Wapun Meadow this seat's taken

@Aurëwen

A barrage of pollen rode on the wind that blew through the meadow. The colors were almost overwhelming; it seemed that each blossom had its own signature shade. Dulce watched the buds dance beneath the clouded sky, wondering what their life might be like when no one was there to see. She smiled at the thought. 

The trip from the plains to the coast had given her multiple opportunities to settle, but Dulce didn't know that she was ready. After having spent years on her own without having to worry about the discipline and rules of a pack, she was unsure of if she'd ever be ready. After meeting Lily at the sanctuary, she'd decided to head back down the mountain range toward her starting point, perhaps picking up a companion along the way.

The silver should've realized that toting flora in the prime of pollen season probably wasn't the best idea. Each stride came with a sniffle or sneeze, but she was stubborn as always and determined to return to her thicket with agastache and lavender. Bits of chamomile petered from her lips and onto her ivory hide, making her argent eyes film with warbly tears; yet she persevered, and Aure would be damned if she let allergies hinder this little gift for her bairns.

Each day and moment spent with her children — Verx's children, their children — had her bothered self easing up and letting spring commence its full reign on her person. The tenderness of motherhood and milk was still there  ( and would always be, in one way or another ), but the fur of her womb had begun to re-knit itself, more plush than before; the wiry, untapped strength rolled beneath her too-petite figure once more.

In every sense, she was a she-wolf of the Far North, daughter and the Undimming once-heiress of Rhaesuial. But here, she was the secondry officer of Diaspora, and vulnerable to southern "plagues", as she liked to grouch. This was made evident by another muffled, squeaking sneeze that spewed petals from the voracious boquet she held  ( and cursed thoroughly through); and she stumbled, and tripped, and ended up right on her back ...but perked right back up in the meadow's sea and continued to stagger hurriedly on.

A loud sniffle startled Dulce from her momentary trance. She immediately perked up, ears spinning to try and place the source. Hey, she called, finally spotting a familiar white pelt some yards away. Even after having met as many wolves in her lifetime as she had, Dulce noted how rare coats as spotless as Aure's were; the change in scenery was appreciated. 

After a moment, she began to move in and close the distance between them. They'd seemed to have a decent conversation at the border, but it was difficult to tell if it would be the same beyond that line.

A herald rang out, and almost familiar; then lo and behold, it was the she-wolf from the borders, and the Diasporian perked up immediately at the sight of her. ”Abethfa!” Aurëwen crowed — or, tried to crow through her bouquet, entirely unawares that she still held it. ”Howf,” — snapping to, and then hastily setting her find down — ”how are you?” A flustered, faint giggle of apology colored her foreign tongue, but the ridiculous moment had already passed.

”It’s lovely out today, I think,” came the afterthought, and the once-skayona took the spring air deep within her breast, looked about the meadow all around them. Perhaps, once her children grew a bit more, she would bring them here; being cooped up in that thicket any longer wouldn’t do them good. Drago needed to smell the earth, and Isi needed to roam it.

Close enough, Dulce decided; some names were harder than others. Take for instance, Aurëwen. She settled some feet away, nodding in agreeance to Aure's declaration. Pretty nice, yeah. The two of them wallowed in the silence for a moment, each basking in thoughts of what might come to be. 

Now that they were away from the border, Dulce thought that it might be nice to have some conversation -- normal, non-diplomatic conversation. Why are you here? she asked, wondering what might have drawn the blanchard from her home. It was a beautiful day, but that went without saying; they just needed something to get the ball rolling!

Her gaze had wandered all about them, but when Dulce had proposed her with an inquiry, the answer was simple enough: ”I was gathering some flora for my copii— ah, my childrens,” a quick clarification. Then: ”I like to think that my son will become an adamant tracker, someday. Ever since he was born, he’s always had a nose to ze ground and one paw out of ze thicket.” ...Well, she’d meant for the answer to be simple.

With a flustered clearing of her pale throat, Aurëwen surrendered an apologetic smile, tried to rein in her tongue, and then turned the question towards Dulce instead, ”And, you?” A pause, and then a kittenish curve of lips, ”Has curiosity lead you back towards Diaspora, perhaps?”

There was something about motherhood that fascinated Dulce. It was a difficult concept to grasp, the ability to grow and create new beings; while she could never see it on her own path, she adored seeing it on others'. Two? she asked, tail beating the ground behind her, What are they called? If Dulce were to ever have children, she thought that she might like to name them something mundane; Rock. Fish, maybe. 

It was not yet time for Dulce to settle, though she had toyed with the idea. She gave a shake of her head and returned the grin, saying Someday, maybe. The chances were higher that she'd start a pack of her own, but even that was wishful thinking.

Two nods for the two questions, and her scarred features furled beneath the gleam of an unbidden smile. ”Dragomir, and Isilmë. My little dragon and trouble-doer,” her voice was saccharine, her tone was doting, and then turned considering of Dulce herself. ”You might come to like it at ze Lake, you know.”

”Until then, I should be returning!” With a pearling farewell and well-wishing, Aurëwen scooped up her bouquet once more and hastened for the Lake, her thicket, and her children; fitfully leaving the bursting, voracious meadow and her amiable acquaintance behind.