Sex: Malelet go of the grief, so that you can finally fly... July 11th; Late Afternoon; Partly Cloudy; 75° F/24° C The sun should have been shining down upon Relic Lore today as the warm winds picked up and delivered a lonely soul into the realm. He flew in and out of the low-hanging clouds, his midnight black eyes closing in pure bliss as he descended down into a densely populated forest. Oaks, he mused, soaring through the canopy and lowering himself onto a branch. In a rather clownish manner he leaned forward then spread his wings, landing with an unceremonious plop on the forest floor. He stumbled forward into a patch of clover. With another plunk, he slid forward after stepping on a fallen, verdant green acorn. He let out a startled squawk, calling out as though he were scolding the very tree that had intentionally left it there for him to step on. Ha. HA. Very funny, he twittered and huffed, marching about so that he could fully turn around and lift the round seed from the ground. He wiggled his tail feathers, dropping the acorn almost immediately as he listened to the forest around him. There were wolves here... or so he hoped. He had a message to deliver before he could continue on his way. He lifted and swiveled his head around, stalking forward a few steps in hopes that he would have company within the next few moments. As if to beckon a companion from the wood, he cracked open his beak and curled his tongue, two loud and sharp CAWWWW!'s emitting from his throat. |
There most certainly were wolves here. Sceral watched the raven curiously from his hiding place, laid between a rock and a tall tree, surrounded by grasses and wild flowers. He snickered under his breath as the clumsy bird slipped and squawked. He remembered his youth, the day he spent with Serach and Fenru as the two boys were taught by their older half-sibling what the creature they found was; a bird. The pale yearling distinctly remembered thinking the winged creature was laughing at him, with its scratchy calls. Sceral smiled, though he hung his head. He missed Fenru and sorely hoped he would return soon; he looked up to the Tainn, after all.
The Aesir jumped when the raven cried out loudly, two loud caws ringing in his ears before he ambient sounds of the forest were all that remained once more. Lifting his head to stare at the black feathered bird, Sceral was utterly confused. Was … was it calling him? That was ridiculous! Simply unimaginable. Or was it? Corinna, his mother, had told him once that crows and ravens would often help wolves to find a meal, be it showing them prey or carcasses that were too tough for their sharp beaks to pick through. Perhaps that's what this one was trying to do. Sceral glanced around, double checking no one was near, before lifting himself up and shaking the dirt and leaves from his coat.
He took a tentative step forward, tilting his head as he looked at the bird. Nervously, and feeling quite foolish, he spoke up to address the winged creature. “Who are you calling? What is it you want?”
let go of the grief, so that you can finally fly... One barely audible sound of a tentative footstep was all it had taken for this Relic Lore spirit to fill to the brim with excitement. When he turned, his gaze angled upward into the face of a moderately-sized youth who was both endearing and impressive by first impression. He had seen this cub before, but not like this, and certainly not as the winged creature he currently embodied. He hopped to and fro in response to the yearling's questions. Truthfully, he was nobody and he asked for nothing of corporeal value. Of the beings who had returned to the earth, stepped into the after life, or had been reincarnated as another entity, this soul had been particularly fond of Corinna and her family. So when he had descended upon Relic Lore, her homeland was the first on his mental list of places to seek out. The raven began to hop again, bounding between the trees for a yard or so before stopping to look back at Sceral. Follow me! he twittered, flapping his wings in unmistakable excitement. Come along, this way! He moved in such a way that suggested that he might take off to the treetops, but what had happened instead was a mere burst of energy that lifted him from the grass and clovers just long enough to deliver him a few more yards away from his take-off spot. He let out another raspy caw, sounding as though he were scolding the boy this time around. To him this was important and he would not even dare to let this opportunity with the Oak Tree Bend yearling go to waste. |
The bird turned to look at him and it began to hop, almost excitedly. Sceral couldn't help but be a little bit awestruck. He'd never had an encounter with a raven like this before; mostly, they just teased and played with him. Usually the mischievous little creatures would dive bomb him and swoop away at the last second, or pull his tail to get him to chase them around. Truth be told, he enjoyed their company and envied their freedom. He still wondered what it would be like to fly.
The winged creature began to bound away and Sceral thought that was that. But it stopped and turned to look directly at him, expectantly. It beckoned for him to follow, twittering away and flapping its wings in an enthusiastic manner. The yearling stepped forwards again, following the raven hesitantly. What on Earth did the black-feathered critter want with him? Had it searched for him specifically? Or was this merely coincidence that was turning out to be quite an interesting encounter. Curiosity killed the cat—could it kill the wolf, too? The bird suddenly darted forwards and Sceral scrambled, running after the creature. “Hey, wait!”
It cawed again, with a tone that sounded like it was scolding the wolf, and the pale yearling scowled and huffed. “I can't fly like you can, y'know!” What a cheeky little bird. Sceral wanted to pluck one of those lovely, sleek feathers right off its rump! It was all fine to be able to fly fast, but to snip at something without wings for not being able to keep up with the sudden flapping? Kind of rude, Mr. Bird. “Where are we goin'?” What exactly did this raven want to show him?
So far, pack life had been... surprisingly fine. No one had bothered her, much less interacted with her and Spieden had been able to more or less do her own thing. She still struggled to find what to do with herself when there was no one telling her exactly what to do or punish her if she messed up. She had just figured out loner life, and could take care of herself quite well, but still had to figure out what tasks the pack needed done lest she be branded as useless and tossed back out.
Spieden had been searching for a headwater where she might find something more substantial than the minnows that frequented the pack's stream. The croaks of a raven had blended into the rest of the forest's sounds, but the voice of another wolf close by sent Spieden ducking for cover beneath a bush. It was a vaguely familiar voice, someone she hadn't directly talked to but she was pretty sure it was one of her packmates. From beneath her leafy camoflage she peered out, seeing one of Oak Tree Bend's yearlings chasing through the trees after a fleeing black bird.
Spieden watched with bemusement as the yearling scurried after the raven, who hopped, fluttered, and croaked just yards ahead of him. Was this what the locals did for amusement around here? It seemed rather odd in any case. After a few more moments of observation, it really did look like the bird was directing the way somewhere. Spieden's first thought was that perhaps the corvid had found a sick animal, or carcass too tough to break into, and needed some help. After all, it wasn't out of the ordinary for all sorts of scavenger to flock to a soon-to-be meal just waiting for those with more muscle to begin the feast. But even then the corvid's behavior just seemed so odd.
Curious of what purpose the raven's antics were, whether it be for simply food or something else, Spieden had to know. Spieden scuttled out from the shrub she had been taking cover behind to scurry after the interspecific duo. She tried not to be too quiet, letting her paws hit the loamy soil with muffled thuds, lest she startled either by her sudden appearance in their wake.
let go of the grief, so that you can finally fly... The aviator chirped, bouncing about on the ground with Sceral close on his heels. “Where are we goin'?” the boy had asked. Even if the bird could have told him, the young Aesir-Donata would probably not understand all his squawking and tittering. For some time he playfully waddled, toddling along just long enough before the wolf could catch up and then he would dart forward again. On and on, they went along this way, until it became apparent of where they were going - towards the cluster of trees where Corinna had passed. He slowed, shuffling about with his wings spread, looking very much like a tightrope walker attempting to keep his balance with a balance beam. If he hadn't been looking properly he might have missed the addition of another curious spirit. Her coat was darker than his, but he knew better than to assume that she might not have been related to him or close to him in some sort of way, like a pack mate or something comparable. To be quite frank, he was somewhat spooked! Seeing her there, following Sceral made him jump! He staggered backwards, clearly startled. Any other raven, rook, or wolf-bird might have taken to the air, but this certain individual... Oh... It must have been embarrassing. He flopped on the ground, moving his wings very much like an olympic swimmer doing laps... in the grass. "Errrf... awwrrrrkkkkkk." He trilled softly, scrambling while attempting to right himself and get his two feet beneath him. Awkwardly he crawled about, when he realized that he had forgotten about the acorn he had found. Darn. He stopped in his tracks, turning his head to acknowledge the two wolves. Wait, wait... he warbled. I forgot something. Into the taller patches of grass he went, searching directly beneath another oak tree for another acorn. |
The raven led and Sceral followed, a strange game of cat and mouse. It teased him now and then, letting him catch up before it flew on ahead, resulting in the yearling have to stop and start running at somewhat regular intervals. How long they went on like this wasn't entirely known by the boy but he started to recognise where he was, where the bird was taking him. The exact reason he remembered this location, though … he just couldn't place it. He racked his brain, desperate to remember.
And then it struck him, like a bolt of lightning leaping up his spine. His mother. Sceral stumbled, losing his footing and falling uselessly to the floor with a dull thud. He yelped, his chin smarting something awful, before scrambling clumsily to right himself. Why? Why had it led him here?
Shaking dirt from his dusty coat, the Oak Tree Bend yearling glared at the raven, blinking as it too stumbled and flopped to the ground. It writhed and flapped, causing the boy to snicker. It looked awfully amusing, but he supposed that something had caused the little creature to trip. He followed the wolf-bird's gaze, his ears pricking at the sound of footfalls.
Another wolf appeared. Older and taller than him, with dark fur that wasn't quite like Triell's. Suddenly, the pale yearling felt very, very self conscious and uncomfortable. She smelt like the pack, sure, but she had not been around for the winter; she knew nothing of Corinna's passing, and yet here she followed the strange duo as they wandered ever closer to his mother's place of death.
“You shouldn't …” He fell quiet, shaking his head. No. That wasn't how he should respond to their appearance. How were they to know? Sceral hadn't. He'd been in for quite a surprise when he had realised himself. “I'm sorry, but I just … why are you following us? This place is … well, it's …” The yearling hung his head, pawing at the ground before mumbling softly. “It's special.”
Spieden stopped in her tracks when the young wolf stumbled and fell. She winced and grit her teeth, though she didn't dare approach him nor try to help in any way, lest she be accused of having any part in tripping him. Her eyes searched ahead for some pothole or root, though she couldn't see one. Fortunately he didn't seem hurt, and was up on his paws quick enough and continued on in following the avian visitor.
Spieden again quietly tagged along, stepping carefully over where the boy had fell in case the ground was more treacherous than it had appeared. She began to wonder for how long she would go unnoticed, until the raven finally caught sight of her, seemingly startled enough to fall over. Spieden herself was startled, though for different reasons, fearing the poor bird was ill when he started to flop around in the grass. But just as quickly he was back on his talons and hopping away.
Spieden was prepared to continue her curious journey after the bird, however, her pack mate had finally taken notice of her. As he began to speak, quiet and hesitating, Spieden drew back, her head tucked against her broad shoulders as her fiery eyes flicked slowly between the boy and the patch of grass the raven had disappeared off into. A single sable forepaw dangled awkwardly at rib height in anticipation of being chased off. She couldn't say she completely understood the reason, but she wasn't necessarily surprised to hear that she wasn't wanted around. 'It's special,' he told her, which she suspected meant something important, though nothing of the scenery stuck out to her.
Her black lips pulled into a thin, long line, apprehensive that she had upset him. She'd hardly been here a week yet she had managed to botch up an interaction within the pack, crossing over some invisible boundary. "I'm sorry... I didn't know, I can leave." She murmured.
let go of the grief, so that you can finally fly... As the two wolves caught up to one another and now-delicate situation was immediately addressed, the raven paid no mind, knowing full well what might have been said. Sceral already knew where the spirit was leading him, and it was his call as to whether or not the other wolf, his pack mate, would be welcome to follow them further or not. He continued to search through the grass, flattening portions of the vibrant green blades with his dark gray feet and black talons before plunging his beak down into the ground. He hopped around the side of the tree, flitting about the roots with utmost vigilance. It seemed the curious (and possibly prying) party had apologized and the raven peered around the trunk of the tree at the duo. He blinked, attempting to assess how the yearling was feeling. One of his feet came forward before he strode on over to where the younger pack wolf stood. With the acorn pinched in his beak, he let out a warbled note, as if to ask if Sceral was ready. Not wanting to press him, though, the avian strutted away, his pace slow until he was confident enough to know that his game of cat and mouse would be reciprocated by someone. In due time, he came upon the characteristic tree. He took a moment to set the green, brown-capped seed on the ground and stare up into the verdant boughs, its leaves as healthy as ever. The breeze rustled the foliage in a series of whispering sounds; he turned to glance over his shoulder, to call to Sceral.... |
Sceral faltered as he looked up to the dark coated wolf. He hadn't expected her to react in such a way. It left him grasping at straws, his mouth opening and closing almost uselessly. The adolescent hadn't meant to come across in a harsh way at all, and he certainly didn't want her to feel out of place. He was just socially awkward and perhaps a little anxious. They were nearing the place of his mother's death, after all. What would she think, seeing him acting so silly? This wolf was a pack mate. He felt as though she'd try to steer him towards being more friendly to the wolves of the Bend. They were like family.
“I didn't know, I can leave.” The pale wolf's ears fell backwards and he shook his head from side to side. “No. No, I'm sorry. It's … it's okay. You don't have to leave.” His tongue flicked out against his dark lips, his gaze stealing away from her to look down at the raven as it stood by him—it was a good excuse to not have to look at her and feel shame for being so cold. Had it hopped off in search of an acorn? Whatever for? It crowed at him and Sceral wondered if, perhaps, his question would be answered soon. The bird continued skittering along and the yearling looked back to the swarthy coated wolf. “I'll tell you about it. When we get there.” He offered a small smile. Every member of Oak Tree Bend deserved to know of the great queen and founder: Corinna Donata.
Sceral turned, following the black feathered bird as if compelled by some greater force. It didn't take long before they stood before the sturdy oak, the Aesir-Donata freezing as he looked up at the green foliage that swayed in the gentle breeze. He inhaled, his lungs full of air before he exhaled a small greeting. “Hi, mum,” he whispered, barely audible against the ambient sounds of the woods. His attention fell, once more, to the raven that beckoned for him to approach and, hesitantly, he crept forwards. He sat next to the feathered critter before glancing over his shoulder to see if the other wolf had, in fact, followed this far.