Noctisardor Bypass I'm sick and tired of love songs
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All Welcome 
Wylla turned her face into a cool wind, closing her eye to listen to the leaves whisking overhead. It still smelled of smoke, but at least the dark put an end to the stifling heat. It was quite warm for nighttime, still, but much better than under the sun's glare during the day.

In the sky, clear here where the trees parted around the river, the northern lights danced and weaved in shades of green and pink. Wylla wasn't the sort of wolf to sit and watch such displays, but age was lending perhaps a touch of whimsy to her soul, for the sight of them tonight brought a small and content smile to her lips. There were still so many troubles in her life, but she could put them aside here and now and just enjoy the show.

Folding her slim ankles one over the other, Wylla readjusted her position to lie with her hind legs splayed to the sides, relishing the cool stone beneath her belly and the babble of water running alongside it where it jutted out into the river.
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The days passed in hazy heat and, slowly, Druid adapted to a more crepuscular routine. She still slept through most of the night, though she roused well before daybreak and spent a few hours indulging herself in whatever captured her fancy that particular morning. As soon as the sun came out of its hiding place, she disappeared into the shrubbery, only to emerge from her own refuge at twilight.

It was still early for her when the rest of her family bedded down for the night. Druid didn’t often feel brave enough to venture out on her own, much less after dark. But when lights began dancing in the skies, she bit her lip against the impulse to wake her mother or siblings.

Instead, she slipped away to find a better vantage point, tripping over her own feet several times since she insisted on staring a bit mistrustfully at the sky. Those shifting colors made her uneasy. She only dropped her mismatched gaze when a familiar scent threaded into her nose. Druid jumped a little when she saw Wylla’s shadow, closer than she expected.

The Vierte’s attention also seemed fixated on the phantasms in the sky. What are they? Druid questioned quietly.
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Company always conveniently arrived when Wylla was at her most content. Usually, it came in the form of Mahler, with some tidbit of news or another. Sometimes, it came in the form of her daughter, whose adventures carried her beyond Rivenwood a lot of the time. It was rare that Wylla shared the company of other wolves, mostly by her own doing — while she would never admit it, she was willfully difficult to get along with.

So she was surprised when she turned her head to the voice and found Sequoia’s dark-furred daughter near her shoulder. Isn’t it kinda late for you to be up? she asked before she could catch hold of her own tongue, then snorted something like laughter. Whatever, I won’t tell anyone.

As to Druid’s question, Wylla lifted her eyes back to the sky and shrugged anticlimactically. Beats me. They’re fun to watch, though. Like, alive or something. Didn’t get to see this much where I came from. Wylla was admittedly not the best with kids that weren’t hers, but after a beat, she did think to ask, what do you think they are?
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Wylla met her question with one of her own. Druid went rigid, not sure how to reply. Sequoia didn’t seem to mind her predilections, sympathizing with the pup’s aversion to the summer heat. Her mother just asked that she not stray too far, especially by herself, and the youth happily obeyed.

She forgot about answering when the Vierte changed the topic back to the lights in the sky. She said she didn’t know what they were, which made Druid’s eyes widen a little. Wylla was a grownup and she didn’t have the answer. That boggled the youngster’s mind a bit.

“What do you think they are?” Druid blinked owlishly and gazed upward again. She stared for a moment, feeling a strange tugging in her gut she didn’t understand. They were eerie, yet they were also beautiful. After a few beats, her eyes dropped to the middle distance under the weight of Wylla’s question.

Feeling put on the spot, Druid could only tremulously blurt a guess: Star… farts?
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Wylla stared at Druid a beat, then bubbled up with laughter. What the fuck? She never would have guessed something so ludicrous, but that was the best part about kids. They always had the craziest ideas, more wild than anything some stuffy adult could dream up.

That's awesome, she said, turning her face back up to the dancing lights. She did have her own theory on what they were, and a little more info about them, courtesy of her own troll of a mother, but she was content to play along with Druid's for the time being. What do you think they smell like?
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The instant the two words left her mouth, Druid’s cheeks heated in embarrassment. Why had she said that? “Fart” was such an ugly word, not to mention the entire concept. Her eyes dropped to stare awkwardly at her feet.

But Wylla’s laughter startled her out of her humiliation. She jumped a little, eyes flying up to the woman’s face. She stared for several beats, then tentatively began to smile. She hadn’t meant to be funny, yet there was something very encouraging about this response, particularly the proclamation of, “That’s awesome.”

Druid still felt a little sheepish as she admitted, I don’t know. She raised her eyes again. She hadn’t thought through her initial response at all, obviously, but as she contemplated now, she murmured, They’re too pretty to smell bad.
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Green and pink tangled together against the dark night sky. Wylla allowed herself to be transfixed while Druid formulated her answer. Whatever they were, their undulations sure had an intoxicating effect on the eye.

When Druid answered, she chuckled again. You know, said Wylla, the prettiest things actually stink the worst. I bet they smell like... Rotten whale shit. Oops, there was that foul language again. But to Wylla, they were only words, with no power of their own. It never occurred to her that anyone's mother might not appreciate those remarks around their cubs.

My mom told me when I was little that they might be ghosts, she shared. She liked to joke around a lot. She said if you yell at them really loud, they'll come down and steal your soul. Suffice it to say, Wylla wouldn't chance being wrong about doubting Lusca's stories.
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Druid met Wylla’s remarks with a slow blink. Though she didn’t know the first thing about whales, none of that matched with her experiences. For instance, her mother, Witch and Skaigona were some of the prettiest wolves she knew. And they all smelled lovely. The same went for the wildflowers that grew everywhere, though even as the pup’s mind flipped through a catalog of pretty objects, she remembered she had come across a variety or two that did smell rather foul…

Wylla scattered her thoughts by mentioning her mother’s ghost stories. Although this particular tale had an ominous lean, Druid did not feel afraid. She absolutely believed in ghosts and souls, though they were more fascinating than scary. Her gaze traced wonderingly over the shifting lights, licking her lips and thinking, Are they really ghosts?

Oh, the child blurted quite suddenly, eyes dropping to Wylla’s face, it reminds me of a rainbow. I saw one the other day. It didn’t move, though… She pursed her lips thoughtfully for a beat before musing aloud, It had more colors.
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Druid wasn't as spooked by Lusca's claims as a younger, and even older, Wylla was. To this day, she had never shouted at the aurora out of fear. Not that she felt she had much of a soul to steal. If they wanted to take her perpetual misery and feelings of inadequacy, it might be a blessing, but that was beside the point.

Rather than remarking on the ghost theory, Druid changed direction entirely. Lusca had theories about rainbows, too. Much less frightening ones. Wylla had to wrack her brain to remember.

My mom said rainbows are all the seasons blending together in the sky and becoming visible, she shared. It stood to reason. Red and orange for fall when the leaves blaze like fire. Yellow and green for spring and summer when the grass regrows. And shades of blue for winter when the land grows silent and dark. How the phenomenon occurred, however, Wylla could not explain. It was well beyond her comprehension and interest.

She said rainbows point to a special place where the seasons never change, but coexist all together, like a rainbow itself. Do you think a place like that could exist? In her experience, it was impossible to reach the end of the rainbow, which suggested to her that the end must be a very special place indeed.
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Wylla’s mother also had a theory about rainbows. Druid turned her head a little so she could shift her attention between the lights and her pack mate as she spoke of attributing particular colors to certain seasons. The pup listened raptly, even though she had no real frame of reference for most of these seasons Wylla spoke of.

Druid didn’t really understand what words like “blaze” and “fire” meant literally, though she’d heard them in the context of the summer heat. It intrigued her that Wylla (or Wylla’s mother, rather) paired that sentiment with this mysterious fall. She wondered if she would like it even less than summer. Was it truly possible for the weather to get any hotter?

“And shades of blue for winter when the land grows silent and dark…” Now these words captured Druid’s interest. She loved quiet, and the night. Winter sounded soothing, especially in comparison to what she knew of summer and what Wylla had just told her about fall. She wondered when she would get to experience it.

She had no way of answering Wylla’s question, though this time Druid didn’t fumble. I don’t know, she admitted, adding sagely, maybe. If it’s magic. She paused then wondered, Will you tell me more about winter? She said the word almost reverently, warming ironically quickly to the idea of this dark, quiet turn of the seasons.
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Magic? Wylla repeated. She didn't believe in magic, at least not any good sort of magic. Spirits and spectres, sure, but Wylla's life had been too full of turmoil, heartache, and pain for her to believe there was anything redeeming about forces beyond her comprehension. Lusca's stories and theories from her girlhood were suitable for sharing with pups, but there was a good reason she had never truly gone looking for the end of the rainbow.

It would disappoint, like everything else in her life. That was the only thing Wylla could be absolutely sure of anymore.

She was surprised that Druid wanted to know about winter. Let's see, said Wylla. It gets dark way earlier than it does now, and it gets colder than a bitch's tit, too. All the water turns to ice, so you can walk on lakes, I guess that's kinda cool. There'll be snow everywhere — white fluffy crap that gets in your toes and eyes and nose and makes you wanna stay inside — and all the little animals will go away and hide. It was too dark to see the mountaintops now, or she may have indicated their white caps to Druid. Alas, the girl would need to settle for her imagination, because Wylla couldn't explain it any better than that.

But the bigger animals get stuck in it, and we can just walk right on top of it. It's good hunting, but the rest pretty much sucks. With her short fur, Wylla wasn't a big fan of winter. If nothing else, she was looking forward to it being a little warmer here in the bypass than it was on Sagtannet's frozen peak. Oh, and the star farts dance more in the winter, she said, gesturing back to the big lights. Dunno why. To keep warm, I guess.
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As Wylla described winter in detail, Druid could find no fault in anything she heard. She yearned for cooler temperatures, unaware that she hadn’t properly experienced true cold yet. Walking on water sounded utterly fascinating, as did this talk of snow. Clearly Wylla wasn’t a huge fan, though it sounded mightily intriguing to the youngster. Actually, when the she-wolf went on to mention easier hunting and more dancing lights, Druid could only smile, secretly thinking it all sounded very magical and like it wouldn’t suck at all.

She huffed a breathy laugh when Wylla called them “star farts,” feeling only a slight touch of heat warm her cheeks. She peered upward again, the misty light show reflected in her blown pupils, and then yawned quite suddenly and with force. It peeled her jaws apart and sent a shudder all down through her body, all the way to the tip of her tail, which gave a little wriggle.

I think I’m going to head to bed, she said, fighting a second yawn that wanted to come on right after the first. Druid put a paw to her mouth to muffle it. She wondered what else to say to Wylla in parting and decided on a smile and a simple, Good night.
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Wylla returned Druid's smile with a tight-lipped one of her own and a silent bob of her head. It occurred to her suddenly that she shouldn't have said bitch's tit, either, but Druid hadn't repeated it, so maybe it would be fine. Swears never hurt anyone, anyway.

Night, she said, then turned her gaze to the sky once more. Wylla was seized by the desire to yell at the lights now, test the theory that they would steal her soul. Would that be so bad? She could certainly do with less to worry about.

That fleeting moment of daring left her, like it always did, and she stood, stretched, and headed off to find her own bed.