Gilded Bay all this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside

Set for late evening, the day the locusts arrived. I'd appreciate it if DL wolves did not find her right away, since I'd like to use this as an opportunity for some character development. :)

Emaleth had never before crossed the borders of Donnelaith; she knew nothing of the world beyond, or what she might find there. Her shame, however, was more powerful than her fear and the dark child ran from her home without looking back. She did not want to see the devastation her enchantment, her curse had caused. She did not want to see the barren skeletons of the redwoods she had loved so dearly; she did not want to see the destroyed remains of her home, a terrible consequence of her mistake.

She had been running for hours, ignoring the impassioned calls of her family— mistaking their worry for anger, for mourning over the loss of their home. Emaleth could not bear to face them, and the chaos of the swarm had lent her the ability to escape the fierce protectors that made up Donnelaith's ranks; in a normal situation, she never would have been able to outrun them.

Now, her small body weary from the long distance she had come, the small child crouched behind a tall spire erupting from the beach. She made herself smaller, instinctively attempting to protect herself, and huddled against the sands. Her blue-and-green eyes surveyed her surroundings, but she had not paid mind to where she had been running— if she had wanted to look upon Donnelaith now, she would not have known where to look!

At least the curse had not come this far; the bugs had no interest in the barrenness of the coast, but in Emaleth's mind it only confirmed that the plague was confined to her home. It was now, and only now, that the child allowed her head to drop to her feet and sobs to wrack her small form; a child's voice keening over the sound of the tide coming in.

His wandering takes him inland, only for him to be forced back when the locusts descend upon him. By evening, he is back on the coast, looking over his shoulder and wondering what it was he had just witnessed. The bugs are not so thick near the sea, but there are still some along the grasses and shrubs behind the tideline, and he draws nearer to them for a closer look now that their numbers are not so thick as to be blinding like a writhing fog. "Huh," he utters as he sniffs at a locust as it gnaws along the frond of some bush.

"I picked a bad time to leave the creek," he comments aloud, glancing up and down the shore and wondering how far the plague of locusts extends. But his pondering his interrupted by sobbing, and glances up the coast. He sees nothing, but with his ears turned forward he hones in on the sound. Peering around a tall stone, he spots a small, dark pup.

"Hey there," he says softly as he steps around the rock and takes a seat. "Where'd you come from? Bet all those bugs ran you out of your home, hmm?"

Over the sound of her own weeping, Emaleth did not hear the approach of a stranger until he was upon her. She had never met anyone that was not pack before, and a mixture of fear and regret caused her heart to thunder in her chest. As he spoke, the sobs caught in her throat and she was overcome with a terrified silence; she dared not even look at him, though her head swung so that she might catch a glimpse of him in the corner of her eyes. Little Emaleth had no desire to speak to the man, but silence would not stay his teeth if he wished her harm.

"My father is the Great Druid of Donnelaith," she told him, hoping her sniffles did not detract from the impressive title. After a moment of consideration, she drew herself up to standing, posturing herself in a way that she hoped was foreboding. "I am the witch," her small but articulate voice continued, "that summoned the storm." If that didn't scare him off— what powers she wielded!— than nothing would. It was unfortunate that she could not seem to control the magicks she was born unto, but he didn't have to know that— or why she was crying if she had summoned the bugs in the first place.

In his life, it is not uncommon for a wolf to attribute inexplicable phenomena to the spirits, the force behind life and all the makes life strange. Yet, he has never heard of druids, nor of witches, nor of summoning storms, and his expression is blank as he blinks down at her. He finds her posturing and her courage just as amusing as the surprising words she spoke.

"You don't say," he says with a warm smile. "I take it you were hoping for rain and not bugs," he chuckles. "How about we get you home then and you can try summoning some sunshine, or maybe a storm of bunnies. Now that would be tasty, don't you think?" His tail sweeps his hocks and he rises to his feet. "So where is this Donnel... home of yours?"

She didn't like the way he looked at her— it was opposite of the reaction she had been hoping for— and she liked the way he spoke to her even less. Emaleth couldn't fathom a world in which druids, witches, and magick did not exist; it had been the basis of the teachings her father had bestowed upon his daughters since their birth. While her power— if it existed at all— was not so strong to summon a swarm of locusts, it did not seem far-fetched to the four-month-old. It bothered her that the man before her did not take it seriously.

"No," she lied haughtily, a shuddering sniffle wracking her body as she continued to recover from her sobs. "I meant to do it." Emaleth did not elaborate on why, or how, but the male's suggestion had hit a nerve. She had only meant to will the trees of Donnelaith to grow! "You don't belong to the nemeton," she answered his next question, mismatched eyes now watching him warily, "so I can't tell you."

She is not impressed with his suggestion and asserts that she intended this, and his expression softens while his smile remains. He knows how strongly pups can believe in things, as that is all he thinks this is: the fantasy of a child, and not her unique upbringing. She refuses to tell him where home his, her eyes — one blue and one green — betray her distrust, for which he does not blame her.

"Don't you want to go home? I know, I know, stranger danger and all that, but you're just a sprout. I can't be leaving you out here on your own. Hang on a sec, let's see if anyone is within earshot." He steps away from her and lifts his muzzle to the sky, howling for anyone nearby who might be inclined to investigate, such as someone searching for a lost pup.

Emaleth had not experienced anger before-- not in this life-- but that was what began to bubble up within her. She shook, like a child might when they are afraid, but it was entirely her inability to properly express this new emotion. He smiled when she told him she had destroyed the world; smiled and told her that she was too young to be on her own, when it was her magicks that had brought the storm down upon them.

"No," she told him again, her voice now shaking with a tiny fury rather than the keening that had brought him to her. How dare he call for an adult before she had a chance to speak! Very patiently, she continued, "I'm not little. I will go home when I want." But he had already called, and the last thing little Emaleth wanted was for the wolves of her homeland to come running-- to find her and punish her for destroying the grove they all loved so dearly.

"I hex you," Emaleth told him, finally. Her father did not teach her much of black magick, beyond its existence, and so she had no idea how to actually curse someone. She secretly hoped it wouldn't actually do anything, because she did not want the punishment of the threefold law; only to scare him into leaving her alone, into taking her seriously. She had destroyed Donnelaith, after all! "By the God and Goddess, I curse you."

With that, she moved to dart past him, wishing to be away before the wolves of Donnelaith could find the source of his call-- and her.

There is no answer, and he sees no one coming toward through the haze of locusts. The black pup is even more irate with him, and he turns his gaze from their surroundings back to her, amusement quirking the corner of his mouth upward. "Oh no," he drones, "I am hexed. I am cursed." If this is all a child's imagination, her belief in her special world is quite profound. But before he is able to comment more, she darts away.

Rexxar does not move to stop her. "Oh well, I tried," he hums, rolling his strong shoulders before he turns and retreats down the coast. She is not one of his own, and his compassion only extends so far. He has no interest in chasing a pup who does not want to be helped, and nor does he endeavor to drag her all around the countryside looking for her home.

His feigned belief in her magicks only made her angrier, but the child was at a loss for what else to do— he did not take her seriously, treating her like none in Donnelaith had. Emaleth had only ever been treated as an equal by those that had raised her, and to have her own wants and desires ignored was not something she was used to. She did not understand it. She wanted no part of it. And so the stranger's condescension— though she did not know it for that— only served to fuel her small limbs.

Emaleth peered over her shoulder only once, to ensure he did not follow.