Mount Apikuni one: entrance

you seek: death / you believe: in proving yourself valuable

under cover of dark and snow the body moves, searching, pacing, freezing, yes. instinct dull and throbbing warns: find cover or this storm will take you. the mind replies: and so what?

yet treacherous paws seek shelter in the copse of trees they encounter. yet the body does not want to die despite the mind's clamoring for some release. at what point does hypothermia set in, worms dully wonders, and will it ease his quickened thoughts as it slows his surly pulse?

keep moving, his joints urge, find warmth, his bones order, and he thinks, if i die at least i should want to be sustenance for someone. that his frozen corpse could feed some creature, wretched like he is not, is enough. but the bones won't give up and so the wolfdog keeps his pace unrelenting and waits to see which will give out first, the brain or the body.

Steals!!

Thoughts inevitably return to her sister no matter how hard she tries to put her aside; the need to fill her belly is much more dire and yet, Rheia just wants to be back with Sif so badly. She decides to investigate the marsh due south of her resting place — hardly keen on leaving her precious hollow (a temporary home she has already grown quite fond of) within the pine forest. The marshland is not so damp that she cannot cross it although, it holds odd smells which make her contemplate turning tail. Before long Rheia is through the worst of it — she has managed to navigate across the more solid and frozen segments of the wetlands and comes to rest along a natural cairn jutting from the earth.

Some casual glances tell her that there are many paths to follow. That perhaps if she headed towards the mountains she would find ease in travel, a familiarity upon the stonescape of the ridge. Rheia shelters for a handful of minutes within a forest void of color; she does not know that the trees sport brilliant reds and golds at any other time of the year and merely deems this another patch of nothingness, which she is eager to forget. It is here, within the Emberwood, that she finds her first chance at a meal. The scent of hare is new to her but it ilicits a hasty response: her mouth fills with saliva that she wicks away with a pass of her tongue across her nose, and she is off after it. The path winds towards the adjacent mountain although she remains ignorant of her trajectory — her head is downcast as she shuffles along through the trees, snuffling and roaming on the trail of the hare.

She does not see the stranger. The sound of something moving ahead of her is what catches her attention first and, eager to a fault, Rheia plunges in pursuit before realizing that she's squared herself off against something much larger than a mere rodent. The collision is quick; she doesn't know if she careens in to a bush, a tree, or the wolf but she does throttle herself against something and go for a melodious tumble through the greenery.

both body and mind are interrupted by the sudden collision of another form, jolting worms from his disassociative state as he's tumbled to the ground like a rag doll. "hell," a wheeze crushed from winded form, scrabbling against the earth (or perhaps the other form) for a stable hold. it occurs to him he has not heard his voice aloud for some time. it is rough but it fills him with a sense of identity he'd nearly forgot he had.

worms clings to the ground, fur puffed up in comic defense against whatever onslaught has been unleashed on him. "are y'an angel?" the wolfdog asks, dazed, wondering if his attack could smell the wish for death on him and sought to grant it. and if not, what purpose did it serve to go after him, a bag of bones and fur?

Rheia was almost all leg and as she fell she took on the aspect of a large spider, flailing for a second before curling her legs up around her. She met the ground fortuitously thereafter and, perplexed by the entire situation, was left dumbfounded with forest debris all around. But the stranger seemed to be no worse for wear - they were speaking, and although her mind was a blur after the tumble, she could pick up on the tone of those words and even, over time, came to understand them in a basic way.

It helped that the word he used (- are y'an angel?) was so close to its likely progenitor. She knew not what an ángelos was, however Rheia felt a mistaken sense of familiarity when she cottoned on to what he'd said. A part of her should have realized he wasn't speaking her mother tongue but she was a bit discombobulated at this point and thoroughly hopeful. As she got to her feet she shook the debris from her ratty silver pelt and smiled hesitantly at him - Angelos? Ti se kánei na to lés aftó?

the confused bundle of limbs that menanced him sprouts not angel wings but a wolf's head. they seperate, worms scrabbling to his feet with a tired grunt in time to hear the foreign phrase flung his way. the words are lyric and lilting and blend together, absolute gibberish wasted on his fluffed ears. "i don't speak angel," he tells whatever skyborn lupine creature has set its sights on him. 

worms stretches out like a giacometti sculpture, his lean body twisting into it. oof. "my name's worms." he says, not knowing still whether or not she'll understand him what with the beautiful-weird tongue she was speaking in a moment ago. critically he scans her, deciding once and for all that she's not an angel, just a foreign-tongued wolf girl with ragged silver fur (as if he's one to judge, ha). well, fuck, if she's not here to kill him, then what's the point?

She had been elated to find a creature that could speak her language, but that feeling of goodness and of connection faded just as swiftly as it came. The antithesis was true: he admitted his lack of understanding but he used that word again, which confused her a little bit. Rheia felt her glee wane and her brow knit with concern, but she said nothing as she tried to figure out what he was talking about.

She understood what a name was. His seemed particularly odd but she tested it all the same, breathily mumbling, Worms...? and then after a beat, emboldened perhaps by a mixture of need and lonliness, she introduced herself as Rheia. Name — my name. Rheia... not.. angelos. Although if he had been putting his faith in her for some reason, she wondered if this would ruin any chance of befriending him. He was a peculiar creature and the longer she lingered in study of him the more she came to realize this. He was small. Sif had been rather petite, but this was different. He looked immature in his smallness, and poorly suited for the season. Was he a child?

Cue more concern, more confusion. Worms is home? This, home? Her nose pivoted as she motioned to the surroundings, looking about in a mildly frantic manner before settling back upon him. He held a wild scent and no others, but that didn't mean much to her — Rheia had thought herself to be home when she had been with Sif at Refurhol and maybe this child had a similar ally that went undetected.

she holds his name in her mouth like some fragile shaking thing, his body trembling in the snow, and oh, it has been long since another spoke with him. a not-angel named rheia, a not-angel who might not speak his language. figures the first lovely creature he'd run across is neither here to kill him or to converse with him -- even if this is a type of communication, he has to admit.

"i was hopin'," the wretched wolfdog says with the casual air of one discussing the weather, "you were comin' to kill me dead." she probably won't understand him anyway; their language barrier makes it feel easier to be loose with his tongue. a little of the rust comes off his voice the more he talks. her question warrants a sideways glance and a wry, slow smile. home? "ain't got any home," worms says with a shake of the head, following her frantic glances his own. nothing but snow and wasted time around them, but hell, he hasn't got anything to lose, passing the time with her.

His tale was like so many others but she did not pity him for it. At first she thought she'd misunderstood his sentiment and was perplexed but, as she came to a weak understanding she gasped softly and drew back from him. What made him think she was a killer? Or that she would do anything to harm anyone for that matter? The girl was repulsed by the very idea and withdrew - feeling addled. A frown draped across her long face and she murmured, Rheia no hurt -- Rheia looking for sister. But the chance that this strange fellow had seen Sif was unlikely, and she was already put-off by the exchange. Without further discourse she turned and fled in to the dark, leaving the poor soul alone for the next unsuspecting stranger to stumble upon.

 so she understood after all, and oh, the vehemence with which she denies! it is a cruelty to him, if not to her, but he does not move to challenge her fleeing form. worms huffs a sigh, watching her form retreat. perhaps death will visit him another way.

he keeps moving.