The Sentinels "Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land

Beneath a veil of overcast clouds, Stelmaria skirted a seaside plateau that smelled of many wolves and instead entered an ancient wood of dark scars and buried secrets. It seemed a friendless place, beautiful but haunted – healthy green and charred black interwoven in a macabre embrace. It was a place rebounding from some great horror or another, which the young huntress could relate to. Of course, her problems were not near as cataclysmic and irrevocable as a forest fire, but it certainly felt that way to her; as her emotions ran quite deep, an oceanic trench in its scope.

Further still, she saw that there was more foliage than burn, paradise beyond the ruins, but she did not venture so far into the territory. This location was but a landmark on her intended journey, a waypoint to guide her onward. Stelmaria’s stride pointed east, towards the sound where she knew her father would be.

it had been by chance that the dryad toed the eastern edges of the woodland today, his march steady, his breath thin. the autumn air brought a crispness to his lungs he'd not felt for many moons now.

it roused him to attentiveness, his focus set upon the creatures that made their home within the scorched deadwood. he was but a guest to their realm, and it was his desire to not disturb them from their residence.

he sought only to know of their company, so when time slowed and relationships bloomed, that he might call on them as friends.

it was in this passion that his paws pressed him forward through the thicket and growing underbrush. it was here that he found the pleasant discovery of an aerandir. his pace paused to call for her, a warm beam extended to invite her near.

Stelmaria turned towards the call made out to her, russet ears pressing forward as sandstone eyes took in the wolf before her now. The first thing that stood out about him was his sheer size: ursiform, colossal, Herculean. He appeared dredged from the earth itself, a dark mound of clay and bone, a godly titan upon the land. She met his orange-fire gaze briefly and found them to be warm, more like a campfire or a well-lit hearth, as opposed to the raging blaze that had once stripped these woods of life.

Her tail swayed in a cautious wave, though she felt emboldened enough by his friendly expression to approach him. She stopped midway, allowing him to close what remained of the distance if he so chose. Her muzzle stretched out to him in greeting, breathing in what scents he would allow her to take.

of a man so large and heavyset, barbatos often forgot his own size. it was only the sway of a full gut, or the appetite of an empty one that reminded him so.

she drank in his figure, and he did the same for her. she was streamlined, toned, and in well appearance. she was beautiful, as many women often were. and when she leaned in to learn of the stories woven in his tangled coat, he took the opportunity to do the same.

"you are a ranyar?" he questioned with a honeyed breath, though quickly tacked on, "a wandering star?" for clarification.

A wandering star? Stelmaria spoke in a breathless sort of way as they circled one another; she was far more interested in the things she could glean from the burly wolf’s pelt, and her words came after she had inhaled a great deal of him, nearly replacing all of the available air in her lungs in favor of his scent alone. He smelled of this forest: these burnt woods, its new growth, its ancient boughs, and something crisper – definitely the autumn sea. There were fainter trails too, of long winding paths that had brought him to this place, same as her. Sometimes.

She stopped circling and took a polite step away. My name is Stelmaria. Are these your woods?

their dance was intimate in a way that words could never be. she breathed in the stories of his travels, and he remained still for her to do so. eventually words sailed past her lips and into the autumn air, and he received an answer to his question.

sometimes.

he smiled and wondered what she was when not a wandering star, though did not press the question. her words came with an introduction and an inquiry of her own creation.

"my name is barbatos, and these woods do not belong to me as much as i belong to them," he responded, offering a warm smile to accompany his answer.

Stelmaria’s expression softened somewhat with understanding. The way he spoke of this place reminded her of the way her father spoke of the sound; an ideal instilled in him by his mother and passed down to his daughters. The sound was not a place that owned her, as of yet, but she did desire to find the same sort of attachment – devotion – to a land that called wholly to her.

Is this where you were born, Barbatos? she wondered aloud, testing his name on her tongue as she did so. She thought it a warrior’s name, fitting for his powerful presence, though it seemed at odds with his pacifist’s smile. Her tail wagged slowly, still appraising him with a casual eye.

her question curled his ears forward and pulled his smile into a bittersweet tug. "it is not, though it is what i have always imagined home to feel like." he felt a connection to these woods that he never had with the shores of saltlight. yet that did not make the feeling of loneliness any less present.

he missed the laughter of his kin, the warm breeze of southern winds, the friends and neighbors he'd left behind. he did not doubt that in time these feelings would fade, but that is what he feared. he held precious memories of his birthplace, and he did not wish them to wither away in to distant memory.

"what of you stelmaria, do you call these lands home?"

Ah, this is where your spirit is born then, she amended, smiling as she turned to look out across the lay of forest. The regrowing burnland on her left. The vast and ancient trees on her right. It was a profound place, beauty in all its forms.

The more she took in, the more she understood his choice.

Turning back to Barbatos, she shook her head. No, my father does. I’m here to see him. A more open wolf might have given her father’s name without prompting, perhaps asked if he knew the goldbruise, but Stelmaria glided over the matter. I will find the place that awakens my spirit after I do.