Firefly Glen follow your fire

xBackdated to Nov 22.
x@Markus maybe? :)

An eerie fog sits heavy over the Glen, the morning light a trickle and barely strong enough to make itself known. It is cold, and it feels as if each breath she takes is a gulp of water.

Her return home has been delayed considerably due to the injury upon her right hindleg, and although Annaliese is not keen to abandon Diaspora, she cannot help but wonder if they’ve thought as much. The sooner she gets there, the better.

But for now, she must rest. The red woman tucks herself underneath a tree, it’s leaves long gone from wind, rain and disaster. It’s presence, however, anchors her nonetheless.

hope you don't mind me! I've been stalking Annaliese.

 

Hydra moved through the Glen, the fog lending assistance to her senses as she prowled for more than just rabbit, fox, or yote. A large substantial meal had not been found since the day she had found that ill moose, who was never to be seen again. She wondered, idly, if Sarah had found it—if she had, Hydra hoped that it was far, far away from here. She knew the Glen as well as she knew Moonspear, so often had she come here to hunt and linger here in her youth. It had been one of her fathers favorite territories, she recalled fondly, as she moved mutely within it. 

When her children were old enough she would take them here to see it. In the summer and the spring, the fireflies looked as though they were stars in motion. Charon had loved the stars; she imagined that was why he had loved the Glen so. Now the place was in utter contrast to what it had been; if Charon had the power to, she imagined with his last inhale he would have taken the Glen with him, sucking the life from it so that it would look as it did today. 

Cold, desolate; the rolling fog his final exhale, everlasting. 

But this was just a day as any other. Tomorrow, the fog would likely be gone. Death was death; Charon's power had been in his life, and the power he carried beyond it was within her family. The weight of it was much, but Hydra carried it and made it appear as though it was nothing. It was something she had always been meant for, worked for all her life, and so it was no wonder—yet she had not anticipated him not being here for it. For her. For this. 

Her thoughts wandered, but they ceased upon her observation of a shape beneath a barren tree. Red of fur, Hydra observed, and thought only of the wolf Andraste had once described to her. The murderous boy. Or perhaps it was simply a fox; the fog shrouded the other just so, and Hydra could not determine what, or who, it was that lay out of reach. And so the Queen took but one step closer, the grey, rolling mists revealing only the vibrancy of her depthless blue eyes. She chuffed then, hoping to garner the attention of the other in full. Hydra remained guarded, not so foolish as to anticipate that she would be regarded in a positive manner if this was prey or the predator she hunted, either.

Tightened muscles ease, relaxing with the roll of joints and a soft exhale. Annaliese is used to the journey alone. Since her first birthday, she’s been wandering—trusting herself and rarely anyone else. Although Diaspora’s ranks now sit behind her, she is far from the Hollow still, and the objective to get back there swiftly delayed for now.

Her ears twitch, head lifting from it’s curled pose—from the dense fog she spies the glow of blue eyes. A piercing pair that no doubt would be intimidating—are intimidating. Just as her company is good at hiding the weight upon her shoulders, Anna masks her emotions with self-confidence.

Unraveling, Annaliese crosses her limbs loosely, enough that if she must spring up she will—but for now, she remains next to the tree. The chuff answered by swiftly by a Yes?

The other shifted, then responded; she lay in neat, pretty respose, but Hydra saw sense in the movement. Were it not for the feminine lilt in their voice that came quickly thereafter, Hydra might have struck the creature then and there for thought of them being her sought-out enemy. As it was, though, he was a male... and this wolf was not. Hydra could still scarcely discern their features to tell much else, but got a roundabout view of their build when they had moved.

You are no fox, I see, the woman drawled then, and her ears cupped forward: or prey. Her interest ended there; they were not hunting on her grounds then, only resting, and the Glen many passed through. Hydra took no issue with that much. A fox Hydra could eat, as well as any other prey... but the other before her was neither; they were wolf. Her tone lacked disappointment, though; for they were also not the wolf, it appeared, who sought the late mercenary's children. 

But maybe she had joined those that did. Annaliese seemed to sense the threat that was Hydra, or else had no interest in conversation; Hydra, mistrustful on principle, shadowed her steps until she was well beyond the Glen and away from the Spear before returning home.