Wapun Meadow i have no mother, i have no father, i have no face

@Olive @Poet @Sif 
and anyone else who wants to join

she was still unused to the idea of pack life and its various rules and regulations, so one afternoon she slipped from the valley and let her feet carry her to the meadow before its mouth.

it was a chilly day but not as unsurvivably frigid as the ones before it, and as the day peaked the sun started to melt some of the built-up snow.  drawing her head to these shallow pools she stopped and drank, then continued along her way.

eventually she reached a small trickling creek, edges still frozen still to the land.  they broke under her feet as she waded through.

she thought something would change once those mystery-shrouded packlands had been opened up to her.  maybe there was something sacred about them, or maybe upon entrance she'd be granted the ability to understand that garbled language.

but there was nothing different about those lands than these, other than everyone was living together.  she liked her packmates, too, but —

whatever.  maybe alexander would hurry up and use her and she'd be cast out on her own again.

Sif had been cuddling Poet she saw Xan's wife heading out of the territory. For a few long moments, she simply curled closer to Poet and tried to close her eyes once more. But the memories of their play came back to her, and with a cajoling wuff, she stood and began trying to entire Poet away from their bed.

Whether or not she was successful, the siren-call of her new friend was too much to bear. She began trotting along the wolf's trail, ears pressed intently forward as she searched the other out. Finally, she appeared in the meadow, and with another happy bark, Sif began loping toward her, doing a quick circle around the other and snapping her jaws in the most playful gesture she could make.

Come get me! she pleaded with her body, hoping they could play again.

The disappearance of Addie had not gone unnoticed by the sinner. Poet does not think much about it either way; having never had the chance to know Addie, she did not feel anything toward the quiet woman. If Wardruna is upset... well, there are comforts she can offer. Besides, Poet is much more interested in spending time with Sif, who continues to charm her. 

She is roused from a pleasant nap by said girl's wheedling, yawning and murming soft appeasements as she climbs to her feet. What Sif is up to, she doesn't know, unaware of her sister-wife's new friend until they're upon her. "Who's this, then?" the ex-Priestess inquires, watching her playful gestures with a mix of fondness and protectiveness. The other smells like the Valley, like Xan, and so she assumes she is safe enough, but one can never be too sure.

She had stumbled upon a scene, the silvered fae silently mused as she watched them. Tucked away amongst the shadows, Olive wasn’t used to seeing others, especially not three together. Well, maybe that wasn’t the whole truth anymore — she had reunited with Seelie and Cass and Aries, the purpose of which the druid had chalked up to some celestial, cataclysmic event. The woman often pondered what it meant, to have reunited with so many, so soon — but the grandiosity of the idea sometimes gave her a headache so she put those thoughts aside to see after other pursuits. They were safe, they were alive, they were bonded and they would meet again.

Still, solitude was a skin not so easily shed. These women were strangers, though, and outnumbered her greatly — Olive knew better to simply assume that others did not mean her harm. Just because she did not understand hate did not mean it didn’t exist… it had been juvenile of her to ever believe so. She must drive hate out of existence, it was her life’s calling, but she must do so with unconditional love, radical love — but not naiveté.

As much as Olive loved her self-imposed prison [the bars of which had been smelted and molded by no one but herself], the desire for friendship greatly outweighed her masochism.   The trio of ladies seemed a friendly, playful lot, and Olive had always the tendency to gravitate toward feminine, yin energies — it had been so long since she had a tribe. Olive plucked herself from the thicket in which she lay camouflaged, approaching cautiously but keeping her fine, feathered ears high upon her crown to belie her friendly intentions. The small woman chuffed to bring herself into their awareness but immediately felt that she should introduce herself and give the others some context in which to frame their reactions.

“Ahoy,” she greeted, catching the tail end of the leggy, elegant woman’s words but not internalizing any of it. Olive wasn’t sure where she had gleaned that word, but it fell naturally from her lexicon and rosebud tongue. “I’m—” but she wasn’t able to think of a reason for her intrusion, so she filled in with the next most natural thing, her name.  “Olive.”





   

urgh, lol.  let me know if i need to change this.

she is pulled from her hovering anxiety by an intrusive bark.  instinctively she recoils before noticing that it was her new brown friend that had called out to her.  she shifts, relaxing, tail beginning a soft and steady wag as the other girl initiated play.

soon after another followed — when the breeze turned she could tell that the woman smelled strongly of her friend, and her guard was easily dropped as she continued mouthing at whatever parts of sif she could grab as they tumbled around in circles together.

but then a third breaks through and she begins to feel wildly outnumbered.  her play comes to a halt as she begins a steady lope towards the moon-kissed woman, not unfriendly but cautious.  

intrusively, her nose breaks the last of the space between them as it weaves into her pelt, down her nape and to her shoulder.  her tail is still wagging gently against her hocks. 

pulling away, she slowly lowers herself into a bow, releasing an inquisitive whine.

Feel free to skip Sif whenever! I will try to keep up, but I don't want to hold this back.

They were doing it again! The more she tried it, the better Sif felt about the game they were playing. She liked it especially because there was biting involved, and she was very good at that even if she wasn't using her full strength.

"Wife of Xan," she said to Poet, circling back to the older female and daring to nip at the furs of her shoulder. She darted back at once, a little horrified to have done that to Poet, who was starting to feel like The Boss of Sif, but giddy all the same. "Play with us?" she asked shyly, tail wagging hopefully at the older woman. Only to find that their new friend was leaving! "Hey!" Sif barked, turning and tearing in the other's direction.

She stopped short when she realized there was another woman here with them. Briefly, she simply goggled at the woman's pale furs, appreciating her natural beauty - but Xan's wife was heading toward her, and she needed backup! Sif trotted onward, ears pressed forward in attentiveness by tail relaxed against her hocks in deference to the older women around her.

Would she always be the youngest?

Wife of Xan, Sif explains, and Poet examines the woman again. A strange looking creature who reminds the sinner of the dog she'd met once, but she smells like wolf. But she doesn't have time to dwell as Sif nips at her, asking to play. Surprised, she blinks owlishly; she hasn't played in what feels like centuries, though surely it hasn't been all that long. She isn't that old.

Between Sif and the stranger (who's bow is noted with a curious tilt of the head) she doesn't notice the other until her soft Ahoy breaks upon the scene. Poet looks at the pair, sister-wife and wife-of, and back to the older woman. "Hello," she returns the greeting, knowing Sif struggles with such things, "I am Poet and this my ... companion, Sif." Her gaze moves to Sif's friend, waiting for her to supply a name, unaware of  her similar speechless proclivities.

The three were playing, so it seemed, and the sight of it brought a smile to Olive’s face. They reminded her of her children  — innocent and wanting of fun — and it reminded Olive of what she so missed in her life. Everything was so serious now, but then again, hadn’t it always been serious? Hadn’t she been raised to think of the purpose that lay behind everything that existed, and to question its raison d’être? Why did everything that to have a purpose, so serious; why couldn’t it just be for fun?

— and almost Olive dove to join them, but the trio directed their attention towards her and her playful attempt was rendered needless.  First it was the canine-like girl, the one who clearly wasn’t entirely wolf, and then another young one with striking markings adorning her ribcage. Then, finally, the elegant one with the legs came and was the one who eventually addressed her. 

Olive dipped her maw in a subtle, fluid bow. They were friendly, and for that Olive was thankful. She recited “Poet, Sif,” but her words released into a bubble of giggles as the canine one breached the physical barrier and assesses her with scent, trying to scry what she could from her chemical indicators. “and you are?” the fae asked, and only waited a second before turning her attentions to the others and voicing her second question. “Are you all friends?” Clearly they all knew each other, but Olive was eager to learn more about them.

   

her gaze turned to the fae as she spoke to her, wanting something from her, but she could not provide whatever it was she wanted.  however her laughter, pure and coy and given without second thought stirred the playful nature in reigi.

a series of loud yips asserted their way between them, before she moved to gently knock her eye teeth against the white cloaked woman's muzzle as it bowed.  she returned her attention to the other two, but the selfish canine wanted her all to herself.  she bolted away, back towards sif and nipped at her hocks, trying to instigate a game of chase.

"Hey!" Sif protested, tail wagging, as Xan's wife returned to them. Sif didn't know her name, and had gotten the impression that she said even less than herself. Asking didn't seem to be yielding results, at any rate. Still, she was getting tired of refering to her as "Xan's wife", and they needed to name her in order to lay claim to her. "Venninne," she said to Olive. And then, with a grin and a slavish look directed toward Poet, she added, "All friends!"

Venninne wanted to play, still. Sif was alright with that. She gave Poet a rough, adoring lick to the chin and darted off after her more energetic friend, wondering if Olive would play with them as well. She seemed more like an older, boring type, like Wardruna and Poet, but perhaps she'd prove Sif wrong in that regard.

 Sif's strange friend does not reply, and after a moment, Poet puzzles out that she must be like Sif. Perhaps even more so, as her clay-furred companion can speak in fragments, at the least. Sif takes the opportunity to offer a name: Venninne (she wonders if Sif came up with that herself or if the mysterious woman had given it at some point before now). 

 She watches Sif and Venninne play, a fond smile on her face. "All friends," Poet agrees, and looks back to the sylph. "I believe they'd like us to join them," the blaspheme says, a slightly mischevious tilt to her lips, curious if their fourth will join in.

All friends, two of three ladies agreed. The third, Venninne, did not need to verbally confirm for Olive to know that she felt the same way — her playful antics and good-naturedness spoke for her. As the shewolf watched her dart to and fro, she couldn’t help but be reminded [memories, always!] of Carina and the sheepdog’s own dancing, sweeping body language. Olive had always the tendency to rely to heavily on her words to rationalize her world, and perhaps that's why she always gravitated towards the silent types...

and perhaps there was nothing wrong with that.

The woman who seemed so much like herself — stoic, serene — turned and formally invited her into their play. Olive was thrilled. With the corners of her mouth curling into a most authentic grin, she but took one small step in the direction of the cat-and-mouse pair, not wanting to seem overly eager. “How can I say no?” She questioned laughingly, utterly swept up the spontaneity of it all, and loped behind the two who chased. Olive, a lithe and featherlight thing, was fast and able to turn on a dime — but she stowed the majority of her agility in this case, happy to follow the other’s lead. They played the hostesses, and she, merely their guest.
        

 

sorry to hold this up!  also messing with formatting..

the two women were nearly forgotten as they chat back and forth to each other.  her attention was focused on the little brown girl with the fire in her eyes.  

her tongue lolled out of her mouth freely as she wove to and fro, and she gave many delighted and playful yips as the stranger followed close behind.  maybe, she thinks, they can take her home with them and they'll have yet another playmate!

skipping sif w permission, figure we can just slap a fade on here since it's an older thread? ^w^

The sylph, like she, cannot resist the siren call of the girls at play. A peal of laughter escapes her as she's swept in to Sif and Venninne's rhythm, joyfully bounding around Sif. She abandons her voice for matching them in bark and yip, and for a little while, steals precious time spent without worry or need for deep introspection, glad to be in the company of her sister-wife and the others.