Swift River Never Forgotten

let the river be swift, but let your feet be faster... July 11th; Nightfall; Partly Cloudy; 75° F/24° C The air was too still, but to quickly beating wings, the night was a warm and welcoming - perfect conditions to fly. Somewhere in the depths of the Sacred Grove, a black-feathered creature was flittering through the canopy, searching for a place to land. He had just been over the Mountain of Dire and was now looking for a suitable perch to rest and replenish his energy. Beneath partly cloudy skies the moon did little to help guide him lest a moonbeam slipped out from behind a cloud and showed him a decent branch. Black talons attached to stick-like black limbs clutched and balanced on each branch as he hopped from one place to another. It wasn't until he saw something peculiar on the forest floor did he stop and gaze downward. Here, even the woodlands were quiet, seemingly devoid of life. In the dark however, it was easy to mistake one thing for another; but, in this particular case, this avian spirit was correct. Everywhere around him the stale scent of fox, wolf, badger, coyote, and deer littered the forest floor, their trails now several hours old. He dug his stark, pointed black beak into the ground, pinching a small pebble between the roof of his mouth and his tongue as he took a good glance around. Long ago, when the realm was still wild and very much untamed, this was the home of the Swift River wolves - and this was the very place where Indru and Corinna's children - Rihael, Kisla, Fenru, Aiyana, Torrel, and Rissa - had been born. The raven hopped about in a playful manner before approaching the base of an ancient tree where an underground den laid long abandoned. With utmost caution, he placed the small round stone at the entrance, nudging it forward in a simple offering. These Tainn's would not be long forgotten. Not on his watch.

(This post was last modified: Jul 12, 2014, 01:22 AM by Spirit of Wildwood.)

Sköll of course, had managed to find her on the northern edges of the Willow Ridge realm, under the same Willow Tree she had claimed just two moons ago as her own little space to sit and ponder and plan. Since the death of Guiness and the birth of her brothers, the girl had been somewhat lost - used to being the center of attention and knowing her place was well an truly above the rest of the pack... well now? She just wasn’t so sure anymore. She had had her heart set on a little sister to groom and bring up in her own image, a proper princess, and instead the gods saw fit to plague her with yet more brothers. A depressing prospect indeed, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love them in her own way.

Her rangy legs had often carried her into the Grove in the past, so when she heard that her brother was heading to the east, and @Angier was headed to the west, she quickly began to range north, her short howl if not reaching the ears of @Elettra, hopefully reaching those of another of her pack mates. The princess would be pulling her weight in this search.

She thought that she may have caught a whiff of her wayward sibling, but an eerie silence had settled over the Grove, almost drowning out the babbling of the nearby river. The hair along her spine began to rise as she dared to continue on her way. A rustling to her right drew her attention as she froze in place and cautiously questioned “@Deacon?”

When there was no response she stepped forward, her ears turning atop her head to pinpoint the location of the shuffler. “De...?” the words fell from her lips as she watched the crow push at the stone with its beak, her brows lowering in disappointment. With a sigh and a shake of her head she muttered under her breath with every intention of continuing on her way. “Stupid bird. Yer can’t eat stones...”

let the river be swift, but let your feet be faster... The raven was just about ready to spread his wings and take flight when someone emerged through the shadows. The calling of a name missed altogether when he had silently offered a small invocation to keep this space true to its name: sacred... as it was one of the very first wolf packs Relic Lore had ever beheld. The girl, who looked newly into her yearling days, made to utter the name again, but instead she scolded him. Scolded him!. The stark black feathers on his chest ruffled. Didn't this girl have any respect? He rounded on her, facing her directly so that he could see her in what little remained of the day's last light. Then, the bird did as was rather befitting and appropriate of his species. He scolded her right back. "CAH-AWWW! CAW!" What he had meant to say was: Foolish girl, do you think I'm stupid? Of course, I can't eat stones. Though very aware that wolves were not the sort to meddle with (unless they were willing or careless enough to share a bit of leftover carrion), the avian creature puffed up his chest and lifted his head in a manner that conveyed his superiority. Again, he attempted to communicate with her, tittering and guffawing as though he were talking to a fledgling. Don't you have any idea about the lands on which you walk? He flapped his wings in a menacing manner, stepping forward as though to ward her away from the den, Go. Begone! Unless you have respects to pay, I suggest you get going... The air picked up then, the warmth of summer blowing over him and through the trees...

(This post was last modified: Jul 13, 2014, 07:10 PM by Spirit of Wildwood.)

The sight of the bird had caused her senses to awaken, rather than focusing on the singular scent of her kin, she took a moment to consider that perhaps there was an easy meal left behind by some other predatory beast. However, the lack of the scent of carrion and the presence of the crow were equally at odds, and when it responded to her rebuke with a ruffle of its feathers and a rather indignant caw the yearling jolted her head back in surprise. When it failed to take flight and instead puffed out its chest and raised its head as if to look down on her from its precarious perch on the ground the dark wolfling’s brow furrowed and her teeth dared to make themselves known with a drawn up lip.

Emboldened by her important tasking as all but an adult now the young wolf dared to take a bold step forward, a short clicking of her teeth sent in the general direction of the bird. She had never been a fan of feathered feasts as there was far too much work to be had plucking the down clear to give ready access to the tender flesh beneath (that and they were often far too fast for the still somewhat gangly youth). Stranger yet was the way the bird responded to her challenge with its own territorial wing flapping and lollipoping lope forwards.

She knew that she should just walk away. Continue on with her task, but something held her rooted in place. Lowering her tail and narrowing her eyes she considered the bird for just a moment longer. “Keep yer stupid stone,” she quietly muttered before turning her face to catch the summer breeze and allowing herself for just a moment to wish that she had wings. Finding her brother would be so much easier if she were looking down to the ground from the sky.

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Nights had been restless for Naia as of late, but instead of tossing and turning uselessly the agouti lady had begun taking long runs, to the outskirts of Cut Rock River and beyond. Running west to east, she usually turned around before the cedars turned to willows, but tonight she wasn’t quite ready yet to return home. Instead she turned north, her pace slowed somewhat as she traveled a now unfamiliar route on a night when the moon was hiding. She came to a wide river, and without another thought she waded up to her belly in the dark, calm waters. It was an unusually still night. Swimming the rest of the way to the opposite bank, Naia continued onward with only a short pause to fling the water from her short summer coat.

The trees on this side of the bank were different. They seemed older somehow, and they twisted in on themselves as if concealing some sort of long-held secret. Naia thought she could hear them whispering, and though the night was still and warm she shivered. The spirits were out tonight. Her ears stood to attention, and she realized that the voices that she heard were not the voices of trees—they were the voices of wolves! Curiosity seized the little scout, and she picked her way toward the commotion with delicate steps in order to remain undetected. A young-looking, shadowy girl came into view, arguing with someone the Naia couldn’t see. A mighty “CAW!” sounded from the branches above, and the entire scene finally revealed itself to Naia. She stepped forward then, clearing her throat audibly to announce her presence.

”Miss,” she greeted the yearling with the respectful nod of a packwolf to another packwolf. She smelled of that Angier fellow.. Willow Ridge they called themselves. ”Sir,” she offered the same respect to the raven, which would no doubt confuse the swarthy girl. ”The raven is a bird deserving the utmost respect,” she explained to the girl in a hushed, reverent tone. ”The spirit of a deceased animal rides a raven into the beyond, after all.” It wasn’t the first time she had to explain this to someone in Relic.. for some reason wolves in this area weren’t taught this belief. It seemed obvious to Naia though. Why else would crows flock to every death site? ”And the biggest, most regal ravens, like this one.. these are the ones the wolves ride. Do you know someone who could be riding this raven?” She meant it rhetorically—of course she didn’t expect the girl to spill out her heart to a complete stranger.

”I’m Naia, from Cut Rock River,” she offered, switching back to her usual friendly tone. It was laced with a sadder note than usual, though seeing as the girl had never met Naia she probably wouldn’t notice the difference. Seeing the raven had reminded her of Shade, one of her first friends upon arriving in the Lore. She had made her home with him until he was murdered by a woman from his past.. a woman from Willow Ridge, in fact. Naia didn’t hold it against this strange girl of course, she would have been barely walking when it happened. ”Did I hear you calling for someone?” Perhaps she could be of assistance to the stranger.. that would certainly be more productive than running aimlessly with only her tumultuary thoughts for company.

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let the river be swift, but let your feet be faster... Of course the girl was not afraid - she was several times bigger than him. She should have been fearful, though, considering just who it was she was speaking to, but as it was, the raven could not be bothered to try and cross the language barrier. To make her see that all around her, there were still traces of evidence that a thriving wolf pack had once lived here within the Grove. "Keep yer stupid stone," she uttered. The feathered creature chirruped once, but it was not long until another soul joined them beneath the trees. He could sense her approach and immediately he fluttered up into the branches of the old, moss-covered tree, scolding Morganna once more. "Miss," the newcomer addressed the Willow Ridge princess. This one had more sense, she actually took a moment to acknowledge him, too... "Sir." The raven cooed in reply, staring down at the young ladies from his perch as Naia explained a bit of spirituality that he, in his own way and tongue, was all too familiar with. It was curious as well as soothing, really, to listen as her voice rose and fell and lilted from one word to another. Perhaps the yearling could take her words to heart, and maybe the following year she would understand why he stopped by the places he had visited. Just maybe. Introductions were made now and it seemed his point had been driven home by the other woman's words. It was probably a good time to go, to visit the next landmark or sanctuary. He hopped along his thin branch, clicking his beak in a mischievous manner as he prepared to leave. Before the Ridge wolf could answer or respond, a rather unsightly trail of white goop oozed down the right side of her dark-furred face. His beak parted in a sort of impish grin and just like that, with the unfolding of his wings, he had taken off with the breeze. Another harsh cry filled the air, but this time, it was a string of cawww's that could have been considered as an enthusiastic guffaw; the chortling sound quickly trailing off into the night...