Qeya River sloth

the river was very great.
for hours lestan explored alone. it was unlike anything he had ever seen or experienced. there were giant, water-carved boulders and a flow of hills where dens were tucked into the green curves. he poked around them, still unwilling to commit to a shelter until he had seen it all.
so he went from one woodland to another; he stood on top of the cliffs and looked down into the basin, and out toward the glacier. here his form could be seen, as lestan detailed each inch of natigvik slowly inside his mind.

Amalia scoured the pscklands. Marking all she could that seemed weak, and baleful. There was a maelstrom of emotions in her chest as she walked.

Another inerrupted her movements and she moved forward to speak with their newest mrmber. She wagged inky plume behind her.

Hello.

"amalia. hello." lestan looked over to where the other natigvik wolf had joined him on the cliffs. "that glacier over there. do you know its name?" 
he liked how it protected the qeya from harm in one direction, and how the coldness seemed to intensify here. he glanced at the falls now, the crash of water below. 
"this is a truly beautiful place," he said, a bit breathlessly.

She smiled at him kindly.

Lestan. It's good to see you enjoying yourself.

She took a deep breath of the cooler air. Closing her eyes to enjoy it. It was beautiful here, he wasn't lying in that regard. He asked a question of her and she looked towards the glacier, and shook her head.

I'm afraid not. Sakhmet or Kigipigak might. It looks cold and lonely, like a sentinel.

"oh, i am. i like to come out and tell myself stories." but as he said it, lestan realized how foolish it sounded. he gave a self-mocking little laugh and straightened. "i met kigipigak the first day. sakhmet is — his wife? mother to the little boys?"
though lestan supposed they were not so little. not infants, anyway. "i'm free for the day, if you want to show me anything notable."

Amalia's face lit up. OH, stories.

She wiggled a little, and stamped her one paw. My father came from a long line of story tellers, and healers. It's actually why I came here. My Aunt Willow was here, and she was rumored to tell stories and heal. I myself can't tell a good one, not like my father or my grandma. They tell such good stories, and when my father is really into it, he acts it out with his body. But he hasn't done that in some time.

He ears went to her head a little bit, and she grew a little sad. She missed her family. She knew she had done what was best for her, but she still hoped they were well and happy and healthy. And that her father was learning to live again.

She tilted ears forward. I'm afraid I can't. She looked down sheepish.

We just came back from a long journey and I haven't fully explored myself yet. But. She tilted her head back up.

We could explore together if you'd like?

lestan was delighted. amalia was very polite also, a trait which endeared her to him at once. somewhere in his genetics there was a code for a courtlier sort of man than he was at present.
she spoke about an aunt and his ears lifted. "yes, let's head down toward that waterfall," he said, indicating the one a short climb back to ground.
she enjoyed stories too. lestan was doing his level best not to became immediately smitten. "where did you go? and did you say 'aunt willow?' i have a willow in my family too, a blue one."
he chuckled a little.

Amalia wagged her tail once more. She was a polite type of wolf. Her father and mother both had instilled manners into her. Though, she was fairly certain that somewhere down the line it had been a means of her entire genetic family.

Amalia allowed him to lead the way. The simple fact was it could be dangerous up here, if one wasn't careful. Higher elevations colder ice and slippy conditions.

Amalia's tail moved quicker. Me too. Aunt Blue Willow, she married someone with an L. Her brother was my great grandfather. So it's a fair way back, but yes.

She smiled and carefully stepped down towards the waterfall, a beautiful, majestic thing.

lestan fed his eyes upon the lovely, powerful cascade of water. it was increasingly hard to hear, however, and so he gestured amalia toward the hills.
when they could hear each other again, lestan looked back. "someone in my family, many years ago, married a blue willow. his name was lasher."
he was surprised, elated, emboldened by the beauty of the land around them.

Amalia froze for a moment, eyes gazing upon the waterfall. Ears forward, listening as it cascaded down, down, and splashed at the bottom. Were it not so far down, and she would not fear her death, on a hot day she would jump from it, but she knew better. It was better to simply look, not jump. Though she wanted too.

Amalia smiled. So then we are related? It was both a question and a statement. Family trees were confusing at the best of times, and she had only heard bits and pieces. She had heard it all secondhand. She had never met her lovely aunt that so many seemed to like, and that her great grandfather had adored.

"i guess we are!" wasn't that just the way? to journey very far from home, to come across a place wholly new and unfamiliar in every single way, to run into a striking dark face with greenjewel eyes, someone who said your own were like wildflowers —
only to find you're related! the mayfairs had certainly gotten around much more than lestan had realized. he looked at amalia a little ruefully and then asked: "what sort of stories are in your family? parables? scary ones?"

A lick of disappointment spurred through Amalia, but perhaps it was for the best. She was unable to put down roots as Kigi had stated anyway. So finding someone handsome with cornflower and sunflower eyes, that reminded you a bit like Reno, except there was no husky chuckle or softly accented words. Well it was futile. Though if she wanted to pursue it, if something happened. They were not closely related, if related at all. Her mother's people were not ones to stay with one, perhaps this ones were too, but she shook her head. Dispelling the thoughts, they weren't worthwhile.

Her tail wagged and she gave a little hop and a wiggle. Which was strange even for her. She was glad to be home, happy here. A little of all of them. My mother preferred parables and myths, my father ones with harsh lessons, my grandmother happy endings of love and romance and intrigue.

it was for the best. lestan could not figure out the connection. his family had such tenuous ties to the mayfairs at all. but both blue willow and lasher had been mentioned at least twice in his living memory.
the idea of putting down roots, as kigipigak had said, was frightening. lestan had a difficult time committing to anything, let alone married life. the day he had come to natigvik and been asked about it had been the first he had thought about the notion. "both of those sound nice. my parents weren't for either genre, though. instead, they were fond of moral diatribes and discussions. i am hardly creative at all as a result!"

Amalia had only begun to piece together her great aunt's life. She hadn't known much of her, except that her great grandfather, didn't like to speak of her. But when he did, it was with hushed voice full of love, and he often called her little tree, which still confused Amalia. He had often stared at her strangely sometimes, with a sad smile on his face, granted he had been quite old. She had asked him one time, and he had told her. She reminded him of his sister, though not quite. Not quite.

Amalia chuckled. They would have gotten along swimmingly with my father. And can I tell you a secret.

She smiled softly and leaned forward. I'm terrible at telling stories, at least not like them. I love to listen to them, but couldn't tell anything on my own. Can repeat something of course.

She smiled and leaned back. A small chuckle in her throat.

amalia had a secret for him. lestan leant closer at once, breathless.
she admitted she didn't know how to tell stories! 
she laughed. he chuckled. "but what's a story except a lot of words put together. i bet you could do it, if you wanted." did she want to do that?
"my family was all — mystics and witches and did you know they said lasher was a ghost or demon or spirit of some kind, made flesh?" he laughed as if in doubt. "but after all that, i am a mundane man. i love words. i love organizing old and boring histories."

Amalia shook her head, her ears back to her skull and back up. Not in my family. Its art. They act out the parts, and use different voices.

She sighed, but smiled. I sort of miss it. Wish I had paid better attention.

Her eyes grew wide. No. I only know what i gleaned. They had 5 children. I wonder if he practiced.

History isn't boring it is important. Amalia smiled. She enjoyed learning history of different places. She didn't like to gather and then form it into something cihesive, but someone had too.

his eyes widened. "five! at once?" how much amalia seemed to know, that was; maybe twice as much as lestan. his accent thickened with his excitement for a moment, before smoothing back into the soft burr. "it is important. but it's also boring. after all, describing battles is not the same thing as being part of them."
he looked out across the hill-country, dotted with stands of flowers and little dens built into the gentle slopes. "where does everyone sleep?" he asked.
far away, a herd of deer moved into the forest.

Her own eyes widened. Well I don't know about that. I just know the number. Surely not. Auntie willow was no spring chicken when she had the babes. Grandpa said she left when she was almost 3 or 4 already.

She heard an accent thick in his throat. And then it was gone. She found she wanted to hear it again. Accents thrilled her, she wasn't entirely sure why. But she liked them so very much.

I don't know it can be fun if you describe it a certain way. Maybe.

Amalia frowned. I'm not entirely sure. I sleep among the trees. I'm not sure where Sahkmet and Kigipigak keep their familial den.

lestan was blushing furiously at all this talk of babies and how old blue willow must have been. but amalia kept right ahead with it, which suggested to the man that she did not find it bad talk at all. he was reminded of how stuffily he had been raised, by pigheaded academics who still believed in magick.
maybe he was the odd one.
"well. maybe we can find you one today. i'd like to be your neighbor. and it's very nice here, though i imagine when the snow comes — hm." he tried to picture it. wouldn't the snow blanket the ground quite ravishingly right here?

Lestan would have fit right in with her grandfather and father. Both of who were extremely stilted in the ways of women and love and babies. Her father about had a hernia any time her mother would speak to her so flippantly, but Amalia had learned early the right ways to speak and behave. She hadn't acted on anything. Her mother had even pulled her aside, before her first heat cycle to converse of such things. Amalia found nothing wrong with speaking so boldly. At least when dealing with facts. Matters of the heart and persuasion that was alltogether different.

Amalia smiled. Okay then lets find a place to go so we can be neighbors. She chuffed happily.

fading this! they can have a new one set after the pack meeting/sadey stuff!

lestan was happy to leap with her, to frolic. to laugh, and to breathlessly discover each little den until they had found a pair, and his twined with pink flowers in the sod on top.
"it's perfect!" he declared.
neighbors.