Dragoncrest Cliffs are plumes of pampas grass

Afterward, when everyone had settled from the news and the meeting tapered off and the others went off to do their own things, Sobo led @Mireille toward the river and the old Roja den.

He was silent and pensive for a time, collecting his thoughts in little piles in the corners of his mind only to sweep them away again and reorganize them. He always believed that when the time came for Rosalyn or Erzulie to step down, it would be Mireille who succeeded them. It was in her blood and in her mannerism. She was the obvious choice.

Not obvious enough, it seemed. At length he turned to study her face, wondering if she was disappointed at all by what had occurred. What do ya be t’inkin’?

the wind rose and ruffled the heads of the frozen grass.
mireille flexed her toes in the rocky snow and thought of what sobo was asking. 
"blackwater," she said finally. her eyes had darkened now to the hue once worn by her unknown sire; insofar as mireille was apprised, njord was their da.
she had not spoken of the islands since returning. they had not discomfited her, not in the true sense. but her time there had left her aware that she too could be taken from her family, kept away from sapphique. and the mere conception of that was enough to cause her heart to gallop.
"their leader is not hardly older den us," she murmured. "an' she speaks wid de spirits. but in a different way. i t'ink maybe you — you knew where i was." her verdant gaze searched sobo. "maybe it be de same for you."

No surprise that the island weighed heavy on his sister's mind. He had not asked a lot of questions so far about it, suspecting that she needed time to settle back into Sapphique before she could tackle those. Now she seemed ready to speak of it. He tilted his dark ears eagerly forward to listen.

He had not noticed that about the Listener in when he met her. The sky was dark, the sea restless, and his focus had been on Mireille rather than the dark slip of wolf that led the druids there. Sobo was spiritual, but what Mireille suggested about the Listener was something beyond that, divinity.

The boy shook his head. I do not talk to de spirits, Mireille. I t'ink de loa heard ya an' sent ya voice ta my dreams. Dat is all. There was the confusing matter of knowing exactly where the island was and hearing the voice of the Listener calling him there. He passed these off as other phenomena the loa were responsible for. It was a once in a lifetime revelation and he doubted he would ever experience its like again.

De Listener be somet'in' not wolf, I believe. What makes you t'ink she can do dis t'ing?

the loa. "maman knows about dem. but she does not say a lot." her red ears came forward. "maybe de listener has some'ting like loa which speak to her." she considered. "eit'er way, sobo, dey do not come to me. only you."
she did not mind. so far as mireille knew, rosalyn did not know the loa or hear them either.
"tell me about your dreams again," she urged, fascinated and wanting to commit every detail to memory. "and what you t'ink she be if not wolf?"
it was an intriguing suggestion. what had brought it to mind?

Dat may be, Sobo conceded, though he had doubts that the nature of the Listener’s power was anything akin to the loa visiting him. They worked in strange ways and not all of them were benevolent. The Listener no doubt worked on a spiritual level apart from normal wolves, but he struggled to connect her with his manman in that way.

I do not know. She not be normal, dat I know. Maybe she also be a loa masqueradin’ as a wolf. If that was so, then Sobo and Mireille were special wolves indeed to have spoken with her, and Coraline and Loko to have been present to witness her. He did not think the loa visited just anyone, nor did he feel he was special in some way for having heard them first.

De firs’ one I was standin’ on de cliffs. De sea, she be angry. Dark. Capped wit’ white and filled wit’ sharp stones. De sky be dark as well, like de storm, but more. De waves came up, up to de cliffs, impossibly high, and den I hear ya voice callin’ my name. Already it was a hazy memory. In a few more weeks he would not remember it at all.

De second be much de same, but dere be a second voice. Come ta me, it says. Den my eyes, dey be drawn to de islands in de sea, to da big one, like dere be hooks in dem and I had no control. When I woke up I went ta see if dere was an island and I saw it from de cliffs. I never noticed dem dere before. Den I knew I had to go dere.

His gaze on Mireille was long and searching. Dey did not do anyt’in’ ta hurt ya dere, did dey? I got a strange feelin’ in my belly on dat island.

a loa masquerading as a wolf! mireille's eyes widened. she knew that the listening spirits could take any form they chose. 
she knew each dream but listened eagerly as if this were the first telling: the angered sea, foaming beneath the cliffs and a darkbloom sky. a voice, calling — had it been her voice? had he heard her thoughts?
"i never knew dey were dere eit'er," she admitted. it was almost as if her time there had opened her eyes to the things she had not before spotted on the horizon.
mireille shivered somewhat.
she shook her head in the next. "dey did not hurt me. dere were ot'ers, hurt as well. de druids gave all of us healing an' food. it was just —" she took a breath. "de sea be different dere. did you feel it? darker. more — grave."

Mireille assured him she was fine, but Sobo reached out to gently brush his nose over her cheek and muzzle all the same. He could not smell any sign of sickness or injury. All's well that ends well, they say, and Sobo let his misgivings slip away at last. Until Mireille brought up the sea.

I do not feel de sea de way dat ya an' Coraline do, he shared, but it felt like de wind be holdin' its breat' dere, almost. Like dere be somet'in' below de surface. At the time, he thought it was just The Listener. There was certainly something weird about her. He was convinced she was a loa or some other spiritual creature, but what Mireille described sounded more foreboding than that. She shivered and he clucked his tongue in thought.

What do ya t'ink? he asked.

like the wind holding its breath.
mireille looked with admiration and interest at sobo. that the sea did not talk to him in the same way was of little account. he belonged to it the same as any of them. and she had faith it would one day speak to him in this manner.
"spirits we do not yet know. not ours. not ones our mot'ers know. i knew dey were t'ere but —"
if she could say this next to anyone it would be him —
"i was afraid to sense dem. even when de listener spoke i was afraid. perhaps it was only dark because i did not understand." nor did she wish to understand. the teachings of erzulie were enough.

He bobbed his head and allowed himself to relax enough to recline in the snow. She was home and unhurt. That was what really mattered. The nature of The Listener and her druids was an intriguing topic of conversation but not something Sobo would dwell on long after this. In fact, in the coming days, he would purge Blackwater from his mind entirely and would even forget that he had vowed to put in a good word with his mothers.

Some newer fear would consume him instead.

Perhaps, he agreed. He did not like to think of spirits that even their manman did not know. It was all too similar to the ghosts in the grotto, and Erzulie did know those. Did ya see any of de ot'ers? De Listener said dat dey are druids. What do ya t'ink dat means?

mireille nodded. "i met a woman wit' black fur. a man carried me across de sea to de islan'. an' i met a woman who only had t'ree legs. de druids had cut one off. it was infected, she said. a wolf had given her a bad woun'."
mireille was silent, contemplative.
"i t'ink dey be wolves who want to be left alone to do secret t'ings. dey do not want to be known, or to share dis power. dey are meant to be hidden out t'ere."
her brilliant green gaze skimmed the waters as if she might see the shape of the islands through the mist.

Sobo thought of things like secrecy in a binary fashion. If what you were doing was good and true, there was no reason to be secretive about it. The want for secrecy meant, to him, there might be some sinister aspect to power they held out there. It made him think of the grotto, and ghosts, and Caiaphas.

But he was more interested in Mireille's mention of a three-legged wolf. Can she still walk? was his first blurted question. It was a stupid one. Haunt lived in his memories, Haunt with her three legs, but it did not come to him just then. If it had, he would realize how dumb his question really was. How did dey remove it wit'out her bleeding to deat'?

He knew, too, that Mireille likely wouldn't have the answer to that question, but he was desperately curious. For that matter, how had Haunt survived losing hers? There was obviously some way to stop the bleeding, but he did not have the foggiest idea what it might be.

mireille nodded. "she walked well, actually." but to her brother's more medical question, she only gave an apologetic shrug "dat sort of healin' be one of t'ose secrets," she surmised. "bridget moved around like it did not be bot'ering her. i showed her how to dig clams in de san'."
all at one she grew somber. she looked quietly at sobo.
"doing t'ings like dat, t'inking of home, speakin' about it — it all kept me straight until you came for me." and for that she would always love him, though mireille was beginning to outgrow girlish sentiment for more polished emotion.

He should have known they wouldn't tell Mireille how they did it, but Sobo was still disappointed. Someday he would seek out such secrets, but probably not from Blackwater. Mireille was right. The sea felt darker there, unfathomable, and he could not stand not knowing.

He had nothing more to say on the subject, only leaned forward to press his nose soothingly to her temple and place a soft, brotherly kiss on her cheek. Ya be home now, an' ya never have ta go dere again, or anywhere else if ya want. She seemed like she had enjoyed the caribou hunt, but he selfishly hoped she never went away for that long again.

Sapphique felt a little bit less like home whenever she was away.

the girl sighed and turned to nip his own cheek in return. "i don't t'ink i will for a long time." mireille drew herself up smoothly and stretched her lengthening red limbs. "let's go down to de beach. de gulls be sayin' some'tin' is there." she pointed toward the sky and the wheeling white bodies of the great feathered birds.
slowly at first she began to trail away, and then faster as sobo joined her, until the pair were racing fleetfooted along the edge of their natal land.

This seems like a great place to conclude this and I want a new one soon. <3

Sobo was glad for the change of topic. He grinned broadly at his sister and turned his nose up toward the gulls. I bet ya ten clams it be a great treasure, he wagered, accelerating alongside her, always just one step behind like any proper righthand man.

The simple joy of running to the beach chased his lingering worries about Blackwater away.