Stavanger Bay since the death of god there’s been a vacancy open

there was never a moment where the speaker stayed far from her listener for too long. hours would pass at most, until the strings of her soul pulled her back to the child. she was forever bound to them, in sleep and in wake.

melena. morgana uttered the name with hesitance. dormant pain resurfaced in subtle ways. she stopped in her tracks to take a wavering breath. then she continued forward in search of her listener.

@The Listener we’re in need of another thread >:0 <3

melena.

jarred from spiritwreathed trance, the listener blinked. her fur, saltdamp and flecked with pale sand. tiny bones and iridescent shells lay in the damp dirt at the listener's small pointed paws, encircling the skyrock which was nestled among thin scatterings of willowy coastal grass. at her back, a dark figure, standing stark against the pale churning of a stormy grey sky over sand and sea.

the listener tilted her head to peer over one sharp shoulder, bleary gaze fixing on the silhouetted form of morgana through the fog. silence hung in the air between them, thick as the icy haze that left tiny glittering dewdrops like stars strewn over their nightspun coats.

she cut through the dense blanket of seafog on nimble legs. it revealed the listener in time. their gaze was already fixed upon her as she approached.

she did not greet them apart from the smile that would always cross her face when she saw them.

what’s this? her eyes fell upon the glittering bones and shells that wrapped around the rock at their paws.

for a moment, the pair were melena and morgana; daughter and mother; bonded irrevocably.

then her vision shifted, and it was merrick she saw, and all red red red —

a snarl coiled from her throat abruptly, hackles flaring like a dark aura at her ruff. betrayer. but the vision faded, and it was not her father. no, it was only faithful morgana, her mentor, her acolyte...

the listener rumbled a shame-faced apology, eyes turning to the skyrock. skyrock. blessing of unnamed god, they explained in soft tones, stepping back to allow morgana a closer inspection of the powerful item.

the question was met with a guttural rumble and pinpoint teeth. melena was a volcano; an unsuspecting, lonely mountain when silent, an erupting burst of flame when not. this was not a trait they’d shown in her dreams.

and twice now they’ve done this.

morgana frowned, even as the child gave their silent apology. even as she stepped forward and stared down upon their skyrock.

still staring, she asks without tone, do you bare your fangs at everyone you meet?

morgana voiced the curiosity of a mortal soul, one who had not yet grasped the true nature of her prophet. and though her questioned kindled a flickering ire within the arrogant listener, they stifled the flame and spoke gently to the speaker.

blessing of god is not without price. it is curse, too. unnamed god demands blood; soon, more, the listener explained, patient and knowing. i am unnamed god's will turned to mortal form. they did not speak of merrick, or the ruddy wolf he had chosen instead of her. it did not matter. divine bloodlust drove the listener, heedless of the mortal catalyst; such petty grief was simply part of the price the listener paid for divinity.

again they did not answer, so morgana spoke of it no further. she’d bite her tongue for now, but an irritation continued to pick at the back of her mind.

morgana listened carefully as she stared at the rock. a blessing and a curse. a call for blood. it’s a familiar sound to the speaker.

and are you to find this blood? to spill it?

when i am called to it, the listener answered, suddenly bored by the exchange. how mundane, how mortal! morgana, do you doubt? why question her prophet so, if not for doubts in her heart like worms in ripe fruit? perhaps the path laid before morgana was unclear to her; perhaps she could not yet see the beauty in the plan of the unnamed god.

no, she breathed instantly. thus not allowing a moment to truly think of an answer.

i lived amongst wolves who drew blood in many ways. the art was taught to me and i learned it well.

she then turned shifted her gaze back to the listener. i can teach you too, if that is your will.

the listener softened as morgana spoke, at once relieved and intrigued. they had been wrong to doubt their mentor, they saw that now; still cautious in the wake of merrick's betrayal. time among mortals and the unnamed god's blessing had spawned mortal impulses within the listener. mortal motivations. mortal misgivings. sacrifices, all.

yes, they agreed, gaze turning back to the skyrock. teach me all you know.

their willingness to learn elated her. she’d always hoped to teach someone like this. dreamed of it. those dreams died long ago. and now they rose from the earth and became a reality!

dear melena. she would teach them all she knew.

most wolves are theatric about their kills. they’re loud, they’re messy, and they’re fools. their chaos draws in unwanted gazes.

never make a show of your kills, melena. lure them into the shadows. be swift and silent.

as morgana spoke, the listener began to recall merrick's instruction upon the mountain of the bear. she recalled aventus's decoration of the pointed mountainside spires with the corpse of a coyote. theatric. messy. fools.

but it seemed to melena that the spilling of blood was inherently messy. perhaps morgana meant to teach her a better way; a way unknown to the bruin-witch traitor and his blind followers. tell me how.

patience and trust. she breathed. that is the key.

lure them in with what they want to here. keep them close, show them kindness. make them feel safe. it can be a long process, but an effective one. it worked for her each and every time.

and when their walls come down, when they’ve completely devoted themselves to you, that is when you strike.

there was silence, and then; do not rely on your fangs to kill, melena. utilize your environment. I’ve always preferred poisons but…

she looked towards the ocean.

…there are many other ways. we will find something that best suits you.

patience. distaste wrinkled melena's muzzle, and for a moment she played the child resistant to eating her vegetables. patience was not a natural part of her vocabulary, else she might still live on the bear cultists' mountain. but morgana spoke the truth, she knew.

the speaker continued, her next words kindling a small flame of intrigue in the listener. head tilted, they interjected; poisons? and let the word sink into the air, heedless of anything else morgana said.

the most effective method. powerful knowledge morgana was proud to hold, and proud to pass on to her dreamwalker.

there are many. we will find them together, and i’ll tell you what they’re capable of.

the listener took this with silent acceptance, gazing upon the skyrock for a time after morgana finished speaking. she retired to her own ruminations, flitting far away among the world of spirits. morgana would find no further response from the listener while their mortal shell remained empty and their mind roamed.

fading <3