Emberwood ❝ten sí ye tyelma, yéva tyel ar i narqelion❞

The fairylight flits from the Vale of her wolves;
and now treads by way of sundowning; glimmering glows alights first on the fraying leaves and gnarled briars high o'erbrow, limning them in a farwelling. She breathes in unassuming wisps; the elusive Emberwood paths that she beholds are lain with the soft claim of thin frost ... perhaps the last of its kith before the seasons have turned twice and ask for a thawing.

The stricken does not mean to be awake in the chilled press of harvest night — and neither does she mean to be away from her Court, and knows she ought to be there when all wake; but the would-be slumbering had been dismantled in autumnal deep with some impending bodement; only half-pursued, in the samewise manner she would seek the last of midsummer's birdsong. She knows she must tend to it, figure at its lieu—
—but for now for now for now, the marked puts those ensarements of fathomless thought to rest.

She instead lips at brambles, sups the pruning berries in a trembling sort of way; a pale shade through the snarling, entreating halls; passes through the utter devotional quiet that extends like a great sea of hush from vaulted reaches of myriad boughs so high above; settled with lichens and moss, softening blue at their edges.

When the fading embers of these hinters eventually disenchanted her, Andraste would return to her own.

Mire and marsh grew tiresome after a while; for as much as he enjoyed the company of the wolves there, drier land seemed a fine reprieve. He wandered, then, across similar wetland, and eventually found himself in—thank God—a forest with solid ground. Pyg strolled through the trees, counting his blessings.

Fairly deep within the forest, he spotted a pale woman whose disfigurements did not become clear until he drew closer. Pygmalion eyed her with some wariness, gaze dancing over the scars both old and new. The mark of a fearsome fighter, those. . .yes?

He did not want to get on this lady's bad side.

What are ye doin'? he asked, guarded, from a short distance, watching her consume the tiny fruits so plentiful here.

Trilling gentled melody; cradlesong not yet bartered with brood.

Long had she been one of solitary definition, someone welcomed, wanted; shunned, unspoken. She has only ever been flesh and bone, was only ever like them all. And not: she feels herself grounding into the dying earth; growing thick roots and halted only by the reachings of loam. Abeyant, in that expectant, aching way of waiting to touch; of waiting for the petal-unfurling beneath it. But the desolation brought with her downfall had been a preordained thing, she thinks; had been what has since hexed her with that misfortune of for-ever being misunderstood. 

Mortality presents itself in the smeared jam of dark huckleberry upon shorn lips; 
and as a heather-laden calling beckons after her, Andraste sculpts her rubied crown from the fragrant-gummy bough she had been sampling. For moons and moons had half of her sights been made null, numb, void; but both look upon the great cloudgiant who might have been her brother without scars, or Guildenstern, returned to her. Peers up into those rabbit-soft eyes of untended earth—
—longs to touch, longs to look for the green that might very well grow from them. If it is in that pronounced accent then surely it must reside in his eyes, too!

Enchanted; beguiled;
acknowledges this with a wistful and half-listened cant of head.  “Foraging,”  the fée wisps, but not without some mysterious mischief.  “I intend to see what is still well,”  a soft simper, jam crusting,  “and return.”

Pip wasn't a romantic or anything but it was moments like these that made him believe fate was a thing. He had caught a snatch of Pyg's scent again and began to track it diligently until he stumbled upon them and beamed at his brother, tail wagging before he spotted the female. His tail dropped to and easy sway and he relaxed, ears shifting back to show he meant no harm as he slunk toward Pygmalion unsure of how he would react to his presence. "Hey brother" he said with a slow grin ears perking hopefully as he tried to keep his appearance light. He shifted his gaze to the woman, lowering his head to acknowledge her presence "Hello miss" he wasnt sure what he had interrupted but he felt rather awkward shying to stand behind his brother.

He cocked his head, lips tightening in intrigued thought. Foraging, eh? he responded. Weel, I do prefer meat, but ye make a verra good case for berries. Pygmalion began to move toward her, caught up in the idea of conversation over a meal with the scarred woman. 

Then, a scent. A familiar scent. And a familiar voice that had him wheeling around, bowled over.

Pip! Pyg exclaimed, hopping a little in place as he took in the sight of his brother, in the flesh. My God, man, what're ye doin' here? Did ye follow me?! Not that he was angry with this development. . .not in the slightest! He just didn't figure that anyone would have traveled so far south; even he was surprised at his own voyage.

He spun a neat semi-circle, glancing at the she-wolf. My littermate, Pirrup—er, Pip. I'm Pygmalion, but ye can call me Pyg, he offered in breathless introduction, grinning.

short iffy post today, bloop

Advancement;
one that the stricken looked forward to with a wariness that was for anyone but herself. The company would not be minded, she supposes — even the appearance of another of their snowbirthed kind made his presentation and sent this Pygmalion into a flurry, himself. Once upon a time, perhaps she had seemed as breath-taken as the brothers before her had now become; rare smile, unabashed, from ear to ear. But the fae did not smile, now, save for the faintest threadings of it upon the corners of shorn lips; inconspicous, and she gazed upon the fluttersome reunion with vague eyes that only wandered back to that which she'd been sampling. 

Pyg, and—  "Suilánte, Pirrup,"  chords edged with an almost cheeky feint of the alternative that'd been given; halfsight glinting from behind sprigs of huckleberry.  "Might we be expecting more family to gather? I have no qualms of removing myself from ze vinicty for their sake."  It would do no good for either male to see her imp's simper, nevermind that it would be heard in her own foreign tones, anyway.

Pirrup relaxed as soon as he realised that Pyg was happy to see him, tail wagging and a broad smile on his maw. The childhood nickname sent a surge of warmth through his heart as he sidled up to his brother giving him a friendly nudge. The older he had gotten the more infrequent his company was, he knew he hadn't been there so much and when Pyg had left he had been elsewhere too. It was really good to see him, Pyg was one of his favorite brothers (though he has many). "I came back and you were gone, stuff just seemed different" he shrugged it off casually. He remembered the she wolf's presence and turned as Pyg introduced them. His eyes watched her pry berries from the bushes and he heard the playful yet impudent way she greeted him in a foreign tongue. She was oddly breathtaking yet he felt inclined not to engage, he was more focused on his brother at this very moment. "I came alone tracking Pyg I don't know if any others left or not" he looked to his brother curiously "Did anyone follow you?"

She spoke briefly in a tongue he didn't recognize, but seemed intriguing all the same. He glanced to Pip, wondering if anyone else had. . . But no, it seemed not. Still, he was impressed that his brother had taken it upon himself to come this far, just to follow him!

Not to my knowledge, Pyg responded, shrugging. I feel like I would have noticed if they had. . .but then, I didn't notice you. God, Pip! I'm so happy to see ye!

He was lost in the joy for a moment or two, and then remembered their setting; he turned apologetically to the woman and her berries. Sorry, carry on, he urged her gently. She was just tellin' me aboot berries, Pip. Wee fruits ye can eat.

tiny reply atm!

Towards Pygmalion's explanations to his bloodbrother of all that she had spoken of thus far, the fée only lent a fair nod of affirmation. She had indeed informed the first of what it was she currently dined on — but in the brothers' exhilaration and their diversion in the whereabouts of the other, the thing of berries seemed rather paltry in comparison. And so it was that she eventually removed herself from near the briars; steps patient, unassuming, as she neared the likewise frostbound.

"I fear that I have forgotten to introduce my own self,"  the stricken wisps, canting the rubied brow with some regret.  "I am Andraste, and ... if I may presume, you two have been ... wandering, together?"  Did they mean to, now? She could not know, or tell; and so she looked upon both males, all polite wonderment and gentled curiosity.

Wrapping this up since Pip is inactive -- hope that's okay!

It's a pleasure, Andraste, he replied, smiling. Not t'gether, nay; I came first, and Pip followed. I suppose it was fate that we were to reunite. He shot his brother a massive grin, butting his head against the ivory shoulder. Did he imagine it, or could he still catch a whiff of the wild north upon Pirrup's pelt? Ah, likely just fantasy.

They had a lot of catching up to do, and it felt as though they were disturbing the woman's peace and quiet here. Pyg shot her an apologetic look. We'll get oot of yer fur, now, he said solemnly. It was lovely tae meet ye, Andraste—ye'll have to tell me more aboot the berries if we meet again.

Pygmalion turned to Pip with a gleam in his eye. C'mon, he cajoled, canting his head toward the edge of the forest and what lay beyond. Let me show ye what I've been up to, and ye can tell me aboot all yer adventures. 

The two white wolves could be twins as they sauntered off, tails waving in happy tandem, the joy of their reunion writ clearly over their faces.