Dragoncrest Cliffs Brief and fleeting

The cliffs filled with invalids. Women shortened with the season and the tension of the bear. Njord stalked the land in a way that made the pirate think even less of him, if that were possible. These were not his shores to keep - and he was there only by the grace of his mate and her daughters.

She disapproved of a good many things.

Her son’s hastily made venture. His defeat and resulting moods. Njord’s possessiveness. Mireille’s stress and how clearly she let the very concept of a man unravel her. Chacal at least had seen to her affairs and been done with it.

It didn’t matter how much she adored her children, they would never be spared judgement. She was only more careful in how bluntly she applied it.

Despite her silent notion that some of those recently taken might be better served feeding the bear than taking from them, Rosalyn assisted her wife as best she could. Today she had scaled a small portion of the lower cliffs, treading carefully, and raided a nest. One of the birds she set aside for Erzulie, the other she ate. It was unfortunate that it was too early for eggs.

Carrying her find, she made her way along the top of the cliffline, the sun warm as it sank towards the waters. Soon they would have too many to feed.

Due to both her age and generally upbeat nature, Cherub’s Wing was quickly bouncing back from her near-drowning a couple days prior. It was hard to keep the girl down, and more than anything she was eager to experience all of Sapphique, the pack she had of her own virtue decided to align with.

Though entirely put off of the cliffs, as they had betrayed her once already this winter, the girl knew no better way to overcome her apprehension than to face her fears head on. As she made her way towards the open airspace, she caught sight of another figure in the glow of sunset: a well-groomed wolf of smokey topaz and many visible scars. Older, by a great amount, reminding her pleasantly of the stern-faced elders of the Isle.

The youthful girl bounded nearer, dropping gracelessly to the ground before the bird-toting wolf in an amenable display of deference. Hello, great veteran, she greeted, as the way of her kinfolk. I apologize for disturbing your mealtime, but I just wanted to quickly introduce myself as your new packmate. I am Cherub’s Wing of Honor. Her tail brushed against the ground, her smiling face prepared for any type of reception.

Ah, one of the charity cases. This one at least seemed to have recovered enough to serve some use, though her demeanor quickly had Rosalyn wondering if her mind was up to the task.

She was the last wolf who should be throwing stones, and yet.

She gave a look that was both impatient and resigned. Rosalyn. Not veteran. If the title was meant to be a show of respect, it only made brought light to both her age and her scars. That is a big name for someone who appears to have hardly left home. Imagine naming a child honor. As if her parents were afraid she would not show such promise and tried to force the matter themselves.

Annoyance graced the battle-axe’s features, but Cherub’s Wing was not dampened. She blinked gratefully as Rosalyn provided her name and then gave a small laugh at the veteran’s observation of her own. It wasn’t the first time someone had commented on her name since leaving her home, though none had been quite so brusque.

It is a lot to live up to! Honor is actually my family name, she politely explained, bright and excited to speak of her birthpack’s customs. I know it is different here, but there are several family names we all share on the Isle, such as Valor, Peace, and Honor. We earn our family name through choice of lifestyle. Those under the banner of Honor have chosen to be hunters and caretakers. The more thankless sect of all trades.

Family. We all share. So her family was still alive on some isle somewhere, yet she chose to burden herself here on strangers. Did her family know that they were being spared while another family bore the burden of their infirm daughter? Rosalyn’s view of her darkened unkindly. Her charitability had always been low, but recently age and bitterness had brought it to new depths.

Yet you are here. Do you have no loyalty, or did they cast you out? It wasn’t a fair question. The thought crossed her mind that Erzulie might disapprove but she ignored it. If this woman was fragile enough to bend beneath this then she did not deserve their cliffs.

There was something remarkably spiteful about the way Rosalyn’s question was posed, but Cherub’s Wing took it in stride. Veterans, after all – especially those with so many vicious scars – had earned their right to be unkind. I suppose you could say I was cast out, she responded, ears flickering backwards at the memory of her departure. We are required between our first and third year to leave the Isle and return with a mate, a new recruit, or not at all. It had been a sad affair to leave her home, but she had anticipated it and did not begrudge the custom.

Our elders say it is to be so to keep our bloodlines from mixing, encourage independent thought, bring new customs, and allow our traditions the chance to take root elsewhere if it must be, or should the Isle fall. She shrugged, only reciting what she had been told, too young to truly understand the reasons or the concept of her homeland disappearing. Wing knew nothing but stories of great floods and other natural disasters, all of which sounded impossible to her.

I thought I would like to complete my journey sooner rather than later, but it has turned into me owing my life to Sapphique. She felt no shame in not returning to the Isle. It had never been seen as a negative thing to branch off from the great tree of their beginning. Were you born in this pack? she asked then. Or did you have to leave your home, too?

Rosalyn watched as she answered, the same unfriendly look turning hard as she described the practice her family expected. It wasn’t one that the pirate found respect for, despite it being rather similar to Sapphique in many ways. They took men from other places… but they did not marry them, nor carve them from their homes.

You are one of us now. But you won’t take our sons. She replied, the tone final and underlaid with a warning. If Wing wanted to choose a man of Sapphique, she could do so, and she could even carry him home. But she would not choose one with the blood of the cliffs.

She owed nothing to Sapphique that she wasn’t willing to give, but Rosalyn didn’t clarify this.

I was born far from here. But this is the only home that matters. I have no family anywhere else. It was a somewhat vague answer, but mostly due to the fact that she no longer remembered the details of the places she’d come from. Nor could she recall her mother’s face. She relented a little, though, in her harshness as the conversation moved towards family here. It didn’t matter if she approved; Wing was one of them now, as she’d said.