The Heartwood Hopping through the forest

Life often moved too slow for her liking, and it made everything just a little bit unbearable. First she was a child, new and wriggling about — that was fine. That was fun, even, with all of her relatives fawning over little Matej and big, rolling Galena. Not something she particularly remembered, of course. It had crawled by; transitioning in to days and weeks of rules that were just so boring.

It is rude to talk over your elders, her mother used to tell her. Seeking out her father, or one of her older brothers, for help.

Stop chasing your brother Galena, that isn't how we act, her father would say. Gruff and stern and all manner of mountainous in his mannerisms, but she knew he loved her enthusiasm. There was an obvious glow in the man's gaze whenever Galena was in the area.

She missed that glow now. It was exciting to be on the road and seeking out adventure, but she was only a girl. And things were lonely this far away from home. Galena had forced the change by leaving, of course. She did it against the wishes of her parents; her own whims driving her away from the quiet life atop her parent's beloved mountain.

Galena's body slipped through the shadows of the forest. Her strides were quick, while her long legs carried her over a large distance. The girl's pace slowed as she neared a thinning portion of the heartwood; it was naturally quite spacious in this place, which was both beautiful and unnerving. It was easy to see if anyone was approaching — not that she had detected any strangers — but that meant she was an easy target as well.

And the foreigner wasn't exactly a fighter.

Blanc wonders if the forest feels. She wonders if it feels the softness of her furs as she moves beneath particularly low boughs, the toughness of her spine, the fortitude of her body. Blanc also wonder if the forest knows; if it hears. It is silent, now; she can hear her footfalls, hear the breath that clouded around her face. Her heartbeat, too, she can hear; but the forest is nothing. No rustling breeze to move it, to force it to speak or sing. The french woman feels as though if it could do one thing, it could see. She felt as though the tall trees were watching now, her passage safe and clear. But if it could see, it would also have seen the demise of many an animal, prey and her kind alike.

They were made for the kill. But everything must die. Even wolves.

The scent of another is carried on the wind. She is not sure what it is yet; it could be prey, or perhaps wolf. She is too far to know. And so the white wolf moves toward the strange scent, strides long, head high. Blanc was swift, and would find the source of this scent soon enough. As she moved closer, she would be able to identify it so long as the other did not move downwind so she was not so oblivious as to what she would run into. For now, she had the shelter, the protection, of the trees; neither of them could see the other, but in time, Blanc would break free of the protective hideaway, and although due to her white furs and the snowy ground she would be seen.

There were times that Galena had been so lost, physically, that her mental state had drifted far from her true position. Moments where things got so difficult for her, that she had doubted the urge to run; but they were fleeting. No matter how forlorn she felt in her loneliness, the foreign woman forced herself to be strong. There was no point in dwelling on her life before, as it was over. She had made her choice — but all children doubted. Galena was not wise or filled with any sort of common sense. She knew exactly as much as she needed to get by; nothing more, and nothing less. But still, the girl was conflicted.

If she had stayed at home, she would not be so hungry. If she had paid more attention during her lessons, she would not have gotten lost so often; her ability to speak to strangers was debilitating enough, thanks to her nature. It was worse that Galena had not learned as much of the common tongue as Matej. If he had followed her, perhaps they would have succeeded.

Perhaps they would have settled somewhere together. A sibling duo that could prove to their parents, just how strong they were. But it had not gone that way.

Galena was alone, in this place. The forest was isolating in it's silence. It was something that disturbed her greatly; more so than anything else on her mind. Nothing stirred but the shifting of her own body — at times, the branches of the trees would shift in the wind. It added an sombre ambiance, and somehow, the soft sounds urged her to stop moving. Galena stood awkwardly — head lowering towards the earth, where she casually sniffed at the dirt.


There was nothing here. She couldn't even find a strong scent of prey; or, maybe she was just really bad at hunting? The girl shifted her weight and gave a small chuff of dissatisfaction — then, she lifted her head and began to stride along again. Oblivious, in every possible aspect, that there was a stranger on her tail.

In time, the trees began to become slightly more scarce, intermittently dotting the land. Conifers changed to trees that hardly covered the land. These branches were darker, ominous; something from a horror movie, the very trees that convinced an unwise traveler that they had eyes. The air was thin, and looking to the skyline she could predict snow; the windchill was nonexistent fortunately, because there was hardly any wind at all. But when there was, the trees groaned, bark pressing against rough bark, dragging, miserable and shivering in their nakedness. Blanc eyed them without suspicion; she had been taught of Atka, of Sos, from her father, but she actively decided to not follow the faith. Her mother did not believe in spirits (though her mother admitted she would like to, if only to believe that her father—and Blanc's grandfather—lived even still). The only spirit there was was the spirit that you possessed; and when you were gone, that spirit, too, was gone. And so there was no fear in her step as she looked to the trees, her eyes hard and sharp. She was looking for something real.

As she weaved through the variety of trees, the smell became stronger. Blanc put no effort in disguising her approach or her search. Why bother? She only paused when she caught sight of a wolf that was still, and sniffed the air quickly to assess if there was any danger to be found here. The Tartok yearling could only smell the other, and when the other moved, Blanc dashed in her direction.

The pale wolf was unlike her relatives in her intent. Her highly esteemed grandmother and her aunts and uncles surely would have sought to avoid this figure. Blanc was socialized by family different than only Tartok; her environment was hard, but she was also given something the rest of her cousins never had. Blanc was surely her old mothers last litter, given her age, but Bluet cherished and loved them all the same. Death was mourned, even though her father disagreed and made it known. Life was cherished. Weak could be saved if given the chance. Her father shook his head. The weak die. The strong survive. Thrive. Her mother echoed his voice gently, You were given your mind to make your own choices. It was true that Tartok and its way were ingrained within her. She looked down on the weak. But could it be her who decided their fate? Could she do that? She did not know.

Time would tell.

Hey, Blanc greeted from afar, only now ceasing to move.

The silence was broken by a muttered greeting - or what she believed to be a greeting, from the inflection. At first Galena was surprised and she reacted accordingly, her head lifting sharply, and eyes growing larger. Pupils narrowed initially when the surrounding light entered them; a clear display of shock, which then morphed in to a calm but confident expression. Her large body did not move. She observed the stranger where she was, sizing her up, tracing the stark white outline of the stranger against the verticality of the trees.

What did she do now? Galena had been hunting for a meal, but if this stranger was here, the chances of that were depleted instantly. More importantly, she could now smell the female, and the scents contained within her fur. Not a solitary scent at all, but one of possession and inclusion. Pack. Galena shifted so that she could face the stranger properly, headlong, and took on a more diminutive posture. A droop of the tail, shift of the ears that briefly displayed a meek expression. "Privet." The woman curtly responded. Things were going to get a lot more tricky, when this stranger clued in to her lack of english. Whoops.

Blanc observed the other. The wolf was more handsome than she was pretty, but truth be told, Blanc preferred that in any specimen. Strength was preferred to dainty femininity; Blanc was a fifty fifty mix. Surely not dainty, but undoubtedly a woman. The quiet confidence the other possessed was swiftly mirrored in the lifting of her own head, the flaring of her nostrils. Dignity was something the Tartok woman had plenty of, the trait instilled in her at an early age. Her family history—maternal and paternal—was something to be proud of. And she worked for a high place. And now, independence. A new life.

It was something to be proud of. The other seemed to sense something, and was immediately complacent in submission. Some lone wolves for a reason unknown to Blanc preferred that solitary life, the life that could only lead to death inevitably. Particularly now with the weather only growing colder. Blanc could not understand what the other said, though perhaps it too was a greeting in kind. But she had never needed language. Tartok never needed verbalization. And so Blanc took the initiative. Her strides were long and decisive as she neared Galena with confidence, her tail swaying to display her amicability. For now, Blanc was not aggressive, only curious, and it showed in the slight tilt of her head, the swiveling of her ear. Unlike her, Galena smelt of nowhere. Perhaps her language might have been a crippling blow elsewhere, but Blanc knew words were nothing in the scheme of things.

The Tartok yearling paused when she was close to Galena, then took a step forward. May I? She seemed to ask, wanting to investigate the other further.

A sense of relief flooded through her when the stranger paused, for it seemed as if her verbal and physical response had been well met, and that the individual with which she now shared company was intelligent enough to recognize Galena's language fault. It was with a great figurative breath that Galena mentally sighed; the stiffness of her limbs eased considerably, with her tail giving a soft twitch at the end to signal her eased state of mind. The pale woman took a solitary step towards her with a questioning expression upon her face, a glow of interest within a pair of eyes that Galena only briefly noted, before averting her gaze. She chuffed softly and advanced her own body towards the other; this motion brought with it a subtle rise of unease within Galena, which was only natural.

She didn't know if she was trespassing yet, or if this individual was an ally, an enemy, or someone of vital importance. When the two wolves got close enough, Galena's instinct was to raise her head, to lift a lip and prove her superiority - but that was unfounded, so she held such behaviors at bay. 'A wolf is nothing without his pack,' Her father used to tell them, often as an offhanded comment to one of her siblings, but, she always found it burning within her ears - as if it was a reminder for her alone. кулаке все пальцы равны..'

The stranger smelled like the trees; the forest around them, as well as a few species she could vaguely identify as things from home; it pained her a little to taste those scents, but such things were forgotten for the time being, shunted away to a deep place within her. She focused on the more bestial notes upon the stranger's pelt, the musk of a formidable family of wolves. Without meaning to, Galena breathed a small murmur of contentment as she surveyed her new acquaintance, but caught herself before it could become any greater a sound.