Sun Mote Copse buzzfeed

all welcome, but @Ar-Khalba since they haven't met yet!

The Sun Mote Copse was thoroughly theirs. It borders clear, its scent marks fresh. Ragna would not grow complacent though. She favored a sense of routine, and so when she had no other plans to hunt or travel, she patrolled. They had not yet gained any attention from neighboring packs, but every day that became more and more likely to change. Their presence could not be ignored for long, and while Ragna hoped for peace, she remained cautious. And so she patrolled, keeping the scent line fresh and her eyes and ears open.

Whoops :P

When called by a sister, Ar-Khalba answered -- no matter the occasion. He retreated from the border, ceasing his own patrol around the copse without second thought. Altering his course, he trailed along the borderlands of the territory, persuing an unfamiliar voice. Unfamiliar it may have been, it was feminine -- and she was one of their own.

Ar-Khalba approached with head low in deference, just as he would with the Ekar-Aji. "Sister," he spoke in greeting.

She was patrolling the borders too!

Ar-Khalba came. He, too, must have been patrolling the borders. They must have caught up to each other. She wasn't displeased to see him, but she had to admit she had been avoiding him since her conversation with Ashera. Though she knew he wouldn't mount her without her request, the thought that he had carnal knowledge of all of her sisters was too much to bear without embarrassment. Call me Ragna, she insisted. And since she insisted, he would have to do so. I was patrolling. Come with me? she invited. This, at least, was not an order. She began to walk, and if he chose to follow, he could.

So sorry for the wait on this one! I promise I'll be better!

Just as Ragna assumed, by her command she would no longer be called 'Sister' despite the unspoken fact that Ar-Khalba would always think of her as such. She was among the sisterhood, and would be respected in the same way as the others, so when she called upon him to join her in her patrol, Ar-Khalba accepted with a curt nod of the head. "Of course," he said simply before setting himself into motion behind her. 

"Did you hear Molech's call?" He asked after a beat. Apart from the Ekar-Aji and the priestess, the rest were outsiders. Supplicants brought forth by a pleased God. "From where do you come?" Ar-Khalba didn't wish to ask too many questions, yet his curiosity started to get the better of him.

no worries!

As she told him, he followed. And so they set out, the katimir trailing not far behind her. Again she thought it strange that he would not walk beside her, but in the end this was due respect. She was not used to being ranked so highly among the wolves of her pack. She had not soared through the ranks in any group she had been a part of, so to be among the highest ranking women of the Malkaria was still a strange thing to her. Still, she did not protest, for this was their way.

I was born in these wilds, she said. If he was as unfamiliar with the territories as she thought he was, then any further description would be lost on him. That she was a native was all that mattered. If Molech has called me, I am deaf. But still I have found their embrace. Her conversion was neither complete nor overt. She would never truly devote herself to Molech, but would find comfort in the many-armed god's many arms. (lol)

I'm sorry for the wait on this one. Things have gotten away from me :P

It did not surprise Ar-Khalba to learn that Ragna was native to these strange, heathan lands. She did not bear resemblance to the red women of the Tophet and the lands surrounding it. Unlike the thin, willowy women he had always known, Ragna was broad with wide, masculine shoulders. And her pelt, it was remarkably not red. These differing physical qualities however did not sully her place among the sisterhood, nor would it alter Molech's favor.

"Molech's hand is subtle. Most do not know when they are called to action," Khalba spoke, regurgitating the teachings of the High Priestess Ashtorath as he always had. Nevertheless, Molech was to be feared: the Many-Armed God's influence was everywhere.  "But do not fret, you are among the faithful here. We have all been called to a higher purpose."

Of her vices, vanity was notably absent. When Ragna saw the slim beauty of the red women, she saw only their beauty. There was no room for envy in her appreciation. Her body was a weapon, not art. She paused in their patrol to rub against a rough-barked tree, her scent mingling with others that had passed here and strengthening the marker.

Ar-Khalba spoke with sagely weight, and when he spoke thusly it was difficult to disagree. She nodded, albeit grimly. A higher purpose. Even if she never heard the call, Ragna would serve. The desire to protect was deep seated and unshakeable. She had thrown her lot in with the Malkaria, and her loyalty was not easily cast aside. What is yours? she asked, curious if he had felt this call.

"To serve," Khalba replied. "To make myself useful to both the sisterhood and Molech." It was a simple, humble existance -- but Ar-Khalba's did not yearn for anything more complicated. After all, a life of service had been Ar-Khalba's calling all along, even when he had once thought otherwise. The high priestess Ashtorath had told him so, so it was undisputable law.  

"Like you, I was not born to the Malkiara," he continued. "But I was guided to the sisterhood by Molech's hand when I was young and frightened." Surrendra, at that time, was where he was meant to be. And now, he was meant to be here.

Where some might have seen him as meek, Ragna saw Ar-Khalba's humble nature as another facet of his piety, which she envied. There was great comfort to be derived from religion, comfort she had already benefitted from, but she did not think she could devote herself so absolutely to any god. He served and so, too, did she, yet she felt that her service was more selfish, less pure.

She did not respond, though her interest in both him and his experiences was apparent enough that her nod could have been taken as a prompt to continue. In truth Ragna feared social misstep, particularly with an unknown such as Ar-Khalba. She carried on in silence, leaving conversation to him.

The other was silent, but Ar-Khalba could see that she willed him to speak further. She was listening intently; a rare thing indeed among the Malkaria. He took his opportunity and continued. "I was a young boy," he began. "Born to a group that wandered from place to place. But the plains near Surrendra, the homeland of the Malkaria, was the home I knew. It was there that I was raised with my siblings." The land bordering Caanan's Tophet was fresh in Ar-Khalba's mind, but the time he spent with his natal group was entrenched the fog of fading memory.

"I was two months old, and I liked to roam without supervision." He recalled that his youthful naivety had been his downfall. "On the fringes of the place we made our camp was a thing. A man, who told me that he was my friend." Young as he was, Ar-Khalba had been pressed to believe him. "He was a spindly thing; smaller than I -- but I remember how he grabbed me by the scruff and took me away." His taker's size had made no difference then.

As though to make up for her predilection to silence, Ragna was an excellent listener. She listened well, for in his story she learned more about the Malkaria and their origin. As he spoke she frowned, thinking of her own tendency to wander off when she was young, and how that had ended for her. Yet she was not taken as he was, and for that he won her sympathy. Yet she also grew curious, for how could he devote himself to a god he had not chosen? To have a role such as his forced upon him? Do you hate him for it? she asked. That was far easier than asking if he still harbored a grudge against the very women he served.

"No," Ar-Khalba replied. "One should not hate the dead." Hatred, in fact, went against Ar-Khalba's entire philosophy. Negative emotions like hatred and anger could easily corrupt the pure at heart, and if he allowed those emotions birth, they would get in the way of his fulfilment of his duty to the Malkaria and Molech. Instead, he regarded his youth with stoic detachment.

"My abductor did not take me far," he continued. "We crossed paths with a group of women from the neighboring territory of Surrendra. A scouting party was tracking a herd in the southlands. So, I kicked. I screamed. I begged for help. They heard my cries and struck the man who took me dead." Ar-Khalba could vividly remember the scent of blood and fear, and how terrified he had been when he saw the largest of his three saviors rend the throat from the abducting coyote's body.

She nodded, admiring his capacity to forgive. Were she stolen rather than lost, she might have held a grudge forever. And when he proved her wrong, when he revealed that he had been saved by the women of Surrendra, she felt silly for assuming. You were saved, she said, feeling comforted. No wonder he had devoted himself thusly! Immediately she was relieved, for she felt that he was trapped by the yolk of a religion he hated, but that was not the truth. I am glad.