Arrow Lake you're my latest, my greatest inspiration

The lake was well protected, having formed a barrier of mud and slip around itself. Fish gathered together toward the center, occasionally daring to venture out to the shallows. Dulce watched as they grazed the surface with their dusky fins, tempting her with their grace. 

There seemed to be another pack everywhere that Dulce went. It was a shock, seeing so many wolves gathered only miles apart from one another. She wondered what it might be like to lead one of these packs and the diplomatic responsibilites that it undoubtedly came with. Scoffing, Dulce decided that she was pleased enough on her own.

The sun has hardly set before Dulce was beside the pack's border, curiously peering at the territory.

dont mind me while i snatch this thread

If Aurëwen’d known the wanderer’s thoughts, she would have agreed on the state of that what occupied them — what it would be like to lead something of your own someday, which wasn’t without its own dread of responsibilities and atonements. There were days where Aure herself had a hankering for such a time... but today was not that day.

And if there ever did come a day such as that, it would have to wait. The silver had fluttered down from the alpine reaches, where the Lake roosted, fat with late spring and readying itself for oncoming summer  ( her firsts here, she thinks? ).

She was glad to have brimmed under the humming sun today, left the children temporarily with her twin, for it wasn’t long until the ivoress spotted an ambery, burnished traveler not too far from Diaspora’s current realm. With a lavish swing, she anchored a feathery tail above boney hips, and approached at a fleet-pawed, reserved gait. “Sky above you.”

Though not unkind, Aure knew her basilisk wouldn’t appreciate loiterers... but she waited, rather patient today.

It was the intoxicating smell of mother's milk that first caught Dulce's attention. She turned and lowered herself in submissive greeting, having already taken a few steps even further from the border. She observed the pure coat of her guide, taking in the billowy lengths of her fur and graceful gait. I don't mean to intrude, Dulce breathed, eyes low but watching.

There was a moment of silence allowed between the two of them, giving the finnicky fish of the lake a chance to voice their complaints. Passing by. Dulce wondered if she might be afforded the same hospitality as she was at the borders of the Hollow, but she knew better than to assume.

Evident acts of hierarchy were always loathe to the silver, as much affection as the basilisk and her once-midwife had for such displays. Well, perhaps not as much affection for it than it was out of their personalized necessities... but Aurëwen wouldn’t assume, either, and soon let her tail flicker about her hocks once again.

In the beat of silence between them, her eyes fell to the spring fish floundering under-earth as their audience, “Are you traveling somewhere quite away?” argent eyes soon taking in the burnished female before her.

Though wan-hewn and, lately, isolated, her features softened minutely, and an inkling of wanderlust flurried within her. It proved to be irresistible, even with children to root her in place. She hoped to run with them someday, for as long as she may, despite Stigmata’s reach being pleasant enough  ( so far. )

Having taken a moment to think about her response, Dulce decided that, No, she would linger for a while before continuing northward. She wondered if this pack was the sort to take in wanderers, and beyond that, she wandered if she was even ready to be taken in. Surveying the pale woman once more, Dulce lifted herself up to a seated position, as opposed to her previous recline.

Is this pack yours? she asked. It was rare, back at home, to see a woman lead, but here, it seemed to be the opposite. It was equally refreshing and unsettling to see such a shift in power; Dulce loved it. Being one of few words, she sat back and waited for her companion's reply.

The word made her ears tilt not in disapproval, but in consideration; interest. The wanderer had seemed to prepared to make acquaintance and then away, but instead, stayed, and proposed a question for her. After some thought of Was Diaspora truly her settlement and Would it always be?, Aure trilled, "Yes, ze pack is mine." There was a lapse, in which it took a pause, some politeness, in case the other wished to speak.

But then, with a stuttery inhale, and then several, flustered blinks to amend her wrong: "I, ah, Diaspora is my pack, in ze sense that I am a member of it, of course. It is not mine to lead." She could feel the sting of blood at the ivory column of her throat, rushing into her scarred cheeks. So thoughtless, even when she was full of them. "Would you like to meet someone who does?" The question was practically an innocent invitation, and if the vagrant declined, then she suspected the two she-wolves would soon be on their ways.

There was truth that Aurëwen wished to lead someday, but it wouldn't be for reigning over these wanderers; the allure for height in hierarchy, she could see, but... humbly, she wasn't one to bolster and further the  ( apparant )  claim on the entire range. No, she... if she ever had the chance to rule, to preside, it would be over some stalwart territory. A fortress, her mind firmly nestled upon.

In all truth, Dulce was more than happy to continue speaking to the blanchard for as long as she might be allowed. She'd taken quite a liking her new companion, finding their conversation to be more fulfilling than either of the last. That's okay, she replied, exhaling a shallow sigh. It was hard to imagine her as a subordinate because of how gracefully she carried herself. Dulce still didn't know the woman's name, but it was then that she decided she very much so wanted to.

I'm Abeja, she offered, tongue clicking over the sound, but you can call me Dulce.

Taut, ivory muscles relaxed, easing with her own faint sigh as the wanderer assured her the situation hadn’t become as misunderstood as Aure had believed. She took the time to call out for @Mahler, then, the herald made wisping and airy on the spring winds. Stigmata might be sure to come, if the basilisk wasn’t too harried; but, as commander of his claim, it was good that her deliverer could act in his stead.

For all of her summons, the silver felt she should repay her fellow herbalist for all the pains he’d taken as of late. Newcomers had since flown to the spires like an insatiable river, bedecked in colors of the world. With six growing bellies — and minds — to feed, the damengeist felt no will or reason to complain.

In her Rhaesuial, attendants had flocked the twins’ circle of early childhood, and there had been no letting up. Full to bursting with allies, merrymakers, jesters, even the ill-wishers... they had all filled those bleary parts of her whelphood to carve and ready her for the uncharted.  ( Well, she’d rather be flayed and breathing than ever let wrong-doers think of her children. )

When Aure refocused upon the she-wolf before her, a name was given; two, it seems. Although the alternative of Dulce was given, the silver tried  ( and stumbled )  over the original, “Abeja,” — scrunched her nose in concentration. It must be this language that she knew her brother to be so particular to.

So she intoned with that deeper, foreign timbre of her own, “Ah-beh-ha. Abeja, yes? Of course, Dulce is sweet, too.” She preened kindly at Dulce, and only giggled at the obviousness of, duh, honey is sweet, when she recognized it a few heartbeats later. ”I am Aurëwen— ah, Aure, if you’d prefer.”

somehow the man had spread himself quite thin, and found the effects of it to be more pronounced by the day. yet mahler refused to let his outer resolve falter; when the motherdove called for him, he plucked up the remains of his fieldmice meal to swallow along the way, and approached the borders with the single-minded intent of completing whatever task there was to be had before seeking his den and an hour or two of respite.
honeyed and gentle-seeming, the stranger seemed already charmed by aurëwen, which was more than forgivable. the former seawolf had become an effusive and kind-hearted nurturer among the cooler diasporans; the truth of this had not escaped mahler's notice.
for now he strode to her side, letting his bearing speak for him as always, and wondering why this time of spring had brought so many joiners to the land.

Having noticed the male's prideful approach, Dulce took one large, apprehensive step back. Her intention was to acknowledge Aure's introduction and to make a risque comment about how they might meet again, perhaps under different circumstances. However, upon the entrance of another, more intimidating wolf, Dulce's cowardice began to creep in. She gave a respectful bow, allowing her head to settle upon her paws as she lowered herself back down into a crouch. 

It wasn't her companion's fault that the call had been sounded; it was common sense to call for an authority when a stranger appeared at your front door. In that moment, Dulce decided that she ought to stay or leave, and the time to make that decision was now. Hello, she offered, voice timid and low, I'm passing by. As she stood and began to leave, she shot Aure one final glance, hoping that she would know to hold onto it.

A winter-thin ear flickered, and then there was Mahler, all enshrouded and as formidable as ever. Ears pressed back once more, as they’d always had, when Dulce pressed herself into timid obeisance. Casting a chiding  ( yet jovial )  look to Mahler for his being so effortlessly daunting, the silver turned in time to hear the wanderer’s pardon.

Impish argent eyes met hesitant burnished, and Aure rose from her post. “You have ze freedom to ‘pass by’, as we all once had. What you toil for is returned tenfold, here. Why wander alone, when you could do so with us? Ze choice is yours, Abeja, should you ever consider it.” She remained where she was, though, even as the she-wolf trailed away.

A faint furrow came to her brow, but regardless of the departure, Aurëwen turned and stepped to the stalwart of Mahler’s side without further preamble. There was always next time, she supposed, and spring had only just begun.

last post!

like snowmelt, the she-wolf was gone before she had even spoken a word. mahler watched her fade in a solemn silence, then turned a warmer gaze upon aurëwen. "she vill find a suitable place," he rumbled in an attempt to reassure her, and then the pair set off for the innermost territories, mahler finding the motherdove a sensible and interesting conversational partner.