Phoenix Maplewood ii. "and i will translate you"

botany #1, AW :) @LunaHeart some pp given that our thread is not quite completed yet, just hit me up and lmk if I need to anything at all!

From the valley the elven woman's quest continued west, across the Snowforest Taiga which only vaguely resembled the lichen-carpeted tundras of Sapmi. 

Her encounter with Luna had steeled her nerves. Perhaps there were others like the kind woman, hidden in the unexplored corners of this exotic world. They had parted as the traders of Elve's former world - with fair tidings and a barter of goods, the remainder of the rabbit meat in exchange for a few dried chunks of caribou venison concealed in the folds of her wrap. 

Spring had come sooner in these lands, they were flush with the arrival of life and beset with unexpected warmth. Thus far, the healer had not needed to draw from her stores in order to survive. It would have proved detrimental and wholly unnecessary with nature's bounty at hand. 

Indeed, Elve shrugged off her wrap permitting the sun's rays to cascade fluidly over the cream of her pelt as the forest closed around her. The Medicine Woman need not worry about thieves, her goal was only a few short steps away in the form of wild strawberries glinting temptingly within a casing of morning dew. 

Elve's movements were precise, delicate as she gathered a small pile of the fruit upon her reindeer fur. 

Then, simply because the gardener within could not abide it, the girl began to gently pluck the suffocating weeds from about the roots of the strawberry vines.

This day, Ulysses has fitfully killed a wolverine. The bastards are hardy, thick skinned, and nasty. They'll fight until every drop of life force is drained out of them. They make horrible noises and some get fairly big. 


This one put up a strenuous fight. Ulysses couldn't avoid those sharp claws all together, so he's got a couple scrapes and scratches, perhaps a few bites as well. It was a bloody battle and by the time he's able to kill it, the graphite tinted fur of his face and neck are dripping and stained in blood; making his fur a deep maroon. His paws are bloodied up and he has the wolverine caught in his mouth by the base of its skull, dripping with its own lifeforce.

He keeps the kill until he gets to safer grounds. The sunshine busting through the trees and illuminating the grass is a stark contrast to the look of this massive being bloodied and carrying his latest meal. He comes across this clearing and his metallic white eyes snap to the form of another wolf.

His eyes suspiciously rake up and down their form, they're on the smaller side of the spectrum, easily dwarfed by him due to his horrible mutation. Their scent finally wafts into his nostrils, now he puts two and two together. With her sleek and distinctly feminine form it's a wonder he didn't know she was a female in the first place. But her coat made her so unusual, those blonde and brown splotches coded her not exactly pure bred wolf. 

He wondered where she came from. Especially now that he watches her delicately pick fruits of vines. He takes it upon himself to leave her be. 

He doubts he's a sight for sore eyes when he's all covered in blood like this. So he takes a–supposed to be silent–step to head the other direction, minding his own business, when a thick twig snaps underneath his massive weight. He freezes, turning his large head towards her. Ears pressed back in irritation, he'd hoped to go by unseen but it seems life has other plans at the moment.

The shaman can feel eyes upon her. 

It is a developed sense - one she could never explain. Raised in the harsh environment of the Sami, with all of its cultural strictures, Elve had grown with an intuitive nature. She had always known when one of her adoptive Relatives entered the den, she could feel when Raikseiû's wrath was rising, she could sense when Laisse needed her. 

Still as stone, she remained with her back to the other. Sapphires were concealed by lids as she waited in trepidation. 

The sound of a branch snapping underfoot brought her eyes to opening, her paws to whirling and her heart to pounding. Wide-eyed, the Medicine Woman faced her would be attacker.

And found a most strange man. 

He was huge - towering easily over the tiny half-breed and outweighing her by well over a hundred pounds. Elve gaped, realizing that her head barely reached the centre of his chest. 

He was covered in blood, reeked of gore. Such a wraith - with his otherworldly eyes, eyes as pale as winter sky - sent her heart leaping into her throat. 

Her head bowed out of instinct - tail curling against her stomach and long ears pinning to her small skull - in complete submission. 

"T'is woman greets you, war-torn," she murmured softly, tones wavering slightly with nerves. 

"Do you need help?" She inquired with a shy gesture towards his wounds. 

Ulysses knows she's heard him, he sees her freeze up, listening and waiting. Then when the twig snaps the small wolfdog is spinning around to face him. His moon like eyes are stuck to her form. His sizable ears rotate towards her, occasionally twitching backwards. The wolfdogs jaw clenches and unclenches around the fresh kill and he contemplates dropping it as he looks upon her.

He takes a few cautious steps forward, then finally drops the kill. He's intimidating to say the least. He almost feels for the way it seems he's scared her. Ears pressed to her skull and soft looking tail tucked between her legs. She offers him complete submission, she desires no trouble, so neither does Ulysses.

With his head held high and his large stature, he would seem intimidating. He takes another few steps then lowers his haunches into a sit. She wasn't a threat to him, might as well treat her as such.

He tilts his head just a few degrees as she greets him. Ulysses contemplates allowing her to assist in the recovery of his wounds. They're minor and should heal in just a few days but the prevention of an infection should be helpful.

"My intentions were not to scare you," He says as his best way of apologizing for frightening her; he's never been good with words. "but I'm not going to say no to such an offer." His mouth almost twitches up in a friendly smile, but he barely stops it from showing.

By all means, Ulysses isn't a nice man, especially after what he's been through in life. But he must say, he has a soft spot for the sweet and innocent. Much like the small girl he used to care for. With that in mind, he never underestimates. Who knows, this she-wolf could've killed hundreds for all he knows.

Ears twitch at his reassurance though her eyes remain politely averted, form held unwaveringly unthreatening. Discreetly, not quite meeting those eerie ivory optics, as she had been taught by Hessía - the elf eyes the tic of his lips that betrays a want to smile. 

A tentative curve lifts the corners of her own lips, tugging at the puckered flesh of her scars, as she dares approach the mountainous man. 

She rests the otter medicine tote to her side, pale muzzle extending as she gently sniffs and searches. 

He has many wounds, though none life-threatening, that the girl laps clean of blood and dirt - methodical and doctor-like in her process. After a moment, she reaches for the bag, nosing the head flap aside. 

From one of the rabbit pelts she withdraws a sun-dried bundle of burdock roots - as they were called by the residents of Teekon. Taking the bitter, earthy roots in her mouth, Elve worked them into a pulp with her jaws grimacing all the while. A coating of mouse blood helped but it did not completely remove the awful taste. 

She pasted the wounds lightly with the ointment, foregoing binding with bandages of any sort. The superficial wounds would scab soon and heal - wrapping them would only extend the process of healing. 

"T'at shou'd help wit'...rotting," she struggled for a moment to find the proper word in his tongue, knowing that her selection was not entirely correct. She shot him a kind smile as she gathered her supplies, retreating from his personal space to sit nearby. 

Curiously, her turquoise gaze lingered, particularly upon his conformation and the features that hinted to dog. 

"You...you look like me," she whispered in wonder as the realization dawned, having never seen another wolfdog like herself before. She'd been too preoccupied with his sudden appearance and wounds to notice before. 

It was painfully obvious that the Sami woman did not look at all like Ulysses but it was clear that she referred to their canine heritage. 

She avoids his eye contact, which is to be expected. Though the gesture isn't rude, it lives closer to being polite than insulting him. Often others find his stare ghostly and unsettling. Though she doesn't meet his eyes, his follow her. Just in case, he could never be too careful; so he watches her every move as she comes closer to him.

He holds his head back and gazes down at her as she sniffs his wounds. The fur around his cheeks and neck pluming around his face, giving him a more innocent profile than he actually has. Even as she's tending to him with her quick and efficient licks to clean his wounds, he squints down at her. He's tolerant to pain, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it.

Finally as she relents of the cleaning and takes a mouthful of herbs, Ulysses watches the distain map across her features. That gives him a reason to show his canines and he smirks at the expression. "I bet that never gets old." His accent is thick and rich, voice almost rumbling with a low chuckle.

She puts the ointment on his wounds and her scent isn't as pungent when she moves to sit a couple steps away. Ulysses shakes, fur flying, and ears flopping. "Thank you." The wolfdog mumbles deeply, watching her eyes take in his physical appearance down to the 't'. 

He knows she's taking in his more than dog like attributes. Sure, he looks wolf, but he looks just as much dog. He'd feel scrutinized and his hackles probably would have been raising if she too hadn't been part dog. Then his eyes, devoid of color and life, meet the oceanic turquoise that highlight her already pale but uniquely identifying features.

"I am." He says lowly. "So are you, no? Your markings are..." He pauses, searching for the right word as his eyes rake down the tawny and chocolate splotches of color across her pelt. "unique. To say the least." He shrugs slightly. "I have no room to speak."

He seems indifferent about it, doesn't think on it too much. Tries not to let the dog like look run his new life even though it still seems to get in the way too often then not. Especially when there's so many wolves with egos skulking around. He doesn't resent his dog half, nor his previous life.

"I am," she admits sheepishly, butterfly ears drooping with something like shame. His eyes wander, voicing his reluctant opinions of her piebald coloring as unique. 

Something within stirs in disbelief - for never has anyone looked upon her appearance in anything but scorn, disgust. 

She says the words timidly while her ears press back. Ulysses can see that she doesn't seem to be in tune with her dog half. Though he doesn't have a problem with it, he's found out that many wolves look at half breeds with disgust or find them impure. 

Rather Ulysses misses his home in his dog life. Misses protecting the one thing he loved to no end. Now he can't and he doesn't even know how to get back to her. Now, he's not an expert at helping others but he decides to try and help her see the light in her dog half. Of course, he knows not of the path she walked in her past but at least he can tell her that it's not all that bad.

He sidles up beside her looking out into the clearing as the sun shines down on the both of them and the bright green of leaves almost make him breathless. He gazes down to her, really looking at her features and tallying up her dog like characteristics. 

The sun beams off of her beautifully white pelt, she had no reason to be ashamed of such a uniquely stunning coat. Sure, it doesn't resemble any wolf he's seen, but it shouldn't take away from her character. 

"Having a dog half isn't all too bad. To have this gift in a wolf's world might seem like a curse, but I almost believe in fate." He shrugs lazily. "I'm not sure if you've ever had the luck of meeting or seeing a two-leg, but I used to live with them. To them, being wolf isn't accepted. I was loved to the fullest extent, always getting the best treatment."

His eyes turn cold and he shakes his head. "I've learned that it's all perspective and when you're around so many others that are different from yourself, all you really have is yourself. Maybe a select few trusted ones. That's why I have no pack; for my pack is with the two-leggeds. They're so unbelievably different from you and I."

Ulysses nudges the side of her face with his long snout then pulls up to look back down to her. "Don't look down on yourself. You're good in your own way." He conjures up a natural looking smile that makes the corner of his mouth turn up in crooked smile.

The elf holds still as he nears, the tang of blood curling harshly against her senses and inciting a prick of anxiety that she forces away. 

Cyan eyes slid hesitantly to the side as he spoke, buttermilk auds raising to half mast as she listened attentively. 

"Two-leg?" Elve murmured curiously, after she had pondered over the thought of how different their lives must have been. She could not imagine a world in which being a wolf was frowned upon; a world in which dogs were exalted and cared for. 

"Like..like a bird?" Confusion and embarrassment shaded her voice, for she knew that he likely hadn't been referring to any sort of winged creature.

She nodded, accepting his words but found it impossible to take them to heart. Perhaps in Ulysses very different world, one didn't need a pack. But in hers, it was harder to survive alone and it was a terribly forlorn existence - she craved the company of others and the security of a pack as much as any. 

Not only that but it was the Sami's duty to uphold the traditions of her homeland - to find a clan and become a wife to one of the men, to fill his den with strapping sons and sweet daughters. To forsake the ways of her people, to forsake the spirits - including her Totem, was to deny her very identity. It would mean angering the spirits, risking death and destruction. 

Still, she smiled gratefully, golden plume swaying softly. "You are kind."