The Sentinels grace in your heart, flowers in your hair.

The woods transitioned without her noticing, and somewhere along the line she got so turned around that she was going north against her better judgement; the scent of the sea was stronger here, but not as strong as she would've expected had she been seeking the saline and brine. The trees kept everything out; kept her contained too, lost among the confusing shadows and heightened humidity left over from summer. It would take a few weeks before the heat fully diminished - and while Ibis was fond of living among the trees, she didn't enjoy the pressure of that heat all around her.

It was suffocating, giving her a rising claustrophobia that sped up her steps and made her feel a little bit more panicked as the hours wore on. If she wasn't careful then she'd end up spending the night among these trees - breaking her promise to her brother, which was another slight she'd rather avoid. And, yet, the further she went the less and less sure she was of the terrain.

When she finally broke free of the forest's moss-hewn confines, she stood upon a thin ridge that continued on to level out further ahead, where it dipped towards the coast. Ibis stood there for a few seconds - utterly surprised by her neutral fortunes, unsure if she should be elated by the stretch of open, empty wilderness with the booming sea beyond, or... Defeated, because she knew she would not make it home in time, as she'd wanted.

This singular thought was the proverbial straw to break her back - and as she stared out at the dark bands on the horizon that were segments of the distant ocean (and the edge of the world for all she could tell), she felt the overwhelming pressure all around her again - like she had been chasing a ghost all this time, but with her emergence to the light, the spirit fled and left her to stagnate there upon the ridge, alone. Ibis' only thought was of Lily in that moment, as her eyes prickled with tears she hadn't let fall, and she finally loosed a sob for the friend she still hadn't mourned.

In the beginning, The One had brought the universe out of its dark, formless void and shepherded it into the Divine Light. So why, then, does night still fall and velveteen blackness fall over the Earth for hours upon end? A common query floated by children upon their first Listen of the Great Story. It is quite at odds, yes, that the world should still be cast into shadow, so many eons after The One had liberated it from those shackles of nothingness.

But! — Ereshkigal only has to glance upward, find the glow of the waxing moon in her vision, to know that this jet state is not the same as the void before. The lunar orb, and the stars that are pepper'd around it, guide those who still travel past the sun's descent. The One will never let his planet sink into what was then; even the most tenebrous of nights is no comparison to the Time Before.

A sob; a shifting of paws. The Seductress blinks, ruddy countenance furrowed for a moment of brief perplexity, before she finally sights the girl upon the edge of a once-glorious woodland. She lets out a gentle call, a bark more flute than trumpet, and rolls into a trot, moonbeams bouncing off her well-kept pelt as she moves. Ereshkigal stops some several paces from the young woman and cants her head ever-so-slightly sideways, some semblance of warmth and perhaps pity in her normally dispassionate gaze.

Why do you cry, little sister? she inquires, her lofty auds swiveling atop the crown of her head. They come to rest facing forward, ready to catch any word the fae has for her — whether comprehensible or not. Ereshkigal is not one for shows of grief, save in sacred ceremony (when it is called for). She is at an utter loss, but to walk on by would be to deny her natural proclivity toward curiosity. . .and that, she could not nor would not stifle.

She thought she was alone; so alone in fact that her sobs grew in strength when she realized, yes, she had wandered so far off the beaten path that she had no home, and nobody was here to help her. It had been a mistake to go exploring for recruits without an escort. Leaving Cam alone when he needed someone was a mistake too, and so was her attempt to visit Elysium - mistake after mistake, and -

Her sobbing grew from subdued and contained gasps to a gale, like she was a babe again, and her thoughts muddied together in her head until she was pure emotion spilling over, storming. When she was all but out of breath, she heared a softly spoken voice that reminded her so desperately of home; light and soft like Olive, sweet like Seabreeze, it wrapped around her like a warm blanket and eased some of her sorrow on contact.

Ibis fought to compose herself in the next moment. It was one thing to let her brother know of her sorrows, another entirely to introduce herself to a possible friend while blubbering like a child. She sniffled and tried to stop the overwhelming pressure in her chest, but the redness of her eyes was clue enough to her struggle. She looked to the woman shyly, knowing it was too late to prevent a pathetic introduction; another failure for Ibis.

I lost s-snff-someone, she managed to say, and looked at the ground where her tears had dotted the soil.

Ah, loss. Few things are more affecting. Ereshkigal has not known it herself — her mother and sisters are all whole and hale — but she knows the deep lines that anguish carves upon the soul. She softens her knife-edged features, hides her gleaming ivories beneath a tender curve of lips. Now is the time to take on Inanna's role; Ereshkigal the Seductress is not needed nor welcome within this encounter.

I am so sorry, sister, utters the sylph in a voice like sweet nachtmusik. She dares to come closer, near enough that she feels the vibration of ebbing sobs, of grief desperately, hastily stifled. I cannot begin to imagine your pain. You should not be alone in this. . .

The coywolf minx sits beside the pale-hued girl, and their shoulders brush from moment to moment as breaths are taken and bodies stir. Ereshkigal glances over at her newfound companion, counting the stars within the cerulean eyes. I am Ereshkigal, she offers, her mouth growing wide in a smile that's more natural to her than breathing. You are. . .?

A lost little lamb, no doubt. Needing to be shepherded. The Seductress can shepherd, but only The One can lead this mourning dove to peace once more.

Her sorrow didn't leave her entirely. Rather, Ibis began to feel embarrassed, and so her mood shifted from sad to angry - at herself, at her circumstances, being an emotional teenager who couldn't figure out what exactly they needed. It felt good to have someone nearby, she realized. A little different that it was a complete stranger - and that they were sitting so close to her. The warmth was nice; the contact was comforting; the woman had a spice to her like cinnamon which struck Ibis as out of place at first, but she found that focusing on the stranger helped her to put some distance between her self and her emotions.

I am Ereshkigal, the woman calls herself. Ibis takes a shaky breath and swallows what's left of her sadness for later brooding, and when prompted she starts to say her name, but then - I.. I'm Cerulean. It wasn't really a lie, being another name given to her by her parents, but... It wasn't exactly how she had come to know herself. But in that moment Ibis didn't want to be Ibis; she wanted the calm and the allure of this mysterious woman, and chose for a time, to be someone else.

But soon she found that she had been staring a little bit too long at the curious woman, and redirected her gaze with a rush of warmth to her cheeks, and muttered apologies. You... You keep calling me sister, um... She blinks and watches the ground again, unsure of where she's going with her rambling, and sighs, I'm sorry, I'm such a mess...

Cerulean. She lets the name go in a sigh, drawing out the stressed syllable in something almost akin to a whistle, the rest carried away on the evening breeze. The Seductress infinitesimally narrows her eyes, not in any negative emotion but, rather, illustration. She is staring at the eyes, the cerulean eyes, which — Fitting, Ereshkigal murmurs, and her smile grows ever-broader.

The sylph dips her chin in a nod, regarding Cerulean from beneath long, dusky lashes. We are all sisters, says the priestess, the wanderer-by-trade, the woman at her core. All who live and breathe and have been blessed with a womb by The One. Why would anyone think otherwise? To be ignorant of the connection between yourself and those around you leads to crushing solitude —

The One is in us all, even that which does not live and breathe, she explains, turning to look at the dark ripple of waves, extending on and on and on beyond the shoreline. In the water, the earth, the moon, the stars. . .and you, my sweet sister. Ereshkigal shifts, turning nearly perpendicular to the young lady, neck a graceful arch as she draws her tongue along the girl's forehead in a soothing, maternal manner, whispering, to hammer the point home, And you.

The way she says the name is curious, almost a song. And then the girl is staring in to Ibis' own eyes and she feels the ache in them to a more palpable level; that, and a growing warmth in her chest the likes of which hadn't flourished since Ibis was very small, and the feeling brought to mind her step-sister Eleuthera.) The girl is smiling and then nodding, taking the time to explain what she meant but - then she segued in to talk of something called the one and Ibis wasn't sure she could follow. She felt warm all over, flush, like she had with Tristan - but different.

The one is in us all, said Ereshkigal; it felt like she was speaking from experience, but the girl could not have been much older than Ibis. She's watching the water and Ibis can't take her eyes off of the slender ginger face, or those copper eyes as they alight upon the sea; when she plants a kiss upon Ibis' forehead, Ibis finally looks away.

This was just like Tristan. It was overwhelming and nice and warm and foreign and, what was she expected to do? And me, she all but gasped, tying the feeling in to this new notion, this otherness, The One.

She is not oblivious to the spell she has cast upon Cerulean. It brings her an even wider simper, one that transforms her countenance and morphs her into the coyote she is in blood and at heart. Her sire — unknown, unnamed — will never leave her. That is certain.

And you, Ereshkigal repeats, something almost like an ecstatic giggle in her voice, like a babbling brook over pebbles. She pulls back to peer inquisitively at her sister, question writ over her features as clearly as if she spoke — which she soon did, anyway. Where is your home, Cerulean? gently asks the sylph. Will you take me there? I am new to this land, and. . .so incredibly alone.

She lets her face fall into a pout, though still letting her natural good-naturedness shine through at the corners. I hope not to be alone, she admits, and there is truth in it. Other factors to be considered, sure — but Ereshkigal really does do better within a group of like-minded folk. Or, even if not like-minded. . .able to be molded, to be shaped, in her image.

Where is your home, Cerulean? Will you take me there? The beautiful girl asks, and Ibis cannot help but feel empathetic, swooning to the strength of her own emotions. She is in a fragile state and doesn't realize just how vulnerable, but even so, Ibis is not the type to leave another person stranded. Ereshkigal is so very different from anyone she's ever met before - yet she brings all of these nostalgic feelings of goodness with her. Ibis wants to trust her; it is easy for the innocent lamb of a girl to be welcoming and to see the value in having someone like this around - plus, she wants to get to know her better. To build a friendship. To understand this new concept, The One, whatever it may be.

It doesn't take long before she agrees, leaning in to the ruddy girl and proclaiming, You could -- should, come with me! I... I live with my brother, and our friend. It isn't far from here... I think? Her eyes are wide and red-rimmed but with more life in them than before, more energy. She can block out her sorrow for a little bit longer if need be - one little show of sadness was all she would allow herself. But she is still unsure of which direction to go, and begins to look around at the world as if she's seeing it for the first time.

We live in a place called Neverwinter, and you can come live there with me, I mean.. If, if you want. And meet my brother. I'm not sure where to go from here, though. Her face warms again, and Ibis' good cheer dwindles just a touch.

It does not sound as if Cerulean has too many companions — only two are mentioned — but that is fine, for now. The One will lead her to potential disciples, both along the way and within her new home. For Neverwinter will be her abode from here on out. . .right? The girl is a mind meant to be molded, a young, fresh soul. Ereshkigal sees both a project and a confidante before her.

That is okay, croons the Seductress, shaking her head slowly, casting off the worry and sorrow emanating from Cerulean. We can stay the night right here, and then when the morning comes, and we can better see our way. . .we can travel to your home.

Neverwinter Forest. A far cry, she thinks, from the vast, arid land of her youth. The prospect of no winter, however, is more than appealing; Ereshkigal doubts very much she would be able to withstand a particularly brutal season, what with her thin pelt and scrawny frame. Very much cheered by this prospect, she begins to curl up upon the ground, gesturing for the girl to do the same.

Lay with me, Ereshkigal whispers. Good dreams come easy with a friend close by. Her eyelids are already beginning to flutter closed, her extended travels finally having exhausted her enough to rest.

fade out here? :) and thread at Neverwinter soon?

She is immediately surprised (and charmed) by the offering that they can stay the night where they are now, and then travel in the morning. It takes a weight off of Ibis' shoulders; but then, as she thinks about it and really clues in to what is happening, she finds something taboo about the whole ordeal. It is not enough of an oddity to make her speak of her insecurities, because Ibis has slept out in the open on countless nights and shared her space with her brother, so sleeping with another wolf isn't what catches her off-guard; rather, its something primordial, relating back to her ongoing maturation. Similar to how Tristan made her feel warm and buzzing all over - the idea of sleeping with this sweet girl beneath the stars has banished her sorrows and replaced her worries with a more mature sort of apprehension; but she's buzzing too, somewhat. A low hum in the back of her mind that will, no doubt, keep her awake through the night.

When Ereshkigal circles upon the ground and readies herself for sleep, she invites Ibis - her voice an alluring whisper that makes that hum deepen. Ibis cannot make sense of how she feels; but she knows it is a good feeling, and trusts that this new friend does not mean her harm. Her tearful show of emotion has worn her out and the thought of sleep is more enticing by the moment. She tucks in carefully besides the other girl, listening to her voice promise, Good dreams come easy with a friend close by.

Her eyes flutter, they close, and she drowses - but Ibis doesn't immediately. She's transfixed on the sharp contours of the girl's pretty face; it is the last thing she sees as she too drifts, falling in to an easier sleep than she thought possible. Dreaming, perhaps, of a ginger girl by the sea.

OK! I love her. :)