Moonsong Glacier ⁴man hlaruva rávëa súrë?
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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        When the stricken had last visited those honeyed pastures, the Weald had been given portions of quarry, a hide, and a tertiary member; and Andraste knew then that was no more luck to be had here. As usual ... that had not enough to sway her, even if the earth could.

        amidst the gilded fronds which she so favored to lurk beneath, the churning of the world now cast her upon its heaving planes with a rattle of bones. Several times did she try to rise, spine a brightburn of an aching anguish; and for several seizing heartbeats did she return to holding fast; pearlmade claws embedding into quivering loam, not to risk the peril of such a landing once more. ... And still yet in the silence that followed, had her mind not been so thoroughly sundered, she might reiterate peril.

        But the silver had since lurched to her paws, shaken, stirred; stumbling and seething as the first of many elk commenced their flight in a fine frenzy. Through the earthshatter of allquarry, by another unnamed miracle she’s grappled onto high ground in the form of cleft boulders; ears vanished into her ruff with a furious fright; halfsight wide and wild and

        now the starlit flits further, as far from the thunderhooves as she may be.

Misted me'mry harkens to her, here; but in these shivering halls, she only knows that she must return to her Weald and her wolves.
THE UNBURNT
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She had felt the earth shake.

It was the first time she felt real fear since her wandering had brought her -- hungry, tired, standing on aching paws -- to the wilds. Frenzied, she'd found a bush to hide within as animals stampeded from the pasture. What was once plentiful, her lifeblood as she wandered on her own, became nothing.

Andy did not venture from her perch until the dust had settled, her mind still a mess of thoughts trying to figure out what had happened. Fear made her heart ache and she looked to the trampled ground, wondering if anyone had been caught under-hoof. 

Every bone in her body told her to run. Andy turned away from trampled ground and ran fast as her paws could carry her, not stopping until she found the cover of the woods, mind wandering, buzzing, wondering if the earth would shake again and send trees tumbling on top of her.

She didn't stop running until arctic fur caught her gaze, weaving between the trees. She slowed, wandered closer, knowing her scent would be heavy on the air.

"Did you feel that?" If she had, she would know exactly what Andy was talking about.
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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Andy & Andy (circa 2019)

So shaken in her mind is she the silver's ruff shivers out on instinct at the smothering of another's scent; she bristles like a briar, but the snarl is entirely half-hearted; and it falls faraway from her ruined features as she turns to the more familiar aspects — for it is not quarry that has followed her in its flight, but instead a burnished wolvenkind. The glistering gaze seems to mirror whatever stir within her own, and,  "Yes. I ... am glad to say I have not felt ze kick of a hoof, though."

Thinned ears only retreat further into the snow-kissed hackles; cloudthick gaze admonishes the sure, previous disaster past the other female's shoulder; wonders, too, if anything could be scavenged, salvaged once that storm has passed. For now, though, Andraste turns from the rogue and favors to huddle beneath an unassuming shelf of ice.

"Were you caught in ze midst of that ... that ...?"  an absent toss of whatever-that-was by scarred muzzle. Kept the red of her spine pressed to frost.  "Do you have injures?"
THE UNBURNT
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The earth still felt like it was emitting some low, primal growl though her paws still found steady purchase. She caught hints of a wary greeting as she padded closer to the fae, eyes narrowing slightly as words slipped through scarred maw. Her tail sways behind her, an attempt at some reassurance -- she was no threat, at least not at this present moment. Andromaque was far too shaken up by the rumbling of the pastures to do anything beyond offer kindness tinged with a hint of fearfulness, her heart pounding at the thought of another quake.

"I'm fortunate enough to have found a place to hide." She spoke quietly, watching the wolfess press her back into a drift of snow, moving further from her. Andromaque stayed put, paws sinking into the ground beneath her. Trees had cracked and fallen further from where they stood, and the deafening crash still echoed in her eardrums. "Others..." -- a vision of mashed bone and flesh entered her mind, and she did everything she could to shake it away -- "... they were not as lucky as I was."
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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small sleepless post, sry

Fear; piercing;
it piques at the pink nose, and through the chilling balm that is the relief of the ice upon her spine does Andraste allow murky halfsight to lie upon her fellow she-wolf once more. No ... no, those underhoof had not been as selected and as spared as they. Her belief in all manner of fateful conductions was a thing that flushed and faded as the sun seen through fraying leaves; but the stampede and its surging had nesrly made a believer of her, to say the very least. Still, the pair breathed. It should be all that matters at the present; not how shaken the calamity has left them.

An olive branch, perhaps —  "I have figured that I will return to ze ruins they have left behind. To see what might be scavenged ... if there has been anything left, of course."  Paltry, unhelpful, her grousing; grimacing.  "If you are not too unsettled, would you ... care to accompany me?"  Nevermind that she herself wouldn't again ever have a full set of eyes; another addition of anything was more welcome than the halves she now stumbled the earths with.
THE UNBURNT
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She thought of the bodies crumpled underhoof and wondered if she really wanted to return and see more of it. Andromaque had been spared from most of the gruesome details, having slunk away after the rumbling finished. But... she did not want to see this she-wolf go and explore the wreckage on her own. Andy nodded, darkened face turning towards the direction of the meadows. 

"I'll go with you." There was a type of graveness to her voice, solemn, fearful of what they might see. The stampedes had shook the earth just as the quake had, and she felt some amount of sorrow for any wolf caught underhoof. She turned slowly and started in the direction she had come from, pausing to look behind her to ensure the other wolf would follow.
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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wHEEZE im so sorry-
will keep vague on upcoming scuffle

By the auburn's admission, the stricken rose from her post and donned the familiar veils of a herbalist's pointed detachment  (not before surrendering a spectre's smile to the rogue), and off the pair then strode.
She longed for the chill upon a spine which still simmered, favoring the glacial shelves to the eyes she knows she will feel the press of. But then — both she-wolves must steel themselves for the sick that they might yet face; and as Andraste drew the wanderess with her into the disheveled pasture, she murmured something akin to mind your step

Earth, churned; stone, cleaved; horrendous, even though no fallen figure had yet to come into their sights ... until that of a fallen cow made it so. Presently ravaged by coyote alike.

Argent eyes shuttered into austerity; with one look upon her unnamed scavenger, snout atremble, the stricken proffered a quiet question in the songle step she made towards the unfortunate dining.
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“So are you a lone wolf too?”

The words came as they drew closer to where the stampede had been, earth churned by the trembling that had preceded the stampede. 

Coyotes ravaged fallen cow and she let a snarl envelope her expression as high pitched howls echoed through the forest, scavengers feasting on fallen prey and wolves alike.

Haunches rose as a low growl announced her presence, hunger rumbling in her stomach. She wanted what they had and was willing to put up a fight with a few scrawny coyotes in order to get it. Muscles tensed as she snapped ivory teeth, nearly catching the fur of a wiry tail, hearing a quick whine. The coyote backed away, still standing it’s ground over the cow, and a low growl rumbled in her throat,
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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The trivial resistance was met with an ebbing churr from the depths of tbe sybil's breast;
the rarity of her own posturing, now come to display with a flare of feathered tail over rawboned hips—
—hide and spittle flew—
—and then it was mooseflesh, not coyote, that the two she-wolves began to partake in.

An answer, finally; breathless:  "Supposedly,"
and the stricken did not elaborate until she came away with another portion of flesh or so; setting their makeshift stock aside, close, before looking upon the auburn'd with a gauzy gaze once more.  "I plan to return to my claim with what I have gathered; I will not fill my stomach until my own wolves have first supped, themselves."  Halfsight lingered upon the seaglass eyes with the regard of would-be monarch; assessing.  "I would ... be remiss, after all, in having a lack of those who are as resourceful as you yourself have proved to be."  

The unspoken suggestion lingered in the air between them, in the breath sifting from her lungs: it was entirely the flamebrand's decision, and so Andraste took this lull to rent more sinew from cow's marrow.
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Coyotes fled with screeching yelps and whimpers and she turned to the moose with eyes plagued by hunger. She had not seen a meal so plentiful in what felt like moons, mostly dining on rabbits and scavenging. Andromaque looked to the she-wolf and her interest was piqued when she mentioned her wolves.

"I can help you bring this back if you'd like," she offered. It was a large kill, hard to move on it's own especially with how it had been trampled. She was curious. Andromaque had considered seeking out a pack, and now the opportunity presented itself. How could she pass it up now?
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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& that is that on that on that!!1

Admission;
the stricken listened to such beneath that enquiring guise, and only supposed it was fair to respond in kind; all by a humbled nod, and shifting her way to one side of the trampled carcass to get ready to haul the poor thing back to her — their! — mists. Later, she would come to learn the auburn's name, when their lungs weren't entirely breathless from this tedious trek.