Hushed Willows d i s t o r t i o n

s h e  d o e s  n o t  k n o w  h o w  s h e  g o t  h e r e.
there is space between the lake and here, but the cold that settles so lovingly in her skin makes it hard to remember. she is aimless and allows the wind to push her where it may, and this time she has not fallen prey to the mountain's traps. tongue rasps over her muzzle, dry and pale, and oh she is thirsty. satisfaction seems a distant memory, driven further away by the void that is wanting in her.

she finds the lilies and they will not help the void but oh, they are pretty. she pulls a single @Lily from where it blossoms carefully from frost-scorched earth, it is hers and it is oh so beautiful. it is virgin white touched with yellow, and its stalk is deep @Olive and fragile. she holds it carefully, and it does not break. she resumes then her wandering search, ears pricked and keen for the sounds of water. she does not know this place. it is peaceful and yet there are other scents her, many, and so she proceeds with limp tail and soft posture, and her gaze is downturned and focused in the lily in her grasp. she does not know how she got here. 

b e s t  n o t  t o  t h i n k  o f  i t.

Luckily, she had @Seabreeze, an excellent sitter; the woman was near, and Lily gave her a gentle glance in query before leaving her friend with her slumbering children. She had to pee. And she needed some time away. No time like the present, right?

But along the way, she came across the pale young she-wolf, and Lily's face softened. Motherhood had really given her a sense of serenity that hadn't quite been there before. She felt very maternal, more so than ever.

Hallo, she greeted, gaze flickering to the flowers before returning to her face. What brings you here, darling?

there comes another and she wilts. larger ears flutter near to her skull, and she melts toward the earth. tail is curled tight to her abdomen, and there is grace in her descent, as if she has done this time and time again. her maw slips open a fraction, as too is instinct, and the flower falls to rest in the mud. the sudden loss of it, the sight of it in the dirt, brings the familiar pull of tears that she battles away. her gaze rests on the woman's paws, dark and still, and her voice rasps "hello." 

laying on the cold earth, she is ready to in an instant to roll onto her back, exposing her stomach in total submission. the woman asks and she answers. "the wind." she is worried for her lily, but her gaze does not stray and she tries not to imagine it in the mud.

Oh, dear. The woman cowered, cringed, and her lily—coincidentally enough—fluttered down into the mud. Wolf-Lily blinked calmly at her, then stooped very slowly and plucked the flower from the ground with the utmost care, setting it closer to her own ebony paws, where it would be safe.

You don't have to do that, she murmured, giving her a gentle smile. What's your name? Come, come into the forest with me. It's all right.

She reminded Lily of a paler Qilaq, all quiet and shy and scared. Elysium was the perfect place for her. Lily nosed the flower, beckoning the woman to take it back, and then turned, beginning a slow side-step into the willows and hoping that the newcomer would follow without much issue.

her gaze followed the flower as the woman's fangs closed over the delicate stem.  careful.  she did not say it, but she stilled utterly as she watched the flower come to rest, whole and complete, and the woman's feet. loss stung sharply, but she did not vex the woman, it was the nature of others to take and of her to give, totally and completely. still. so rare was it that something seemed hers that sometimes, even the taking of the most inconsequential of things hurt. 

her words were quick to put her in a category of wolf that, perhaps prematurely, the ash-girl labeled as unthreatening. "quail."  still, her answer was quick and obedient, soft and wavering as was her voice. she did not want to follow, but she must and she would. and then the woman motioned for her to take back what was hers, and a little bit of joy leaped and churned in her chest. she was motionless until the stranger began her slow movement, and then she grasped tightly the lily and followed the woman, tail held curled between her legs and stance dripping, as if any moment she may melt to the earth completely.

They made their way back closer to the non-whelping dens, where others had made their small, secret homes. Lily turned, then, to Quail, thankful that she had decided to follow. It was her choice, after all, though the Satori had framed it more like a command. A gentle nudge, if you will. Lily wasn't really the commanding type.

Do you have a home, Quail? she asked. Given that her previous answer of 'the wind' seemed vague, she assumed—maybe prematurely—that the answer was 'no.' Would you like to stay here for a while? You can help Olive tend to her gardens, she offered, smiling down at the flower in the woman's mouth.