Falls of the Hinterlands seeker

aw! also an experimental character <3

The murmur of water stirred her from the depths of sleep. Rhaena had been traveling for days, perhaps even weeks, searching for her dam. Months ago, the woman had left, instructing her daughter to come find her when she was ready. Yet Rhaena hadn’t been ready. She had begged for more time, pleaded to stay, but her mother would not wait. And so, she left, leaving the young shadow to fend for herself. And she had; surviving as best she could.
Now, the shade found herself in unfamiliar lands, far from home, with no sign of the one she sought. She lay still on the damp earth, droplets falling gently onto her dark grey fur. Once pristine and well-kept, it was now tangled with dirt, an indignity she could scarcely tolerate; but for now, she would endure it.
Periwinkle gaze drifted to the waterfalls, then to the canopy, slowly awakening from winter’s grasp. Drawing her paws close, her tail flicked as she gazed into the distance. Soon, she would have to move on.

the girl is small when ione finds her. small, and tired.

she watches for a time, saying nothing. observing the frailty of youth and solitude as it pools around the child like mist. the disarray of her pelt, the lingering scent of far-off places clinging to her skin. motherless, perhaps. abandoned, perhaps. it is all familiar.

quietly, as if the earth itself had exhaled her from the shadows, ione steps forward, the damp beneath her paws undisturbed as if it knows better than to cling.

alone?

the single word drifts, dispassionate and smooth. not a question meant for comfort. not kindness. merely observation, plain as the rain slipping from the leaves.

ione stops a respectful distance away, pale gaze trailing over the girl—just once, slow and appraising, but not lingering long enough to be mistaken for care.

the wilds will eat you if you stay curled like that.

not a threat. not even advice. a fact.

her head tilts ever so slightly, the cascade of her pale fur unmoving despite the breeze.

where are you going?

there is no offer of help. not yet. only curiosity—and the quiet, dangerous kind.

The sudden voice startled her, but it was honey to her ears; soothing, yet laced with something perilous.
„Yes.” The answer slipped from Rhaena’s lips before she had the chance to think it through. Periwinkle eyes flicked to the stranger: a striking woman of white and grey. Perhaps she had spoken too soon. Rhaena shook her head in quick denial, much like a child refusing their veggies.
„The wilds can’t touch me!” A declaration, bold and certain. How could the wilds consume her when she left nothing behind for them to take?
The shadow girl watched warily as the woman’s gaze drifted away from her, unease creeping up her spine. „Somewhere,” she muttered, gaze shifting to the side, dark brows knitting together. A petulant answer, but she was not accustomed to such inquiries. And yet; what if this woman knew something? What if she had seen her mother?
„Do you live here?” A question in return, a way to balance the scales of discomfort.

ione watched the girl, studied the way she tensed and postured, how she wielded boldness like a blade to mask uncertainty. a child of the dark, yet not of it. not yet.

the morass is my haven, she answered, voice smooth as still water. it keeps what belongs to it.

her gaze, heavy and knowing, did not waver. but you do not yet belong to anything, do you?

a flicker of something—curiosity? amusement?—passed through her silver eyes.

tell me, shadow-child. what is it you are running from?

The woman’s words twisted and turned, slipping through Rhaena’s mind like mist. She spoke in riddles, much like her mother once did; and Rhaena had learned to listen then. So she tried now, carefully picking her words, though the meaning behind this „morass" that keeps what belongs to it remained out of reach. It stirred something in her, yet she could not grasp it. Her ears flicked back as discomfort settled in her chest, yet she held the woman’s gaze.
„I do not,” she admitted, truth falling from her lips with ease. Rhaena was still young, too honest for her own good, unaware that sometimes the truth is a dangerous thing to offer. One day, she would understand that strangers, no matter how kind, no matter how beautiful, were not to be trusted. But not today.
The woman’s next assumption sparked something sharp within her. Her brows knitted together as she rose to her feet, tail flicking behind her: „I’m not running from anything!” she snapped, though the words tasted uncertain on her tongue. Her gaze drifted toward the waterfall, where the world seemed vast and endless. No, she wasn’t running from anything; she was running toward something.
„Exploring,” Rhaena breathed at last, her periwinkle eyes finding the woman’s once more. And when her gaze flickered to her swollen belly, something softened in her.
„Yes,” she repeated, quieter now, as if saying it aloud would make it true: „I am exploring.”