Larksong Grotto white fog

@Faust

lousine breathed. shadows spilled over the path before her, loomed over her head. the birds were quiet. her head tipped up to look above her; the grotto shielded her from a gentle downpour.

she padded further into its berth, gliding against a bumpy wall of rock. she loved the feel of it against her skin in that 'so bad that it's good' way. it made her feel closer to Selardi.

when she looked around again, she saw nothing else. just she and the grotto. lousine paused to drop down to her knees and silently pray.

faust prowled the grotto’s edge, his steps slow, measured. the air here was thick, damp with the scent of stone and moss, and something else—something quieter.
he wasn’t alone.
his gaze cut through the dim light, catching on a figure ahead. at first, his breath hitched, a flicker of something too familiar rising in his chest. ayovi? but no, this was not her. the curve of her shoulders, the way she bent before the earth—this was something else entirely.
she was praying.
his muzzle wrinkled slightly, a huff escaping him as he stepped further in, making his presence known. he was no god, no spirit to be worshiped, yet she knelt as if the world around her held something greater than flesh and bone.
he did not speak, only watched, waiting to see if she would acknowledge him—or if she would remain lost in her whispers to something unseen.

where at first she did not speak, now her mother tongue bounced off the walls of the grotto in a looming echo.

o Father Sin, light of day,
thank you for what you have given me.
another day that i may rinse my feet in Your water,
another day that i may touch Your soil.

oblivious to her observer, lousine continued.

i promise to be a humble servant.
i promise to nourish you, to love you, to protect you.
i promise to never turn my claw unless i must for survival.

o Mother Selardi, listening ever closely,
show yourself to me tonight,
and i shall dance beneath you.

the sound of footsteps brought silence forth yet again. lousine looked up, eyes round as saucers, lips slacked. a man — not one she knew. how long had he been watching her?

surprise morphs into wonder. a small smile etched itself upon her face. do you want to join me?

faust did not speak.
he listened, not just to the words she offered to her gods, but to the way they echoed, the way they filled the cavern like something tangible. like something alive.
his green eyes did not leave her as she turned, as she smiled, as she asked.
he took a step forward.
not quite an answer, not quite a refusal. but he was here, and he was listening.

he stepped forward. lousine considered this a yes.

slowly, she rose to her feet and padded up to him. he was much taller than her, and as she got closer she began to notice his pelage — his gilded ruff, shimmering even in the shadows, and his features etched with minuscule scars.

she sat down in front of him and reached out for a forepaw, taking it between her two own. can you feel it? she asked him. a bright, warm smile lit up her face. the energy. that is our Sun and our Moon, speaking to us.

faust glanced down at where her paws enveloped his own.
the warmth of her touch, the reverence in her voice—it stirred something buried deep in him. a ghost of another time, another life. the women of his youth had been like this—gentle in their faith, unwavering in their devotion, speaking of gods that lived in the sky, in the sun and moon, in the rivers that carved the land. he had not thought of them in years.
nostalgia clawed at his ribs, but he did not let it settle.
his gaze lifted to hers, unreadable, searching. she smiled as if she knew something he did not, as if she felt something he had long since lost.
i don't, he said finally, voice quiet, shaking his head. he pulled his paw back, slow but firm, the touch severed. whatever he once believed had turned to dust long ago.

he didn't.

her smile faltered, but she allowed him to part from her. she didn't move away, nor get any closer. instead, she looked down at the undergrowth and raised up a paw to feel a long blade of grass.

i sense something in you, she said quietly, it's okay if you don't. you will in time, if you practice communicating with her.

she wasn't surprised that he hadn't — this strange man who had probably never stopped to look around him a day in his life. that tattered around the edges type, the ones who burn holes right through you. but she loved his eyes; she saw so much in them.

you probably think i'm crazy, right?

he watched her, the way her paw traced the grass, the quiet certainty in her voice. she spoke as if she knew something he did not, as if time would unravel some unseen truth within him. he doubted that.
he shook his head again, slower this time. no.
he did not feel what she felt, did not believe as she did. but when she asked if he thought she was crazy, he hesitated. his gaze flickered, as if searching for something in her, and then he exhaled.
my mother was a priestess. of the star mother.
it felt foreign on his tongue, a truth he had buried deep beneath hardened years. he had spent his life running from it, from the weight of faith, the whispers of gods he did not understand. but here, in the hush of the grotto, with this strange girl and her quiet knowing, he found himself saying it anyway.

oh, i see now, priestess and mother in the same sentence often meant something sinister. lousine's face softened. but you joined me anyway. you didn't interrupt me. you still treat the world around you with respect. she couldn't have done a terrible job, right?

she found herself wanting to know more about this man, with his priestess mother and his quiet countenance and his rather shocking humility.

she feared she may have gotten herself into a bit of trouble with this one.

could i maybe have your name? the question had gone unasked for much too long. her baby blue eyes sparkled. i'm lousine.

faust regarded her, the way her face softened at his words. no judgment, no skepticism—just quiet understanding. it unsettled him.
depends on who you ask, he muttered, lips curling slightly at her attempt to find goodness in something he wasn’t sure deserved it. respect wasn’t something his mother had taught him. it was something he had learned on his own, through hardship, through survival.
she wanted his name.
he hesitated, watching the way her eyes shone in the dim light. she had given hers freely, without hesitation. lousine. a name as soft as the way she spoke, as the way she seemed to move through the world.
faust. simple. blunt. he had never liked his name, but it was his all the same. nice to meet you, lousine. the words came out stiff, as if he wasn’t used to saying them. because he wasn’t.

faust. lou smiled as she mouthed the syllables back at him. we have similar sounding names, she laughed then, a hearty giggle. i like it.

what were the odds of that?

maybe he'd found his way to her for a reason.

come, she invited him forth, walking with dainty steps toward the sunlit mouth of the cavern. she watched as water dripped down from the ceiling and landed on her shoulder.

i come from a long line of... kind of priestesses, in our own way, she told him without even thinking, just assuming he would perhaps want to hear more about her as she did him. priestesses of the earth. we are an old people. many, many hundreds of years. they always say that elders know best, you know.

he follows. he is not sure why.
though his gaze did not leave the space around them. he watched the way the light caught the edges of the cavern, how the water traced slow, glistening paths down the stone. his ear flicked at the sound of her laughter, a sound too soft for the world he knew.
he did not reply immediately, only letting her words settle between them as she walked ahead. priestesses of the earth.
his mother had spoken of such things once, in whispers over dying embers, in prayers murmured to the stars when she thought he was asleep. the old ways. the ones that had been buried beneath war, beneath blood.
elders think they know best, he finally murmured, scanning the cavern walls, the path ahead. he moved with the instinct of a man who had spent too long expecting danger. not all of them do.
still, he walked with her. wariness did not keep him from listening.

that's true, she responded, but we all learn things in time, you know? you can learn a lot from those who have lived a lot. that's all i'm saying.

she liked faust. she wasn't sure why.

maybe it was his attitude, the way he simply showed up and seemed immediately enraptured by her presence. the way he spoke to her. the way he looked at her. it made a strange, warm feeling flicker in her belly. she didn't know how to feel about it.

are you from the area? lousine asked as the pair finally dipped out into exposed light, her head tipped back in order to feel the rain upon her cheeks. i've actually never been here before. i've been... traveling, for a bit.

faust tilted his head slightly, watching her as she turned her face to the rain, unbothered by the damp chill. she looked at ease in a way he never had. not once.
no, he said simply. not from here. his voice was quiet, but steady, as if the answer was set in stone. i guess i am now.
he stepped out beside her, blinking against the light drizzle, though he did not close his eyes to it the way she did. instead, his gaze roved over the land stretching beyond them, scanning the open space like a man who never allowed himself the luxury of being unguarded.
i travel too, he admitted, though there was something heavier in his words, something that suggested his wandering was less of a choice and more of a consequence. his eyes flickered toward her then, catching for a moment before drifting away.
how far have you gone?

he was like her. not from here. lousine took comfort in that. her eyes found his again and held them for a long stretching beat. lousine's own family had never been fond of staying in one place for too long. always following the changing of the season; running from cold and chasing herds, blessing the earth as they went.

how far was she from home?

far, she responded. far enough, now, i suppose. i'm on my own out here, you know. i don't really know why i left. i guess i wanted to see more. feel more.

and she certainly was feeling more now.

are you alone, faust?

there was something in the way she looked at him, something open, searching. it had him captivated toward her, towards the snowgirl.
sort of, he admitted, voice low.
his solitude was a choice, but not always his own. he had walked away from things, from people. others had done the same to him. but that wasn’t a conversation for now. not when she was here, standing before him, warmth flickering in her gaze despite the rain.
not now, he said instead, and this time, he let his eyes linger on her. a pink stripe of his tongue lathered his lips for a moment; she had not been apart of her pack for a while. it was good. this was good.

not now.

it was like a trigger, that simple phrase. something shifted in lousine and she truly felt it, a coiling sparking stream of colors behind her eyelids, a hot rush in her veins. her cheeks grew warm.

will you stay? she suddenly asked him — it surprised even her and she showed it, her eyes popping open the same way they had when he'd first approached. she wasn't sure why she said it but she didn't regret it. she wanted it. wanted him to stay.

the way she straightened and leaned closer, gaze locked upon the sweep of his tongue over his dark lips, spoke the rest for her: please.

faust did not shy away.
instead, he moved—a shadow, writhing in the small space. a shift in the air, a shift in him. his body curved around hers, close, commanding, a silent claim in the way he stood near enough for her to feel the heat of him.
no, he said, but the word was weighted, thick, full of something unspoken.
his muzzle dipped lower, lingering just beside her ear before pulling away, slowly, savoring the space between them. his breath was warm where it fanned over her skin, teasing, testing, daring.
you come with me.
not a request. not a suggestion. a decision already made.

fade here and have another? <3

okay, and lousine was sold. she was smitten.

heavens, forgive her for the thoughts that ran through her mind.

but she didn't make any such implication, instead merely giggling and leaning into the motion as if to affirm to him i'm trusting you. she would follow him wherever he would lead.