Blackwater Islands weary

when the story had been told and the man dealt with, the listener dismissed both adults. @Morgana, sent to supervise @Taliesin's initiation.

the injured girl required a gentler touch than either could provide, she believed.

the listener hovered near the den with a neutral posture, keeping in mind all that the speaker had told her of the girl's injuries. in her jaws, she held a gift from one of blackwater's new caches. a fish she did not recognize, fresh and still tasting of the sea. she let it rest outside the den as she approached.

girl, she spoke softly into the den, feigning a maternal warmth she did not truly possess. i have brought you a meal. will you speak with me?

for @Mireille. powerplaying those involved, let me know if it needs changing <3

mireille had recovered, though still did not trust. a horrendous rainstorm had ripped through the islands, soaking her. 
now she crouched in the darkness and smelled the fish. her stomach growled audibly.
"what do you be wantin'?" mireille croaked. this must be the one they called listener.

the girl was suspicious. expected, after her treatment by the strange dull-witted man. only to speak, the listener assured her, nudging the fish to rest at the red girl's paws. you have been mistreated. this man who brought you here, he is not one of us. the druids will bring you home. a defiant soul could not be shaped into an acolyte. the girl would become a gift. to the unnamed god, or to the wolves of her home. sapphique, morgana had said.

the speaker feared you would not survive the journey when you came to her. now great storms batter our islands. when these pass, we will take you to sapphique.

the prophet watched carefully. would she accept the explanation, as the pale woman had?

mireille was silent for a long time after the young wolf spoke.
eventually she crept out to join the other, eyes falling to the fish. her stomach snarled again. 
"thank you."
she forced herself to eat in short, elegant bites. "you are not much different den me, in age." she blinked. "how did you become — dis?"

the listener's words hovered in the air for a time. she allowed the silence to stretch on, until the girl crawled from the den and spoke. thank you. it was a foreign thing to the wild-furred prophet, to be thanked; she was not created with propriety in mind, and knew nothing of manners. the girl's questions were more familiar; she spoke of their ages, and wondered at how the listener had come to her role.

her muzzle tilted downward to hide the ghost of a smile. it was the first time the expression had come naturally to the listener, who frequently wore only apathy on her face.

i am a shaman. spirit-talker. magick is in my blood, the listener told the red girl. that is why the man brought you here. he seeks my power, the power of the druids. he does not understand it.

a spirit-talker. mireille grunted. "my mot'er erzulie speaks to de loa. i t'ink dey be speakin' to my brot'er also." she did not give his name. "but not to me."
her answering smile was sodden and humorless.
"why did de storms come?" the girl asked after a moment. "did you anger her?" she gestured toward the sea. "will you send de man away den?"

erzulie. a brother. hm. in time, perhaps the listener would learn more of these wolves of sapphique. for now, she would answer the girl's questions.

the storms will subside soon. the spirits call for tribute, the listener told her, vague but solemn in her explanation. the man will be dealt with.

tell me: have you encountered illness in the world beyond the shores? in prey? in wolves?

tributes. spirits. "yes. de caribou in de taiga. many of dem were sick. we killed de ones we foun'."
she was suddenly not hungry; bile rose in her throat. she stared at the listener. "were you dere? did you see dem too?"

the red girl seemed stricken. her words confirmed the listener's long-held belief that the world itself was beginning to rot. dire, yet the prophet found herself invigorated by this validation. no. before the druids came to these islands, sickness was foretold. chaos was promised. then we saw it in the mainland. small beasts like rabbits fell ill and died in great numbers.

now, wolves come to our shores. sick, injured, like you. you are not the first or the last. there is a storm brewing in the world of mortals, greater than any storm in the sky.

mireille was suddenly exhausted. the tears she had been holding back started to fall, silently dripping from her muzzle between her paws. but she did not cry. she did not sob. "as long as i can return to my mot'ers before dat."
she was not sure what to think. she was not sure what to do. mireille sank to her belly, tucking her wrists under her chin and finally curling on her side at the perch of the listener.
she shut her eyes and called out to sobo in her mind.

mortals were so frail. so easily crushed. the girl seemed to wilt, and made for such a pathetic sight as she curled into herself that the listener felt compelled to offer comfort. a broken spirit would not lend itself to further healing, and the girl would need strength for whatever came next.

you have nothing to fear, the listener said. the druids hold great power. we will restore balance, in time. she rose, intending to leave the girl to her rest.

rest for now. i will return to you.

the druids. balance. time.
mireille understood none of this.
long after the listener departed, she lay upon the ground. if the rains rose again they would soak mireille.
she pulled his face into mind. was he also a spirit-talker? could he calm the sea, ask the saltwater where she was?