Redsand Canyon lómëar
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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#1
All Welcome 
Undated & vague for now. @Trench ♡ but AW

Laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni unótimë ve rámar aldaron—

Even though not entirely unpleasant, and not without some melody, Andraste would never be a favored bard in her uncharted halls; would never keep an audience listening long enough to remain ‘til the second verse. Still: the silver sang, a wisping hymn, giving the lament a merrier warbling  ( wisping thought it was )  through the airs of deepening harvest, and so she sang for these eldritch cathedrals:

Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier,
nu luini yassen tintilar—”

Then! a hushed smothering of chords intervened, rushing from her like a burnished gust; eyes as full and wide and brimming with the glow of two full moons; lilting lyric forgotten; once-lovely features alit with a rare and glimmering smile of startling euphoria; a high and red flush humming beneath riddled cheeks,
for what she drew forth from the old and fading roots of mem'ry past was none other than the sigh-and-you’ll-miss-it ...
threadleaf

Voiceless; any floral murmuring soon became incoherent as the sybil began; a rare resplendence welded into those gauzy, faraway features; an absent admiration, feel it abysmally as she might.

This forage, fortuitous! How it would mend those in the coming winter! She must preserve it, yes—
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#2
If she isn't welcome, let me know!

In the chilled misty air came a voice singing. It wasn't some angelic sound, not perfect but Lainie thought it was the best thing she had heard in....ever. Singing was totally foreign to the girl and the lilting melodious notes piqued her interest, drawing her daringly away from her family's side just a while. It was a precarious  but short journey through the mountains, her aching body and random tremors and twitches and jerking muscles making getting through certain areas a troublesome task but it was the desire to know what it was the she wolf had been doing that made her press onward. Finally she stumbled her way down into the canyon, the voice had already fallen silent but she remembered where it had come from and picked up the scent of a she wolf. As she spotted the pale she wolf she paused, ears perking up as her eyes fell upon the scars, in her mind believing she was looking at a lone warrior who had seen many battles. "Madame, What was that?" she asked curiously, her ears perked up and pushed toward the she wolf.
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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#3
she's fine! small post ehh

She, the only Weisse Frau to grace these red halls;
somewhere in shadows, in these very halls, there lives a wolf — a somnolent monster — and morn and eve he lurks.  ( Or, so she has heard. )  But it is not the rumblings of a behemoth that peals the late harvest air before her; instead, it is the trill of a younger soul; jade of eye and dark of hide, save for the argent lacing along forelimb. Altogether curious; the inked ears swept forth with it all. The stricken removes herself from the preening at perennial roots; instead donning the spectre of a smile upon marred lips, for she has long since felt the and it has taken season and seasons to go forth unruffled by such attentions.


A most dreadful thing,”  the so-anointed madame wisps, enigma entire; cloudthick eyes linger upon the younger soul, the fathomless smile prancing upon features. Pearlmade claws kneading absently at clay, at roots,  Unspeakable, really.”
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The woman was odd. Lainie couldn't place it but she had expected a stoic, cold warrior or maybe a timid sort but instead there was a smile and an easy manner, something that spoke of kindness and hidden stories to Lainie's adventurous young mind. She slowly lowered to the ground her forepaws stretched in front of her and scooted closer, eyes bright and curious "It didn't sound terrible. Could you teach me?" she asked softly, tail wiggling as she smiled nervously her mind echoing slivers of the notes she had heard so faintly.
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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#5
small weird post sry!

"Which would you like to learn?"  Language, or song?
Never before had an opportunity presented itself -- not that she would especially remember, at least, aside from when she had once taught her then-babes the natal tongue of her havenland. She might have felt flattered, and otherwise intrigued, or perhaps, presently, might feel the dull ache that should come into her breast at the thought of former motherhood. Andraste does not think that the bearing of the womb would ever again be hers to hold. Undeserving, no? And yet, looking upon this silver-limned, still-growing she-wolf, brimming with the unbridled curiosity that thrives within young souls, still there is a muted yearning for such, someday.

Perhaps, never again.
She does not know.

But Andraste keeps her countenance faux-mystical, myriad; looks upon her temporary student, settled before her, lent forth with consideration and eagerness. Whatever she wished to learn, the stricken would try to produce what she might.
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Lainie settled finally, her excitement contained just barely as the woman asked what she wanted to learn. It was of course the song, how to move her voice in a way that produced those pretty sounds. "The singing, please?" she was curious about the strange tongue she had sung in too but she had never even bothered to speak French, which she knew by heart. Her eyes fell for a moment to the plant the woman had by her paws and she sniffed at it, hints of mint and some other unknown, spicy kind of scent mixed in. There was a curious look on her face for a moment before she shrugged it off, not placing a plant to be more important than singing in the moment. 

Sorry my muse has been bad lately!
wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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#7
hope they meet again sometime <3

The singing
well, she stricken supposes that to sing in the tongue of her motherealm, one must, in fact, know some of the words. And so it was that the stricken surrenders a rare smile, settles into the red clay beneath them both, and soon instructs the inquisitive youth upon the percise mouthing of the melody;
hours and many more later did the fée look back upon the scarlet spires of Redsand, wishing that the inkling had returned safe to her brethren's sides and wondering if ever they would meet again.