Dragonfly Fen if i could make amends with all my shadows

Welcome to one or two others! Late afternoon, light snow.

Namir gave a soft sigh, shaking the snow free from her dusky pelt for what felt like the seventeenth time. Her mother had always appreciated that it was warmer in Crow’s Crossing than the forest she’d lived in preciously – or as close as the timid woman came to appreciation, anyways – but some part of the youth didn’t actually believe it would be so snowy once she’d left the sands in search of her missing mother. It was supposed to be spring. Hell, green things were starting to pop back up back at the Crossing.

Maybe she just should have stayed.

The young female grumbled under her breath, vowing to turn around and head back to the only home she’d ever known if the snow kept up. Shit, she didn’t even have any leads to follow yet! All she knew was a lost lake (which didn’t seem helpful at all), her mom, and a Namid…some mysterious woman she was named after. Which still seemed weird. She clicked her tongue against her teeth – still liked Little Crow better, no matter how much her mam had protested.

Lost in her own thoughts, Little Crow slipped, the slushy snow giving way against the boggy fen floor. The girl yelped and went down in a muddy splash, sludge surging over her in a disgusting spray.

Larkspur had never favored a season, but usually by the end of each season he was looking forward to the next. Having spend most of the winter traveling with his little rag tag group of yearlings (funny, he thought them as his group now), Lark was good and tired of the snow. It felt like spring had tried to break through the cold, but instead Relic Lore denied it. And so winter stayed and everyone got to be miserable together. The snow tickled his ears as he walked that afternoon, deciding to take a small break from Quaking Vale to explore some of the territories that surrounded it.

He'd never been one for travel, and even when he'd been alpha of Ritter's Ridge Larkspur opted to send someone else to scout things out before he bothered. In the past year Lark had gone far, he'd found new faces and finally felt like he was actually settling into his new family. He couldn't say he loved them, but in the end he couldn't say he exactly loved his other family, either. He tolerated them, and every once in a blue moon Lark could enjoy their company. This was good enough for him, at the very least for the time being.

A yelp broke through the bog and Larkspur made a sharp turn in the direction of the sound. His fur bristled, head low as he quickly approached a snow and sludge covered girl. He paused a safe distance away, fearing that the girl may decide to shake off and spray him with the foul smelling mud.

Yeah, sure guy. That was fine. Just heckin’ watch.

Little Crow flailed aimlessly in the muck, gasping and sputtering as the muddy water washed every which way. Not for the first time, she girl sorely regret her choice to leave Crow’s Crossing at all, no matter what her father had said about her. About her mother. At least she was warm there. Wasn’t hungry, neither.

And she definitely wasn’t covered in stinking slime.

With an unhappy grown, the dusty yearling dragged herself to her feet, sludge dripping from her tail and undercarriage as she stood, staring blankly at the staring back at her. Yep. Just heckin’ watchin’. Little Crow grumbled under her breath before tipping her ears out to preform truly one of the most epic shakes she’d ever enjoyed – mud went flying in all directions. Maybe the stranger was wise to stay away. Didn’t stop the loner from redirecting and carefully jogging over towards him. She did stop several lengths away from the adult; he was big, full-grown. Smelled like himself and other wolves, and Little Crow knew all about packs. Missed hers. That’s not what she was after.

“Know any water?” she asked, voice horse. She paused before correcting herself. “Any clean water?”

As the smaller and, by default, inferior of his parents' children, Larkspur had spent plenty of time in the mud. Laurel had not been kind to him and insisted on wrestling him to the ground in it, a lot of the time his larger brother liked to smack his face in the mud just for the heck of it. When he thought of that version of Laurel, Larkspur didn't feel any regret for what he'd done to his brother. Although forced to play nice as they got older, Laurel still was the larger and more powerful of the Ritter siblings and Larkspur was still the weak little boy that could be run over. Or at least he had been for a while, and at least after Laurel was gone and buried, Lark had the opportunity to feel what it was like to be on top.

He wouldn't be very honest if he'd ever said that he didn't like being on top.

Thanks to his thinking ahead, Larkspur didn't end up with a drop of the slime on him, even when Namir attempted at it. The man tensed as the girl approached, hackles raising and a lip twitching. She wasn't much of a threat, but that didn't mean that Larkspur wouldn't treat her as one. He took a step back, a low growl rumbling in his throat. She cut to the chase quick, and he noticed how she sounded either thirsty or tired. Lark quieted as he considered her question, and thought of the river that flowed in this direction from Quaking Vale's land.

And then he wondered what type of girl this one would be. It felt like the young wolves of Relic Lore were all friendly and wanted to get to know him. Sahalie had been no different, but somehow her constant pestering had allowed him to cave. Castel had tried, and still did attempt to be buddy-buddy with the elder of their pack, and he was certain there were other nameless faces of wolves that were young and friendly and in Relic Lore.

Maybe Relic Lore had a way of softening everyone up. Even he was becoming softer, because before he wouldn't have even considered wasting his time with the girl. But she was no threat and as of late, Larkspur was in a good enough of a mood to not chase anyone off when he wasn't interested in company. Today was different, because although he wasn't interested in company, he at least seemed to not be sour enough to snap at the girl. Or worse, give her wrong directions.

Gesturing for the girl to follow, Larkspur took the lead.

The hackles and growl didn’t go unnoticed. Namir wasn’t a stupid girl. She might have been her mother’s only child, but her father had plenty to go around – even if they weren’t her brother and sister, he wasn’t her Da if anyone else was around. Though mud wasn’t really a thing at Crow’s Crossing, dry as it was, she was no stranger to threats, and knew well when she was outmatched. Even if she was spoiling for a fight (and today she certainly wasn’t), Da had taught her how to live, and sometimes that meant biting your tongue even when you were really pissed off.

Her tail curved low, ears flattening out to the side as her head dropped, and she stared at the wolf, still waiting for the answer to her question. Fortunately, her patience paid off. After several silent moments, the older wolf began to move – and motioned for her to follow along. Namir fell into line a length or two behind him. The stranger wasn’t her friend, wasn’t a packmate, wasn’t family. She knew better. So she followed obediently, only speaking up after several silent minutes.

“What’s yer name? ‘m lookin’ for a Namid. ‘er a Kajika.”

Larkspur's mood perked up a bit as they walked in silence. For those minutes he almost thought that he'd stumbled into a gem — someone who talked just enough and didn't go on about everything and nothing at the same time. Soon enough she spoke, her words not exactly flowing, so to speak. He'd met wolves from all over, but still found the wolves with weird, garbled accents like Namir's annoying. He sighed, doing so loud enough to let the girl know she was being a pest and he was, if anything, doing her a favor. Continuing to walk, he tried to think if there were any wolves that sounded familiar.

Choosing to ignore the first question, as Larkspur was wont to do, he finally spoke. "No, don't remember them passing through," ahead he could hear the slow trickling of the river. He hadn't followed it before, but could only assume that it was the same one near Quaking Vale. Larkspur trotted ahead and lapped up a bit of the water, still keeping his space from the dirty girl. "You're pretty far south, if you know they're in Relic Lore," he looked towards the mountains for a moment before returning his gaze to the girl. "I don't really know that much about the packs or the wolves here. Might should head north, one of the bigger packs up there can probably help you out," and perhaps would be more willing to help than a disgruntled Larkspur would be.

There are several fresh rabbit tracks in the mud. Hunt Opportunity

“Oh.”

Damnit. At least she had the right forest? Her mother had definitely mentioned a ‘Relic Lore’ at some point – she assumed Des had stayed in the forest, at any rate. Which probably wasn’t a safe assumption to make, given the way she’d abandoned Crow’s Crossing. Who knew how long she’d actually hang around this Lake. Or this Namid. Did she even exist? Was she real? Or did the anxiety-ridden wolf simply name her daughter after someone she wished exist?

Little Crow was content to walk in silence for a little longer, having no knowledge of Larkspur’s general dislike for chit-chat, but having no interest in idle small talk herself. She joined him at the water’s age, perhaps a length or two separating them, to take a long drink. The cold water felt good on her throat and she gave a soft sigh, her tail swaying behind her. Eventually, she spoke back up. “I ain’t lookin’ fer a pack. Not t’ join, anyways.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Lookin’ fer someone – Des.” Did she give the whole story? Did this man even care? Probably not. She wouldn’t, if their positions were reversed. And if he did, he’d ask, so Little Crow left it at that. He didn’t seem chatty, anyways. Not like her sometimes-father.

“Guess I owe you one, though. ‘m Lil’ Crow. If y’ever wanna call it in.”