Otatso Wetlands mud masks

ring a ding @Rala

The moon hung high above the forest, its silver glow casting jagged shadows across the underbrush. Irene stood over the carcass, her emerald eyes scanning the mess she’d made. Blood spattered her carefully manicured fur, its metallic tang filling her nose, and her sides heaved with the effort of the chase. The mink had been swift, its panicked darting through the thicket almost enough to escape her. Almost.

She let out a low growl, more at herself than the limp creature at her paws. The kill was sloppy—too much noise, too much wasted energy. She could still feel the sting of branches slashing at her skin from her clumsy pursuit. Not exactly her proudest moment.

Irene lowered her muzzle, tearing into her prize with quick, efficient bites. As she ate, her ears swiveled to catch the faint rustle of leaves behind her. Unclaimed land was never still, not even for a predator. Her sharp gaze flicked toward the shadows, a warning gleaming in her eyes. She’d worked too hard for this meal to share it without a fight.

The thought lingered as she licked the blood from her maw, her mind churning with self-critique. If this hunt had been any worse, she might not have eaten at all tonight. She shook her head, resolving to do better next time. Because out here, mistakes weren’t just messy—they could be deadly.

rala was a nomad. at least, temporarily. she moved, now, from the grove in which she had met the moonlit girl, back western, perhaps to search the mountains. moving through the leaves, now, blood-smell was thick in the air. a recent hunt, she thought. and so she would move towards it, curious, inquisitive, as she always was.

stranger scent, too. smell of mink rode the winds ; small game, the snowwoman knew, and so she traversed the grounds with less intent. hunger had been satiated by the huntress already. she only moved forwards due to being powered by the need for connection. growing close enough to see a patch of fur on the horizon, she let out a friendly bark as careful paws continued to navigate her through the wetlands.

once in earshot, she would speak: hello, nanuralaaq would hum, hoping for a non-hostile response. if not, well, little legs could carry her far - and quickly, too.

Irene’s ears flicked at the sound of the bark, her sharp emerald eyes locking onto the pale figure moving cautiously through the wetlands. She straightened, blood still smeared across her muzzle from the half-finished meal, and let her gaze linger on the approaching stranger. 

The snowwoman’s voice was light, almost melodic, but Irene’s instincts kept her guarded. She lowered her head slightly, her stance neither threatening nor welcoming, as she answered, her tone edged with dry amusement. 

Hello yourself, she said, her tail giving a single slow wave. Not often someone walks toward the scent of blood. Brave, or just curious?

both, she answered, surveying the scene. the surrounding vegetation seemed amess, as if suggesting that the hunt had not been easy. that, combined with the almost sloppy blood upon the stranger's maw seemed to point towards an almost ravenous hunger that had perhaps not aided in what should have been a careful, precise kill. or, one might say, 'tukiqanngittuq', stupid, but i do not think so. a tone spoken carefully.

rala would not move closer, no, rather circling the woman, almost sizing her up, although she was clearly larger than the woman of the north. pretty, she thought, decorated in browns and ambers. reminded her, faintly, of @Dolce. handsome man, pretty woman. circled a perimeter, just as she did with the man that lingered in her mind, though she did not find the same scars that she had found upon him. satisfied, she moved away to stand a few ways in front of the woman. enjoying your meal?

Irene’s ears flicked back, a faint flush of embarrassment prickling beneath her fur at the snowwoman’s careful assessment. She stiffened slightly, her emerald eyes narrowing, but there was no true anger there—only a touch of defensiveness. Enjoying is a strong word, she replied, her voice carrying a wry edge. Let’s just say it’s keeping me from going hungry.

She watched the strange woman circle her, the scrutiny making her shift her weight uneasily. Normally, she didn’t care for others’ opinions—especially strangers—but there was something in the stranger’s calm, measured tone that dug at her pride. 

Messy, I know, she admitted, her gaze dropping briefly to the bloodied carcass. Her tail flicked once, betraying her frustration. Tracking? I could cross the entire tundra with wind to find prey. But hunting... well, let’s just say it’s not exactly my finest skill. She exhaled sharply, meeting the snowwoman’s gaze with a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Not my best work, she added with a shrug, her voice softer now. But it got the job done.

skills must balance each other out, she drew with a breath of wisdom. pawprints had been relatively indistinguishable towards the site of the hunt, although from what rala could gather, as soon as those verdant eyes settled upon the small game, that was when chaos had truly erupted. perhaps a hunting partner would suit you well.

pale face nodded towards the morsel. you are right, and the woman spoke with a smile. your abilities got the job done. sometimes a mess must be made in order to keep oneself satiated. not all can come easily, and so she would move, then, standing once more to test the winds for herself. she was not hungry, but she wondered if all prey in the area had been scared away from what had clearly been quite the racket.

although, expression warming with humour, it seems all prey has evacuated.

Irene huffed a quiet laugh, her ears twitching as the snowwoman’s words rolled over her. A hunting partner, she echoed, her tone light but skeptical. She tilted her head, a faint smirk pulling at her lips. If nothing else, it’d make the mess less noticeable, right?

Her gaze followed as the snowwoman tested the air, the warmth in her expression catching Irene slightly off-guard. It was rare to find someone so... disarming. Irene shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her. 

Scared everything off, huh? she said, glancing down at her kill with a mix of amusement and mild regret. Wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve got a knack for leaving an impression—good or bad. She stepped closer to the pale stranger, her tail giving a casual flick. 

Though, I’d say you’re lucky you weren’t the prey. Might’ve been a bit more of a mess. Her voice carried a teasing edge, though her emerald eyes gleamed with genuine curiosity. What’s a wanderer like you looking for anyway? Doesn’t seem like you’re just out here to chat with the local chaos-maker.

a nod at the strangers words. perhaps what she needed was a cleaning crew, rather than a hunting partner. although during winter, starvation was all the more likely, and nanuralaaq found herself ever the more thankful for her own abilities, as well as the mercy of these lands. this was not muskox grounds, and although a lingering sorrow followed her, she also felt new opporunties arise, and for that, she was grateful.

i have received mixed impression so far, a chuckle, now. it escaped her maw with a melodic cadence, as did her words, her calls, her songs. she moved with melody, with tune. it seemed to be a part of her very being. i could not be your prey - i move quick, and with a grace, too. moving like a mountain lion, or a goose. and it was a question that met her, next. asking of her presence within the teekons.

ever honest, she answered with a smile: i come in search of a husband, and although she laughed after saying it, rala was being serious. there were little eligible bachelors within my pack, as well as outside of it. there was one who seemed to take a liking to me, but i was unimpressed, a shrug of her shoulders.

it may seem harsh, but i must have high standards, should i want my children to survive, and though it panged at her heart, she said it with a measured detachment.

Irene raised an eyebrow at the snowwoman’s honesty, her emerald eyes flashing with amusement. A husband, huh? she echoed, her voice rich with dry humor. Now there’s something I didn’t expect to hear today. Most wolves come around looking for food or territory, but you? You’re scouting for eligible bachelors.

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. Can’t say I blame you for having high standards, though. Survival’s a cruel teacher. This was no foreign concept to her. After all, she was the product of such ways, her genes carefully crafted and yet, she never knew her own parents. But this harsh determination made her previous pack void of humor, peehaps why she had built such an ego to combat the mundaneness of it all. Her gaze softened for a moment, her usual sharpness giving way to something more thoughtful. If you’re thinking about your pups before they’re even born, then I’d say you’re already on the right track.

She took a step back, tail flicking behind her as she tried to not dwell on her own past. Still, she added with a smirk, I can’t help but wonder what exactly it takes to impress you. If you’re unimpressed by the ones who’ve tried so far, they must’ve been a real sorry lot.

and she was right. survival was a cruel teacher, and the lesson that she had learnt was that one parent could not provide for a whole litter. both parents needed to have the skills necessary for raising the future generation, and help from a pack would certainly not be declined. 'it takes a village', one could say. and to be told she's on the right track?

thank you, rala smiled. i wish for their health. that is all, no matter what they wanted to do, who they wanted to be, snowwoman could only hope for little snowpups of her own. small, wriggling and writhing, hungry, making their way through the world, just as rala and her siblings did, both her littermates and the ones that came after.

thoughtfully, now, polar-cub spoke: i search for man with confidence. who, eh, exudes masculinity, she said it with a chuckle, but in truth, her father had been a very traditional man. very protective of his children, his wife and his lands. she sought a man who reminded hir of him in that way. good genetics. a dark coat - and scars,

scars... they are very handsome, where i come from, the huntress said such a thing with an almost youthful glow shimmering within her dawn-hued gaze. oh, how she enjoyed the fantasy of it all. but the reality of it was almost daunting. how about you? she asked, then. what qualities do you seek?

Scars, huh? Irene repeated, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. I can appreciate that. A wolf who’s lived, who’s earned their marks—there’s something... invigorating about that." Her tone was thoughtful, but there was a subtle edge to it. A wolf with scars, like Rala described, was a wolf who had a story to tell, one that intrigued her more than anything else.

As Rala asked her what qualities she sought, Irene’s gaze shifted, her smile fading into something more introspective. She didn’t speak immediately, considering her response carefully.

I don’t know if I’m looking for someone, exactly, Irene admitted, her voice softening slightly. But I suppose... I’d want someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to be someone I’m not. Someone who knows that I can stand on my own, but isn’t afraid to stand beside me. I don’t want a partner who expects me to follow—they’d need to be able to lead, too, when the time comes. Though I wouldn't mind them worshipping me every once in a while:: she added teasingly. Having come from a place where affection was lacking, Irene hated to admit how much she craved such attention.

you have an understandable taste, she smiled with a tilt of her head. to have a little bit of everything, to be understood, followed, lead, to be cared for. to her, it seemed almost average, although she would not stay such a thing aloud.

a thoughtful expression clouded her features for a moment. i am nanuralaaq, snowwoman said, flicking her tail as the corners of her maw curved upwards once more. a wholesome face that then erupted into a grin. but i like you, aallajuq, so i ask that you call me rala. a nickname. tail swaying gently behind her.

what may i call you? curious. something pretty, she thought.

Irene’s tail gave a subtle flick, her posture shifting into something more relaxed. I like it, she said, her lips curling into a small, easy smile. Rala suits you. It feels... natural.

There was something warm in Rala’s curiosity, a genuine interest that Irene didn’t mind indulging. She was used to being independent, but there was no harm in sharing a name with someone who seemed to understand the dance of the world a little differently.

As for me, Irene’s gaze softened, her voice steady, you can call me Irene. She smiled, a small, knowing glint in her eyes. It’s simple, but it’s mine.

she gave a thoughtful nod of her head, then. rala - she did think her own name suited her, but was it because the name had been sculpted around her, or had she grown into it? was it a title that she wore like a second skin, or was it merely something to be addressed by? but at the introduction of her newest friend, she pushed the thought aside.

irene, snowwoman spoke the name with a quiet approval. it is yours, and you wear it well. it is a pleasure to properly meet you, irene, she would move, then, to engage in a quick formality ; to touch her nose to that of a new acquaintance, should she be permitted to. if not, no offense would be taken, and she would move to resume her seat.

irene, she said again, as if testing the weight of the word within her maw, feeling the way it was spoken, the way it spilt from her lips in her own accented way. how many others have you met, eh, from these lands? many? few? rala doubted that she was the first to have met the woman ahead of her ; curious of those that had come before her.

Irene inclined her head slightly, allowing the brief touch of Rala’s nose to her own. It was a gesture she didn’t often share, but something about the snowwoman’s sincerity made it feel natural, unforced. When Rala spoke her name again, Irene couldn’t help the small, amused smile that played on her lips, as though the sound of it coming from Rala’s accented voice was a curiosity in itself.

Not many, Irene admitted, her emerald gaze drifting briefly to the horizon. These lands are vast, but the wolves within them... well, let’s just say I’m particular about who I let close.

Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a guardedness beneath the surface, the kind that came from living a life where trust was earned rather than given freely. In truth, all interactions were fleeting, never more then a passing greeting and no offering of a new home. She flicked her tail, shifting her weight as her eyes returned to Rala’s dawn-hued ones.

And you, Rala? How many stories have you collected from these lands? Irene’s head tilted slightly, a playful glint in her gaze now. You strike me as someone who enjoys a good tale, whether it’s told by others or made by your own pawprints.

rala nodded once more, as if agreeing, drawing comfort in a shared notion - of being careful who you let close. snowwoman was polite to all by choice, but there was not many she shared the name of 'rala' with, less so that she would invite into physical touch, and she would like to consider irene someone that she could return to in hopes of a meal and conversation once more. vaguely, she wondered if the tracker thought the same.

my arrival is recent, huntress said, then, giving a careful, stretching roll of her shoulders. i have met, ah, i would say two, maybe three before you? sivaak and faust playing on my mind most often, humming, then, as she thought of the pale woman with the dark scars - beautiful in a way that she did not seem to realise. and faust - the dark man who sought to create something larger than the mountains, the summits he spoke of. a chief, a leader. taking up space within her memories.

and with a lilting chuckle, she said: yes, you see me well. i enjoy retailing, recalling events. although i do not particularly mix my storytelling and my singing - although, perhaps i should, ever thoughtful, eyes almost distant as she considered the work of a bard. and to listen to stories - i am very much, ah, talker. but listening - it is relaxing. nice to let my mind wander. imagining. even now, she was soothed.

do you have any stories, irene? those that take space within your mind?

Irene listened with quiet interest as Rala spoke, the gentle lilt of her voice weaving fragments of her past encounters into something almost tangible. The mention of names—Sivaak and Faust—piqued her curiosity, though she did not press for details. Instead, she allowed herself a moment of reflection, emerald eyes fixed on the snowwoman with an expression both thoughtful and reserved.

When Rala’s question came, Irene’s lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. Stories... she echoed softly, as though tasting the word. Her tail flicked lazily behind her, brushing the earth as she considered the query. I suppose I have a few. Most of them are fragments, pieces of something larger that never quite came together. My life’s been less of a tale and more of a puzzle—scattered, yet somehow whole.

She shifted slightly, gaze drifting upward to where the sky stretched endlessly above them. There was one, though, she began, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. A lone wolf, long ago. He had a scent like pine and frost—sharp, unyielding. I met him on the edge of the mountains, where the air was thin, and the stars felt close enough to touch.

Her eyes softened as she spoke, though a shadow lingered behind them. He was unlike any I had met before and told me that every wolf is chasing something, whether they know it or not. For him, it was peace. For me... Irene trailed off, her smile fading as she turned her gaze back to Rala. 

I think I’m still figuring out what I’m chasing, she admitted. Maybe it’s the same thing. Or maybe it’s something entirely different. Her head tilted slightly, a flicker of humor brightening her expression.

just the two of us reference LOL

snowwoman would listen with silent intrigue as irene spoke of a man that smelt of pine and forest, whom she met on the edge of the mountains ; a man that passed wisdom - that every wolf was chasing something, and the huntress let such a concept settle within her, upon her shoulders for a moment, digesting it, before arriving at agreement.

you have much time to search, the woman said with a nod of her head, tail flicking, as if a forewarning of the wisdom that was to come. thoughtful expression took over her features for a moment, before she spoke: i was once told, by grandmother, 'piujut saqqiqattaqtut taikkununga utaqqijunut'. in, ah, common tongue, it means 'good things come for those who wait', but she was not done yet. instead, she took a breath.

next day, she told me, '...kisiani taikkununga utaqqiluanngittunut', or, '...but not for those who wait too late', tilting her head, now, nanuralaaq surveyed the expression of the other woman, hoping that her words would sink in, take affect. although they, technically, were not her words, but the words of nuvuja, advisor to the oxhunters.

a sigh. what i am trying to say is... do not rush, but, do not let the world pass you by ; take hold. many plentiful opportunities for a wolf like you, irene, and so she would stand, giving a gentle wave of her tail, as if preparing for a goodbye - and she was. disheartened, although he wanted to stay on her toes. continue moving.

you make mess, tracker-girl, a laugh, light and lilting, melodic in all of its beauty left her maw, as if it was her final parting gift to the oaken woman before her. but your conversations are good, and your heart is beautiful. a genuine smile, too.

a shame that all things had to end.

feel free to fade with your next post <3

Irene tilted her head slightly, emerald eyes narrowing with a quiet warmth as she absorbed Rala’s words, each syllable laden with meaning. The snowwoman’s wisdom carried the weight of lived experience, and Irene felt its presence settle over her like a cloak. Her expression softened, touched by the advice and the kindness behind it.

You’re wiser than most I’ve met, Rala, Irene murmured, her tone gentle, yet sincere. Your grandmother’s words hold a truth I think I needed to hear today. I won’t rush, but I’ll remember not to stand still for too long. Balance, I suppose, is the lesson.

When Rala stood, her tail flicking in preparation for departure, a pang of reluctance rippled through Irene. She watched the snowwoman, memorizing the way her pale coat caught the light and the melody of her laughter. You’re not so bad yourself, snowwoman, Irene replied, her voice lighter now, humor dancing along its edges. A wanderer with wisdom, a singer with stories—perhaps I’ve learned a thing or two from you today.

She took a step forward, but not to follow. Instead, she dipped her head, an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection they had shared in their brief encounter. Travel well, Rala, Irene said softly. And should the winds guide you back this way, I’d like to hear more of those stories—and maybe I can provide a cleaner meal.

Her smile lingered as she watched the snowwoman fade into the distance, the soft thrum of her parting words echoing in her mind. For a moment, Irene stood still, letting the quiet of the wilderness envelop her before turning back to the path she had chosen, carrying with her the memory of a chance meeting that felt like a rare gift.

fadeeee