The Sentinels Flower, gleam and glow

The hide satchel Solenya carried swayed softly as she stepped through the Sentinels, verdant eyes casting worried glances at the giants. One shake of the earth could send them all to topple, crushing all that was below. She shivered at the thought, but it did not deter her from continuing on.

As she assessed the surroundings, she took note of the life willing to grow here. There were indications that this place had been razed by fire, yet life continued on despite the destruction. And it was here that she felt a kinship to the soil, friendship in the flora, a gentle understanding with the fauna who called this placed home.

And, it was here that she would claim as hers.

The first matter of business: bury her past. Gently removing the satchel from her neck, she placed it before her to open and expose the items held within. A piece of antler, fur from her parents, and seeds from the lupine flowers that filled her old home with its scent.

With time and patience, it would do so here. Taking a moment and with a smile on her face, she worked in silence.

It’s time to swing by the caldera again, though Bushtit’s in no hurry. He moseys down the coast, the shifting sands beneath his feet reminding him of the lowlands. Otherwise, his surroundings could not be more different. He strides through the surf washing up in this particular bay and turns his head to the right. His dark eyes linger on the whitecaps as he debates which he loves more nowadays: the desert or the ocean?

The shoreline curves, sand giving way to rocks, and the youth turns due south and heads inland with some reluctance. Bushtit trots along the fringe of a forest rife with spring growth. He cranes his neck to peer up at the towering trees. They’re so impressive, he actually slows to a stop to marvel at them. He quickly decides he needs a closer look.

He trots toward the nearest one, though before he reaches it, a scent threads into his nose. His nares twitch as he pauses again to assess it. His dark eyes brighten a little when Bushtit realizes it belongs to a female. Putting a pin in his original plan to get a closer look at the huge tree, he focuses on the underbrush as he tracks her scent.

When he comes upon her, all he can see is her posterior lifted in the air as she digs in the earth. Bushtit nearly bumps into said buttocks but quickly halts and backpedals, loudly clearing his throat.

Startled, so caught up in her ministrations, she gasped, turning abruptly to face a young man, by the scent of him. Younger than she, he wasn’t a threat. Or, so she hoped he wasn’t. She knew well that life tends to find a way.

Solenya cocked her head, concern in her gaze. He did not smell of pack, which faired well for her considering she, too, was alone and didn’t want to be caught amongst numbers. Odds were better this way.

Her words were soft, laden with concern. Hello…you are alone?

Although he’s done the gentlemanly thing, he still thinks, Nice ass. Then she pivots it away from view, revealing her face. It’s nice too, with fine features and jade eyes that really pop against the grayish tones of her fur. She’s surprisingly tall when she straightens, which tamps down the buzz of attraction in his belly.

Bushtit’s not a fan of the way she looks at him in turn, nor the question she poses, like she’s a concerned auntie. He blows out a breath and resists rolling his eyes. She very likely means well. And though he’s definitely in the thick of his teenage phase and all its trappings of machismo, his mama raised him right…ish.

Yep! Hi, he rejoins, boyishly casual. I’m a bit of a tramp, he explains with a mischievous gleam in his eye. What about you? he asks in turn.

Bushtit glances at the items spread on the ground, set beside a fresh hole. What’s she burying? And why? His brows lift inquisitively as his dark eyes return to her face.

He claims to be a tramp, and though such a statement would indicate that maybe she should shoo him off, as trouble could follow him, it made her laugh, regardless. The sound of it was bright, melodic.

Nice to meet you, tramp. I am Solenya and, yes, I am alone here She followed his gaze down at her tokens, a protective paw covering them from view. They were hers to bury, hers to plant, and if he wanted, he could do the same—with his own offering. 

These items are…full of meaning, memories of my past are held within them. Offering them to the earth is my way of letting go and, from them, a new life will grow and flourish. So, too, will I. Gently, she placed her offerings into the hole, making sure they were covered generously with soil. Some day, she hoped, it would flourish and more would populate, surrounding her once again with the scent of home.

She turned her gaze back to the tramp. What brings you here?

She laughs, the delightful noise bringing a broader smile to his curving lips. Despite her size, she’s easy on the eyes, though she’s a bit young for his tastes. His eyes smolder at the thought, though he quickly blinks them back to a focus. His dusty white ears cup forward attentively as she offers her name, then answers his question.

Something about her speech reminds him of those ladies who once tried to recruit him as some sort of spiritual guardian. Bushtit inwardly laughs at the cringey memory. Solenya speaks with the same would-be profundity, which always strikes him as odd. Perhaps that’s because he was raised by Towhee Redhawk.

Bushtit, he offers first, then asks, So it’s as much planting as burying? He gestures at the heap of dirt she’s just pushed over the objects. Huh.

He wonders what exactly she put in the soil—he only caught a glimpse—and the stories behind them, but her demeanor tells him Solenya doesn’t necessarily want to share the intimate details. His attention lingers on the ground for another beat before it once more bounces back to the woman’s hoary face.

Nothing, he says quickly, remembering to field her own query. I was just passing by and the trees, he says, tipping his head to look at the closest one, caught my attention. His head drops. So is this ritual your way of claiming the place? Am I technically trespassing right now?

Exactly!She nodded enthusiastically, offering him a smile.

Her gaze followed his to the guardians of this sacred place. They have weathered much throughout their lives, she had no doubt, and yet they still stood, tall and proud. Born to guard all that is below, to fall when their duty has come to an end. That time will come, as it must come for all living things, and after some time they will gain a new purpose, chosen by those left behind. A never-ending circle of purpose.

She breathed in, momentarily closing her eyes as she mulled over his question. Well, you could put it that way, I suppose. This, she nodded towards the dirt heap, is my intention to stay and make my home here. It is an offering to the earth, a promise to care for it as it will do for me, just as much as it is my way of “claiming.” Those who seek respite, or wish to become anew, are welcome here.

She stepped away towards a patch of growing life, the colors vibrant against the darkness of the earth. She paused, a paw caressing the plants gently as she bid them hello, her lips lifting to crinkle the corner of her eyes. See these plants? One would think they shouldn’t be here; nothing should grow in a place so devastated. Yet, life persevered here as life always does. So shall we.

She doesn’t seem to mind his intrusion, perhaps because her claim barely amounts to more than a small pile of dirt. Bushtit thinks of the caldera and nods subtly to himself. If Solenya wished for him to leave, he would respect that. Unofficial or not. But so far, she’s given him no such indication. Rather, she continues indulging his curiosity.

When she asks him if he sees these plants, he indeed looks. Bushtit doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to greens, yet he recognizes pretty flora when he sees it. She speaks about devastation and his young brow furrows. He casts his dark eyes around their surroundings again, trying to suss out this backstory Solenya teases.

Wait, he says, gaze once more cutting back to her face. What happened here?

He was confused, as most others would be, as to what happened in this place. She had seen it once before, back home when following her father one afternoon. He had taken her along the river, teaching her the ways of river travel: follow a river and you will find where you need to be. She found him silly, then, but here she was glad for it. They happened upon an area that went through a similar devastation as the trees in the now; the trees then were scalded, blackened by the lick of flames and plant life turned to ash.

Her father had told her then that the trees will scar--some will take a couple of years to close over and some could take decades. They will hold the memory of what happened to them for years to come, for others to notice and wonder. Solenya remembered feeling a sadness for the trees, for the destroyed land. Her father pulled her into a bear hug, ruffling the top of her head in comfort. He had told her, Do not worry, my sweet girl. Life will find its way back here. All will be well.

How she missed him, missed her mother. Her siblings, too. She gazed at her offering as she thought of them.

She did not forget his question, and returned to him, a wave of her paw to pull his attention outward. Look at the bases of these trees. Some are blackened; scarred, if you will. They hold the memory of a forest fire, one large enough to do much damage to these giants. My father once told me that life will find its way and, here, he was right.

Solenya stares at her handiwork a moment, clearly thinking. Bushtit waits, attention drifting a little, though it snaps back to her as soon as she speaks. He listens, an upper tooth snagging on his lip when she mentions fire. The word stokes a rather vivid memory, his nose full of the most delicious smell in the world as he chases an older she-wolf in heat…

But Solenya is talking about a different—a quite literal—sort of fire. Bushtit catches himself, clears his throat and makes a pointed effort to look around at the feet of the nearby trees. Indeed, they’re all a little darker than usual. As he looks, she speaks again of the persistence of life.

Bushtit wonders if she knows, When did that happen?

A week ago? A month? A year, maybe several? The young man has no idea about these things, though he’s definitely intrigued. And focusing on the subject matter also drives those images—of capturing her and pulling her to himself, her body so warm beneath his—to the edges of his mind, where they drift away like a puff of smoke.

She shook her head, I cannot tell. These scars can last a few years if not decades. Only those who witnessed it could tell us when. I am not from here, so your guess is as good as mine. She winked at him, unaware of his own thought patterns.

Do you call a place home? Or, are you a traveling tramp? She chuckled at her attempt at a joke. Her attention on him now, she looked him over with curiosity. He reminded her of a snow covered mountain underneath the flaming sun. His features were what she would consider pretty—he would probably fill out a little more as he grew, and make a find partner for when his time came.

It made her think of herself—she reached maturity not too long ago and have felt the tiny pull to seek a mate. Not now, for her mind was set on establishing this place. But, maybe someday when all is settled.

Despite the grim topic, he laughs at her wink and counters, I’m just a baby.

He winks right back, though, because while he’s still young—just a few weeks shy of official adulthood—he’s most definitely not a baby. More like jailbait. Bushtit’s easygoing grin takes on a more feral demesne, particularly at her next question.

Isn’t that exactly what tramp means? he says, winking again. But, yeah, I’m a traveler. Have been since the day I was born. Literally.

He doesn’t bother elaborating, though the tale reminds him of his mother. He glances south, where the caldera sits somewhere beyond view. Bushtit can’t wait to see her, see how things are going there. Towhee will want to hear all about his shenanigans too, every last detail he’s willing to give.

But for the first time in his life, there are things he doesn’t think he’ll want to tell his mother. He doesn’t think she’ll balk, necessarily, if he tells her about his conquests. She might even be proud, especially because he’s still pretty young, at least until he informs her he’s been sleeping around with women many times his own age—closer to hers, in fact.

Biting his lip again, Bushtit shoves that thought down and says to Soleyna, My family lives around here, though, so I visit on the reg. You ever heard of the Redhawks?

Solenya couldn't help the eyeroll and feigned incredulity in response to his counter, but it was all in jest, another chuckle sent his way. I suppose so. Well, you must have seen so much on the road, then. She padded to the base of a nearby tree, settling herself down to lean against it. She felt the coolness of the soft soil underneath and she sighed--now this was heaven.

He spoke of family and posed a question, one she could only answer with a shake of her head. Can't say that I have. If they are nearby, you must be heading that way to visit them, I assume? Tell me about them. Her tail swayed lazily in the dirt, ears perked to listen. She thought of her parents, her siblings, lost to time and death. How she missed them all. The dirt pile was all that was left of where she came from--hearing his family's story might distract her from her own lacking.

Something like that, he agrees breezily, once again refusing to elaborate.

His eyes track her movements as she pads to a tree and sits, back rested against its scarred base. After a brief hesitation, Bushtit decides he can spare a few more minutes and mimics her, sliding down against the tree beside hers. He rests his right shoulder against it, his face pointed toward Solenya.

Well, there’s a ton of them and they’re spread all over the place, though I’m mostly here to visit my mom. His face and voice go soft when he mentions Towhee. And my padre, probably. She lives at the caldera, he’s a little further south. You ever been to the lowlands?

Solenya probably wants more than that. He imagines she’ll ask about his parents, why they’re not in the same place. Bushtit doesn’t mind sharing but he’ll wait for her to ask. In the meantime, he rubs his pale shoulder against the tree’s rough bark, taking care of a mild itch there.

She caught the way his demeanor changed when speaking of his mom and she couldn't help to tilt her head, knowing all too well the pain a heart feels when missing someone, an empathetic smile placed gently on her lips. I imagine she will be happy to see you, Bushtit. Your father, too. What I would give to visit my family, again.

Not familiar with the lowlands here, she wouldn't know if she had. I've traveled mostly along the coast coming here, so I doubt that I have been there. So, your father lives there, and your mother lives in the caldera close by. You have two homes, then--well, three now--to choose if you ever wanted to settle somewhere more permanent. You are welcome here; I find I enjoy your company. You're a silly breathe of fresh air. She reached out to nose him on the cheek. It was true, he was vivid, a wonderful piece of energy to have around, but only if, and when, he chose to do so.

He knows he should ask about her family, in turn, especially after her wistful comment. But he does not interrupt. Instead, Bushtit tips his head to the left and reaches up a hind leg to dig at another itch, this one deep in his ear. He stifles a grunt as he works at it, making sure to keep his eyes pinned on Solenya’s face so she knows he’s paying attention.

Thanks. Yeah, he says lightly, chortling through the brief contact and its accompanying flattery, but I can’t imagine settling down anywhere, at least not anytime soon. I was raised on the road, it’s the only lifestyle I know. The only one I want, Bushtit explains, setting down his foot and straightening. It’s not that I don’t like you or this place, though. You both seem great.

His cheek tingles where she touched it. Bushtit bites at his lip, studying her for a moment. He wonders what Solenya would say if he asked her if she was DTF? But he holds his tongue. She’s lovely, though he’s not particularly attracted to her. Besides, he needs to hit the road, make his way to his mom’s place.

But before he goes, he politely and gently queries, Aside from the cool trees, what brought you here? Like, what’s your story?

“What I would give to visit my family, again,” she’d said. He senses a tragedy of some kind. Bushtit hopes he hasn’t overstepped, though he’ll understand if Solenya chooses to keep this information tucked somewhere safe, like the objects she’s put in the ground.

She rose with him, shaking herself free of debris that clung to her. Oh, that's quite alright. We all have our path in life. If yours ever brings you back here, even for a visit, come say hello.

His polite inquiry was returned with a lifting of her shoulders. Life brought me here. My family is no more; my parents passed before I turned a year, which left my siblings and I to fend for ourselves for a time. Unfortunately, we got split up during a rather rough storm while hunting a herd of deer-- she paused to shiver at the memory, --and I have not seen them since. I don't know if they still breathe. I left and came here to find a new home and build a life for myself. Maybe for others, too, who feel the same.

She would walk him to the edges of the Sentinels and bid him farewell and luck on his travels, wishing him a safe return to his mother. Should you find anyone who may need a place of peace, send them my way, hmm?

His heart goes out to her when she reports her parents’ passing. That part doesn’t really surprise him, though the detail about her siblings makes Bushtit’s lips twist a little. How could a storm split up a family like that? He doesn’t doubt it, just marvels in silence as Solenya carries on with her life à la the story.

Damn, sorry about your family, he says as genuinely as possible, though it inevitably falls a little flat. Sure, I can do that, he adds in response to her request. You got a name I can give them? For this place of peace.

As he speaks, he pushes onto all fours. He’s cueing himself as much as Solenya. He’s enjoying this conversation, though he really ought to go. It’s not that Towhee’s waiting on him—he doesn’t keep any particular schedule—but talking about her has gotten him really looking forward to seeing her sooner than later.

He glances at the towering sequoias he never got a chance to see up close, though he makes a note to swing by again sometime. But since Bushtit doesn’t keep promises any better than a schedule, he makes no mention of this to Solenya.

She pauses for a moment, eyeing the plants she had pointed out to him, then up to where the guardians stretched high into the sky. Their branches creating a canopy as if to form some sort of cathedral. Or, a sanctuary.

Something clicked and she turned to him, again. “The Viridian Sanctum.” It was a good choice, a strong choice.

Got it, he says, tucking the pack’s name in his proverbial back pocket. Hope it all works out for ya, Solenya.

Bushtit snorts a little at the unwitting consonance. He doesn’t offer any formal farewell beyond that. They just don’t suit his style, especially as a transient. He merely offers her a boyish grin and wave, then turns to go.