" she didn't understand what a 'spirit guide' was, as she was a godless wolf. Desdemona wasn't raised in the culture of worship, or the knowing existense of heavenly beings, and even then, there was a large chance she wouldn't, knowing very well her prayers would be unheard, as they have been for a long time. A pups cries was loud, but no one helped.

So she was curious, neither showing enthusiasm or scorn over her being, only questions of what she didn't understand, "what does he look like?" A being who visited her dreams, how odd she thought. and was unsure how that could be.

who is he?

his name is linkoln, praimfaya offers readily. and he was the first wanheda, she pauses and then offers in explination and translation: the first commander of death. talking about him to a virtual stranger, while makes her weary of reaction: skepticism, judgement ...is also a bit liberating. moreso than she thought it would be. large. dark brown fur like the bark of a tree. black chin, throat and underbelly. his eyes are emerald green, like leaves on a tree. there are three scars on his chin, trailing down his throat — intentional. and kill marks on both of his shoulders. he's commanding but wise. compassionate despite the title he — we bear. she recites from her mind's eye, recalling the details of him without hesitation.

she blinks, almost owlishly at the older woman. he doesn't scare me, praimfaya feels like she needs to emphasize. but i know that his presence in my dreams is not something i can or should ignore. even if she isn't sure what to do with it.

"He is important to you." She did hold her skepticism hearing more, but didn't let it show, nor' voice it out. She knew all held different beliefs that did not align with her own, but Desdemona care not as long as it did not fight with own beliefs, or clashed with the Pack. She held some sort of 'spiritual pact,' toward this brown wolf of her dreams. The spider did not believe it existed, however.

"Are there more like him?" She knew this lady was not an Ostrega, an outsider like herself. She was curious if others shared the same thought process, or it was her own mind, that created this being.

given that praimfaya thinks the woman's words are a statement and not an actual question she doesn't speak but offers a firm nod of her head in agreement all the same. she assumes this process is normal for all commanders-to-be but not having a commander in the flesh that she can speak to and ask for herself she is left assuming.

are there more like him?

the spirits of the commanders past all linger, she explains, hoping that her best is enough to efficiently get across her culture. but only speak to future or present commanders. it's a birthright. not just anyone can be a heda. linkoln and i share the title of wanheda among our people and i think that is why he has chosen to guide me. as for the other spirits of the commanders ...praimfaya has yet to hear them and ponders if she ever will.

"Those are words I am unfamiliar with," Desdemona admitted. She spoke names that seemed to be similar of commanders, perhaps warlords, but she knew not of these words. Hearing Packs with names outside of the usual system was an oddity, even Morningside was a pleasant change, but she also had a slight unwelcoming feeling on the unfamilarity. It was something she was to be adjusted to, and had been, before retreating back to the usual system. Moonspear felt comforting, in that way. She also feared if it was the same as her maiden pack, and if her own birthright would become the truth. She frowned noticeably on 'birthright.'

"You are not born in Moonspear, correct?" Desdemona questioned as the terms were definitely not one of these mountains, but somewhere far from here.