Hushed Willows catch the manic rhapsody

Rose Moor
Dusk
All Welcome — tags for reference.

After walking a while with @Lily and speaking very briefly of his prior life, the boy was left to his own devices and given some time to acclimatize to his new surroundings. It was very different from what he was accustomed to. More-so for the busy nature of the landscape than the area itself (which one might not anticipate in a peaceful locale like the willows, but for a person who is accustomed to roughing it, this was pure chaos). There were strange scents galore; occasional conversations that Cru overheard as he investigated one route or another; at one point Cru thought he could hear the wailing of many voices, and around one bend of trees he discovered a den mouth replete with lively newborns. A deep instinctive part of him was repulsed—another, intrigued, but darkly so. He hurried by before the gleam of mischief could be seen in his beady eyes.

It would take time for him to adapt but he would, because that was his goal. There were many bodies here and as a sanctuary he must assume he is not the only guest, and that they would have information about the area. Mother had raised him well. He could blend in to the woodwork (so to speak) and make himself useful, garner praise from those that lived year-round in this space, or make idle conversation with the other transients. He felt hopeful for the first time in weeks—beyond the innate pride of his purpose and the nearly zealous belief that he would eventually succeed, this was a proper lead in the right direction.

And then he found himself an hour or so later, surrounded by red bursts of color. It wasn't long before the setting sun was painting deep orange-gold across the sky, streaking the clouds with plum purple. The reds darkened to mud, then to black, all the while Cru had lost his train of thought as he observed them. The flowers were so strange to him, but lovely. He began to tread carefully around the blooms as best he could in the dying of the light, until his right paw felt wetness and cold; he recoiled like a house cat—tail up and puffing, ears slicked, like he had been tricked by the very ground upon which he walked, but he saw the reflective pool thereafter and felt his pulse steady.

Olive had become more watchful over the sanctuary. For almost the entire first part of her tenure on Elysium’s council, she had taken somewhat of a backseat approach to leadership. Lily was their Satori anyways, and she always seemed to nurture their pack relations and host their fêtes without issue or incident — giving Olive the freedom to relish the joy of doing nothing and being lazy with her wives.

But now that there was not one, but three litters to worry about. Nine tiny, innocent lives within their folds. Now, the stakes had never been higher. 

So, the druid watched the man careful as he sauntered through the weeping woods. She attempted to be nothing more than a shadow amongst the forest, which was easy in the dying daylight. She watched him as he explored the territory, not overly alarmed because he had the scent of Lily upon him, but not interested in letting him remain unintroduced.

He entered the rose moor, and so did she. Now she made no attempt at concealing herself, twisting around the thorny bushes to come closer. “They bloom all the seasons of the year — even winter could not blight them.” the woman stated in a voice like summerwine. She came to meet the man at the side of a small pool, giving him a dip of the head and a sidelong glance. “They are a part of magic of this land.” She was certain that Lily had done a good job conveying just how special this land was, but she was the Shakti — the master of ceremony — so she must take responsibility for this specific type of education.