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[Slaying the Dreamer]

ooc: Postdated to March 28th, if that's okay! I've got soul but I'm not a soldier A drop of water struck the tip of his nose, instantly snapping him awake. The big male was breathing hard, pale eyes wide as he tried to figure out where he was. He must have fallen asleep on his way home... The scrawny cottontail rabbit he had snagged as a surprise for his mate was now crushed beneath his body. Still edible, but hardly presentable. Grumbling his disapproval at the muddy fur he was now sporting, Slay struggled to his wide paws, still befuddled from the narcoleptic spell he had just suffered. It was different this time, though. He had a dream. Some wolves dreamt, others didn't. That was no big deal. But it mattered to Slay, since he slipped between the waking and the dreaming world so frequently. Everything was a blur, if he didn't pay attention. He had been relieved when, after his acceptance to this pack, the dizzying nightmares had ceased. He hadn't thought much of it, until the somber conversation with Cwmfen... Her spiritual beliefs were too similar to the ones his father had preached to simply ignore their meaning. It had both intrigued and frightened him, and it was part of the reason he had not worked up the nerve to ask for her help. Perhaps he really was denying some part of himself, trying to pretend that his past did not exist. Sighing heavily, the black-daubed arctic wolf scooped the rabbit carcass in his jaws and padded onward beneath the boughs of the frozen grapevines, intending to leave the kill at the church he shared with the snowy-white Rosea. She was the only one he could trust, really. It wasn't intentional; it was just a side-effect of falling asleep without warning. Most wolves didn't have the patience to wait for him to wake up, get ahold of his surroundings, and pick up the conversation again. Somehow Cercelee alone did, wonderful queen that she was. He felt like he could use some friends, though. Staying in this pack had lent some maturity to his views, but also a touch of bitterness. He had wasted too many years of his life. "...At least spring is finally coming," he mumbled around the mouthful of prey. Flayra had left, Rath had joined. Nature kept everything balanced... most of the time. But he was still worried about Firefly's pups missing, and the dark rumors about Svara's eyesight. His dream had been about violence and chaos; he could only hope this was the worst of it.

[Cwmfen nic Graine]

I’ll play~
500+

Cwmfen walked easily. The wounds upon her body were fading, healing, and they no longer tugged with every move. Yet, the warrior did not push this progress, and she did not shift down into lupus form. It was not time yet—she recognized this. And while the warrior was patient, able to endure without complaint, she was slowly becoming restless. Her optime form had its uses, but with the wounds, she had been able to do very little. Moreover, she liked her lupus form, loved it more than any other. She loved the natural way her body moved, her mind moved, when she saw the world, experienced the world. But being in her optime form had shown her a new way to look at the world. It was not particularly one she enjoyed, however, for she felt very human and exposed at times. But she saw the beauty of the bipedal shape of her body and the way it could move through martial rhythms. And now she traveled through Dahlia, testing the limits of her own healing body as well as the range of movements permitted by the form.

Within the packlands, she felt no need to carry her spear. Above, the pied Raven shadowed her every path, crawing occasionally in the slowly warming world. At times, his calls echoed deep within her soul, as if speaking, calling, to her Dreams. But other times, as it was now, the call was dull and ordinary, almost peculiarly so. And the Warrior and Raven Dreamer tried not to bother herself often about such trifles. At least she would still Dream in the nighttime hours when she floated in the limbo of wakefulness and sleep. But now, the female trotted, her movements silent and fluid. Her speed was not great, but it was faster than she had been able to push herself in a long while. And her soul was content as the white orbs gazed about her, drinking in the beauty of the natural world that she loved so dearly. And yet not so dearly as war.

Suddenly, the female caught a familiar scent. Slay. She had not seen him in a very long time, not even after she had heard of his mateship with the Rosea, Cercelee. The woad warrior pulled up short, her head held high as her ears swiveled about, searching for the sound of her packmate. She head a sound in the silence of the distance, and, though she wasn’t certain, the female started up once more. And it was not long before her meticulous observations were rewarded by the vision of the diamond marked male ahead. With a light smile, the female approached him, coming in from his side. Her looked a bit muddy, but he held a rabbit in his jaws and so she assumed that his state was due to his Hunting duties. She thought she heard something about spring as she pulled up alongside him. “Hello, Slay,” the alto melody greeted, and she dipped her maw in greeting. The female practically towered over him for their different forms, but she could not help it now. Perhaps, if they paused to converse, she would be able to sit at his side, but for now, she would walk alongside him. “I have not seen you in a long while....” and her voice was apologetic. “How have you been?”

[Slaying the Dreamer]

ooc: Yay! =^__^= I've got soul but I'm not a soldier Still somewhat shaken from his dream, Slay couldn't help but act slightly startled as Cwmfen seemed to materialize at his side. The graceful warrior was always so attuned to her surroundings, she seemed to simply melt into nature, looking as though she belonged despite her outlandish markings or bipedal form. She was one of the few wolves Slay had seen that made the two-legger form look good. A grin lit up his ice-blue eyes, and he lay the rabbit at his paws, letting his ebony-dipped tail wave a friendly tempo behind him. "Cwmfen, my friend!" he crowed, pleased to see her again. Both of them had been wrapped up in their duties; she, as the pack Adonis, and his own responsibilities as a mate. Slay had never admitted to the exotic attraction he'd once felt for her, or the subsequent fading that time had wrought. She was too wild for him - she deserved to be free, not tied down by the possessiveness his needy nature desired. The flirty male was more comfortable than one might assume in his monogamous role. "I've been well, of course - settling down, and whatnot. What of yourself, though? I've hardly seen you since your big promotion!" A whiskery grin curled onto his muzzle, and he cocked his head roguishly. She was always too modest with her accomplishments - in the time she had been here, she had soared to one of the leading positions in their pack, secured alliances from nearly every packmate above and below her, and dutifully shouldered as much unflagging responsibility as she possibly could. In that sense, she was the complete opposite to Slay's laid-back laissez-faire policy on life. He settled onto his haunches, unhurried to return to his den. After all, there was no rush, as long as Cercelee wasn't upset by him conversing with the white-eyed warrior. "Do tell, do tell - what manner of mischief have you been occupying yourself with these days?" She carried herself so fluidly as a werewolf, he did not notice the slight stiffness arising from the wounds she had sustained, or the uneasiness she contemplated. He did want to speak to her about his dream, though. Of all people, she would understand the best.

[Cwmfen nic Graine]

500+

The diamond marked male seemed slightly startled at her arrival, but the black fae supposed that she had broken into his thoughts; she hoped that those thoughts or the train of thought wouldn’t have been forced to forgetfulness by her arrival, for the fae, who valued thought, would not wish to disrupt something that may never be thought of again. But the male seemed unperturbed, pleased, even, to see her. Cwmfen offered the dual coloured male a smile, a soft, warm gesture, in return, the white orbs greeting him as her own tail wagged in response. The black fae was glad that he did indeed consider her a friend, for surely the warrior considered the hunter to be one. Even now, she felt comfortable in his presence, not overly shy as she had been in their first encounter. Perhaps such comfort came with familiarity, and such familiarity had come from that day in which he had taught her about partner hunting. It was a lesson she would never forget. Nor would she forget the friendship.

“I’m glad that you’ve been well,” the quiet melody remarked, and her words were spoken sincerely. “Providing for the Rosea, I see,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, gesturing to the rabbit at his feet. She had not heard much from this couple, but the black, woad marked female thought this to be a good sign. If she head as much about the two as she did about Haku and Firefly, the relationship could have proven to be a mismatched one. But, to the contrary, it seemed that this couple between the Rosea and the Head Hunter was stable and, hopefully, blessed by happiness. “How is the mated life? Have you thought about pups....?” The white orbs smiled as she inquired, hoping that her curiosity was not too bold. At times, the warrior was still unsure of the social stipulations. She sat with him, moving slowly—but not to slow. It was only when she was setting herself upon the cold earth that the long scar upon her back tugged with aggravation. The warrior paused, resituating herself before relaxing. The white orbs looked back up at her packmate before she answered.

“Lately, I haven’t been up to much,” the warrior admitted quietly. “I got in a fight with a male from Inferni a couple weeks back. He defeated me—but at least I’ll live another day.” The alto voice laughed then with silver tones that danced upon the still cool air, but there was no bitterness in her tone. Life was just another opportunity to try again, and the warrior would not miss this opportunity that she had scarcely received. The fae made a mental not to repay the black, blue-eyed male that had come just in time; she would have to do that soon. But she turned her attention back to this male. “Oh, I met your friend—Rath.” The female remembered, suddenly, the ruddy hued male she had met in Wolfville. Rath had said that Slay had been the one to admit him at the boarders.

“But what of you? Have you had any trouble lately?” The warrior was thinking particularly of physical trouble. She herself had been attacked, and then Svara had been blinded by her own mother, who would soon be punished. She hoped that there would not be any more of such trouble, especially among the pack members.

[Slaying the Dreamer]

ooc: Is it okay if this is pushed ahead a few days, to March 28th? Cercelee just adopted some orphans. :) I've got soul but I'm not a soldier The Adonis sat down beside him, gingerly adjusting herself so as not to strain her back. Slay glanced up with concern in his pale gaze, not having realized that she was recovering from a fight. "You fought someone from Inferni? Damn! You should be more careful!" He winced as the words blurted out, and glanced away, embarrassed. He knew it would be an insult to offer concern to the warrior, and he had not intended to sound like a nagging hen. Still, it worried him - his own Cercelee had gotten into a fight not too long ago, although it had been with one of their own packmates. It was an unspoken agreement not to mention it around, but the image of Cer, her white fur stained pink with blood, was ingrained into his memory. "I just meant, take care of yourself," he amended gruffly, sighing. He was never around when others needed him, was he? The only wolf he'd managed to help had been Hanna, and then he had turned around and broken her heart. Life was cruel like that. "Thought about pups? Well, not until last night!" Slay snorted, shaking his head with a comical resignation. It surprised him to see such a glint of mischief in Cwmfen's eye, but no topic was too bold for Slay. "I'm not exactly father material, so I had at least planned on waiting some time before bringing that up. But last night, one of Cercelee's distant relatives dumped a litter of five on our doorstep! I couldn't believe that anyone would entrust their children to me. I assume they had no idea I was living with Cercelee." He smiled lopsidedly, letting his tail thump playfully against the muddy ground. The mated pair had decided to accept the unexpected responsibility, and raise the de Sadira siblings as members of Dahlia de Mai. What with Firefly's sons, Deuce's daughter, and now their adopted children, there would be pups everywhere! He might complain, but Slay was a good-hearted wolf, and he would do his best to look out for them. It just secretly worried him that Cer would be too busy to help out, and the pups would rely on him too much. Cwmfen didn't seem like the motherly type, though. This might be the one topic they'd discuss that she might not understand. He easily accepted the subject change when it presented itself, smiling at the memory of his shy acquaintance. "Oh, Rath! He seems like a good guy, reliable and such. I'm sure he's gonna fit in well here. As to troubles, well, not really... At least not something I can put my paw on. It's funny that I ran into you just now, because I just had the first dream I can remember in a long time...!"

[Cwmfen nic Graine]

Sure~ That’s fine with me ^=^
500+

The warrior winced inwardly, but she only offered Slay a smile of understanding. She was careful, and she could take care of herself.... Yet, at times the warrior wondered about that. The day she had been attacked, she had been careless, and she had not been able to take care of herself. But that was why she had been defeated, and she would live to learn how to fix her ways. And the warrior understood this way of life, for she lived with Death biting at her heels. But the passion that she had and the protection of the pack was a far greater purpose in her mind than her own life and death. And she did not fear the Death that trailed her every move. Even the Raven that epitomized her Dream was a symbol of Death, and he too shadowed her move. It was something that she understood all too well. “I’ll try to,” the alto melody said with a golden mirth. A small dent in her pride was nothing compared to the friendship she had with him. “But that’s why I have you and the pack to take care of me.” Indeed, Haku had been there for her, and he had said that he would go to the Inferni boarders and demand that they hand the perpetrator over before he would personally hunt him down. And had the roles been switched, the female would have done the same. And she would do it for any of the pack members. “But I live knowing that Death is near; and Death will come only when my time is through.” The black fae smiled softly. Such was the fate of all warriors.

Cwmfen raised an eyebrow interestedly as the diamond hued male continued. But it was not exactly what she had been anticipating. In fact, the news of pups being dropped at the Rosea’s door came as a complete surprise, something that the warrior would never have guessed. But Cercelee seemed like a good mother, even if she were to be the surrogate mother in this particular relationship. Cercelee was a caring leader, patient and understanding. It was what held the pack together, and Cwmfen and especially Haku would balance that out. But she believed that Cercelee would enjoy such a thing in life. And perhaps Slay would too. The warrior smiled brightly, her tail wagging behind her several times before she began to feel even that effort in her back. “I’m sure Cercelee would enjoy the mother role! And don’t worry Slay, you’ll be fine. Cercelee will be there for you.” The a lot melody was warm as she spoke. “If anything, they will test your patients and your energy.” Then the female laughed, a golden sound, and it was a song seldom heard since her attack. But with her recovery, the warrior would return to her lighthearted nature.

“He struck me as that type as well,” the warrior agreed with a nodd. She trusted Slay’s judgement, and perhaps she trusted in him more because Cercelee did, for the black fae trusted her leader deeply. And if Slay had let Rath through the boarders, admitting him into the pack, she knew that Rath would not cause trouble—the destructive kind anyway. But at the mention of the dream, Cwmfen’s woad bound ears flickered. The white orbs watched the other carefully now, as if wondering at the manner of this dream. She remembered when she had told him of the Dreamers and the Warriors, and she had promised him help if he required it. And Cwmfen did not forget it. She would help him if he needed and wanted it. “What manner of Dream?” The alto melody was filled with curiosity as she wondered whether this male were somehow related to the Dreamers of her land.

[Slaying the Dreamer]

ooc: sorry to make you wait! I still owe you a Corvus thread, too! I've got soul but I'm not a soldier Cwmfen graciously let his faux-pas slide, much to Slay's relief. He sometimes forgot the old customs he had been drilled in, growing up; it had been his choice to abandon much of his cultural heritage, but there were times when he still found the need to be polite the way his father had instructed him, so long ago. He wondered if his imbalanced alpha of a father was still alive, driving their tribe into madness. Maybe he had birthed a new heir by now, although the odds were against any of those wolves ever bearing the holy markings like Slay had. "It's true. But I'd prefer if none of us found our Death anytime soon; I've grown too fond of our packmates to give them up." He grinned wolfishly, making light of the morbid statement. He didn't have to agree aloud that he would look after her; she knew that he was on her side. "Patience... I wonder how long mine will last," he drawled ruefully, ears drooping in a comical manner. He had heard all the "horror" stories about puppies, about how much boundless energy they had, about how they needed constant supervision, about how they attracted trouble... He and Cercelee had dodged a bullet in that their new family was well past the teething stage, and already knew how to speak, albeit in a foreign language. The worst part should already be behind them. Still, that meant they understood what it meant to be abandoned, and Slay wasn't sure he was the best role model to fill their father's position. Cwmfen laughed lightly, and Slay glanced up in surprise. She did not laugh frequently, and it was such a pleasant sound, too... He smiled at her, grateful for the support. "Well, you're welcome to stop by and lend a hand, if the mood strikes you," he added with a devilish grin. He could not picture the dignified warrior trying to instruct the rambunctious youngsters in the arts of war and discipline... As their conversation turned to the philosophical again, Slay's pale eyes grew distant, trying to recall the elements of his phantasmal encounter. "It wasn't... pleasant," he explained slowly, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. Suddenly it was harder to recall; he should have focused more on remembering the details as soon as he awoke, rather than lamenting the mud in his fur. "I'm sorry; it's all hazy now, and dark. I just remember something approaching, like a dark stormcloud, something ominous." He sighed, smiling lopsidedly. "I'm probably just stressed out... It's been so long since I could remember one, though. A dream, that is." He itched to ask her questions, more about the Warriors and Dreamers of her land, but protocol held him back. She would probably have something to say about his portent, and it would not do to cut her off. They were in no hurry.

[Cwmfen nic Graine]

That’s okay! And I’d love a Corvus one, ^=^ We could start it after this one is finished if you’d prefer that~
500+

Unable to respond in any other way, the warrior simply smiled. She knew of what he spoke and of what he didn’t speak, and it made her appreciate the course her life had taken. Before, she had run alone, avoiding her father by traveling in the ice world of the North. Food had been scarce there, but the cold washed away her scent with a celerity that did not exist within the warmer continents, and she had been able to avoid being found by her father. But the warrior had not been able to truly exercise the will of her passion save for upon those unfortunate to threaten her food, shelter, or life, however transient those things might have been. And then she had traveled down, coming ultimately to these lands. And there was safety here—she could feel it. It was not the security felt by a pup in the protection of its parents but the security of the knowledge that one could rely upon another. It was one that she preferred. And even if she did move about with Death at her heels, she was no longer alone. Thus was the nature of her dichotomic solitude.

A soft smile flickered across her maw. “You will be surprised,” the alto melody assured the dual colored male. Patience was a strange thing found in strange places. “Perhaps I will come one day to meet them before they grow older,” the warrior mused aloud. She was not particularly fond of the younger creatures, disliking the lack of attention. It was a strange thing for her to dislike, but it was simply a dislike applied to all creatures regardless of age. And yet, the coyote of Inferni, Ezekiel, was both young and disciplined. He was a wonder to the warrior, for his manner and soul were quite refreshing. He was the hope of the future relations between Inferni and Dahlia de Mai, and the warrior would work to allow Cercelee’s wishes to persist. Perhaps these pups would hold just as much promise, and so the warrior would go to see them if only to ascertain this one curiosity. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to help; I know so little of these things.” And the warrior had no trouble admitting to such a thing.

The woad bound warrior shifted slightly as she listened to the male’s words. Her mind was moving quickly, more so than it appeared. “One should not disregard a Dream, especially in times of stress. It is the stress that calls the Dream, for stress moves our minds to seek answers.” The warrior paused for a moment, considering the male’s words. “That this warning of Darkness should come now to you when there had been no Dreams is significant.... My own Dreams have been plagued by the Dark.” The white orbs looked up at the soft blue eyes as she admitted this fact, wondering if the same Darkness was being warned of in these Dreams. “The Dream is like a guide in your life; it may not be clear now what it is that you Dream, but it will become clear....” The words were spoken slowly but with a certainty. Perhaps she would have been able to help, but she knew not of the Dark that plagued her own Dreams.

[Slaying the Dreamer]

words: 400 ooc: If you don't mind my slow-ness, that would please me greatly! =^_^= I've got soul but I'm not a soldier "I know so little about them as well," Slay admitted woefully, "but I would be happy to introduce you to them. Three sisters, two brothers." He let his ebony-daubed tail wave behind him, pleased that his friend would even consider paying a visit to his patchwork family. He wanted as much advice as he could garner about rearing pups, hoping that he would not lead them astray somehow, make them avoid authority and commitment as he so frequently did. Nearly five years old now, and still learning how to act like an adult. And Cwmfen was so wise beyond her years! He was certain with her patience that she could tame even the wildest of offspring. He didn't know that she had actually accepted that very task, trying to instill discipline in the wayward Svara Thames. "Your raven," he said finally, pale eyes studying her blank ones. "I've... seen you with him, for some time now. That's... it, right? Your Dream?" He had the unsettling feeling in his stomach that he was speaking about something taboo, something too personal to put into words. Perhaps it was his many superstitions, but it was the reason he had not asked since the first time he had seen the eerie avian. "Is it always a bird...?" There were other wolves he had met with feathered companions, and the bond was something to marvel at. Perhaps it was all some sort of spiritual enlightenment. He had never dreamed of animals other than wolves, and he had been told as a child that the wolves he saw in his slumber were ghosts of ancestors long-passed... That he bore the fur of the husky savior from generations ago, and thus was the link to their heritage itself. His father never bothered to sire another heir while Slay was around... It had been a foolish mistake, because Slay had rejected their tribe and its ways. He did not want an arranged mateship, especially not with his own cousin, and he could not bear to lead the doddering pack of xenophobes into another era of isolation. He had never really forgotten the old ways, though... and being around Cwmfen always brought up memories. He valued her stoic companionship, as much as it often unsettled him to think that there might be things beyond the world he saw around him. "My own Dreams have been plagued by the Dark..."

[Cwmfen nic Graine]

That’s okay! And I’d love a Corvus one, ^=^ We could start it after this one is finished if you’d prefer that~
It’s fine with me~ ^=^
500+

“That would be a pleasure,” the alto melody responded in those dancing tones. She truly needed to get beyond her discomfort of pups because the pup population of Dahlia de Mai was growing quite rapidly. Already, it seemed, there were five more additions. The Head Warrior marveled at the patience that must command Cercelee and Slay. The woman knew that pups could be quite difficult, and she wondered how it was that the Rosea managed it. But then, the white leader had always been quite patient and loving, and she knew that the white fae would be a good mother. She would take care of these orphaned pups, and Slay, with Cercelee’s guidance, could do no less. The woman admitted that she was relieved that the care of the pups had not fallen to Firefly; it was not necessarily anything specific that the black fae had against the Acer, but that demeanor would not benefit the developing minds of the pups. The warrior, who at least knew the ways of self control and discipline, knew this.

The woman’s attention was returned to the matter of Dreaming. The woad bound ears pricked forward as she listened to the Head Hunter. The woman nodded silently, listening to the almost uncomfortable undertones in his words. But this was not a matter that the woman had difficulty discussing, if there were such a matter. A soft smile of encouragement was given to the diamond marked male. “Yes, the Raven is my dream, but the bird that follows me... he is not my Dream.” She paused for a moment, struggling to properly apply the words to the knowledge in her mind. “He is the epitome of it, but he is not the thing that makes me Dream. That comes from within and beyond with the gods.” The woman wondered if the male believed in such things; she knew that there were several religious ideals that characterized the inhabitants of these lands, but not all ideals had to conflict, as she had learned with Bane. “I do not know why the Raven follows me—it is not customary for such a thing to occur. Often, to allow others to know which animal guides their Dream, the Dreamers would incorporate parts of the animal—the pelt, a feather, a foot, even—into their clothing or upon their weapons and necklaces.” Perhaps the male had seen such a thing...? She did not want him to be confused with the nature of the Dream animal of her culture, especially because he seemed to struggle with his own Dreaming.

The woman considered his next inquiry. “No,” the soft melody replied. “Birds are quite common—the wren and the eagle being the most powerful. But my own Dream animal is appropriate to the deities I follow and the life path upon which I travel.” It was the colouring of the Raven that was most disconcerting, for it was the exact markings of her father. But she tried not to consider that, for she did not even know what the implications would be, if there were any at all. “But there are other dream animals—frogs, foxes, mice. There is no restriction upon what it may be. It has but to make itself manifest.” The woman paused once more, allowing the male to take in what it was that she explained. “Not everyone is that kind of Dreamer,” she said suddenly, but she did not know why the male was so concerned.

[Slaying the Dreamer]

WC: 411 I've got soul but I'm not a soldier Slay listened raptly to her patient explanations, her cool alto voice soothing as ever. Cwmfen seemed to be more talkative than the last time they had spoken; perhaps she truly was at home here, in their pack of flowers. Sometimes her highly spiritual nature made him wonder whether she would be better suited for the ethereal tribe of AniWaya, but... it seemed her culture as a warrior was more important to her, and she would remain as their most elegant defender. That much he was glad for; the Head Hunter knew little of the surrounding wolf packs, and now more than ever remained on his own territory. She gave him a subtle smile at the mention of the Raven; it eased his concern that he might have said something inappropriate, and he perked his white ears forward with interest. "So... he's just a follower, then? You have the spirit of a raven, and he was drawn to follow you because of that kinship...?" Slay offered, simplifying her antiquated speech into his own deliberately lowbrow way of speaking. That would make sense, in a way; most spirit guides could only be seen by their 'sponsor', so to speak. It relieved him, in a way. Slay could be a very private person when it came to his ghosts, and he did not want to be seen in the company of a strange creature he would have to explain to others. A silly and vain concern, but nonetheless a valid one for him. Perhaps that meant his Dream would be a secretive animal, one defensive or camouflaged. He never did like to stand out, since his fur used to draw so much unwanted attention. "Thank you for humoring my questions," he rumbled, a pleased smile wreathing his muzzle. "As always, you've given me much to think about. It's something I wonder about because it's something I've denied for so long... I've been puttering around for some eighteen seasons now, and I've never recalled anything trying to 'manifest' itself. I suppose I just want to know... Am I something special after all? Could my dreams be of use, or was my father wrong all along, and I'll just be a useless sleepy wolf...?" He tilted his head, pale eyes pensive as he looked to the trees looming above them. He had not had the time to be introspective in recent months. He found now that he had not changed as much as he had hoped...

[Cwmfen nic Graine]

Sorry for the delay~
500+

“I suppose so,” the soft alto replied—it made sense, the way he put it. She paused for a moment, the white orbs filled with something inquisitive and uncertain. “But I honestly don’t know.” With a smile, she admitted it openly, without shame or embarrassment. It was not the nature of mortals to know all. “I did not have the proper guidance when I was young, and so I know very little of what I should.” And yet, this did not necessarily matter. She was a Warrior before she was a Dreamer, and while Dreaming would be an important part of her life, it was the martial path that she followed. And the warrior often did not trouble herself with things of no concern to herself; there was no point in dwelling too deeply upon a matter that could not be solved. The protection of the pack and her own training mattered most. This was also a reason why her social skills, while improving, were lacking. And yet these inabilities and lack of knowledge had not yet stopped her.

“It’s no trouble at all,” the woman replied sincerely. It was always better to learn, and there was no shame in asking. She herself knew very little about the human constructs, and often she had had to inquire about things that seemed quite obvious to another. The things and tools of which Henratha had spoken likewise had been lost upon the warrior, though she figured that they must be some human things. Even when she had seen and felt what Bane had done to her wounds, it was strange—stitches they had been named, but it was all new to her; the warrior had often simply let the wounds heal, but it was to this strange thing of humans that had allowed her to life (not to disregard the wolf himself who had spared her). Absently the woman’s hand strayed to her back, feeling the last bit of that snaking scar with a mild curiosity. The white orbs fell back into the past for a moment before she broke her own thoughts. Cwmfen turned back to the Hunter—it was better for him to know things than to not, she reminded herself.

Slay’s words struck her as uncharacteristic, but had she truly known him deeply? Most of her relations with the pack members seemed superficial, she thought, but she hoped that she had done her job well. “Do not define yourself with the past, Slay,” the soft melody warned gently. “Here, in the present, the past has brought you, but we do not live in the past. Here, in the present, you have had much success. You hold the leading Hunter rank. You’ve fallen in love and taken a mate. Life here is gentle, and now you raise pups to live in this world. Need there be something more?” The woman’s white orbs tried to look into those blue eyes that were fixed upon the forest about them. She had told him before: Not everyone is that kind of Dreamer. And Dreaming is not a measure of worth. Worth is not merely measured by another but by the self, and he must understand that he was not useless.

[Slaying the Dreamer]

WC: 411 Since this is dated back in March, I thought it was getting a touch old... Want to wrap it up? C: I've got soul but I'm not a soldier "I hear that," Slay agreed with a sigh. He had not learned much of anything as a youth, before throwing it all away. Certainly, had he the chance to repeat his childhood, he would have made all of the same decisions; it just felt like there was some sort of cultural void in his being, where he could have had some sort of beliefs to fall back on. Even though Cwmfen claimed to know so little, her knowledge was still vastly superior to his own. "I don't know what kind of Dreamer I am, but you'll be the first to know," he added softly, pale eyes pleasant. His old name sounded strange on his tongue - he was glad that so few souls around him knew it. Her frosted-white eyes caught his gaze, and he smiled guiltily, ears tipped back with humility. "...You're right, of course," he admitted freely, his laid-back mannerisms trickling back. It was an insult to Cercelee, her pack, and the de Sadiras to call himself useless, since they all had their reasons to value his worth. It was hard for the self-conscious wolf not to doubt himself sometimes, but it was usually a lament saved for solitude, not for the company of friends. "The present becomes the past so quickly, it's easy to get caught up in it. But I should be more focused on the here and now, so thanks again, mate," he replied with a wink. Once upon a time, his flirting had embarrassed her, made her blush, even. But that felt like a lifetime ago, and it seemed both of them had moved on. They mustn't define themselves by the past. The long-forgotten cottontail rabbit lay beside his muddy paws, rag-doll limbs limp on the cold ground. Seeing it reminded him of his original task, before he had fallen asleep on his way home. He would have missed Cwmfen if not for his involuntary slumber, so for that he was grateful, but... "I'd better get this little lad home." He rose to his paws, feeling his joints creak in protest after the inactivity. "It... was a pleasure speaking to you, my friend. I hope we can see each other again, sooner than last time," he added wryly - hadn't it been late autumn when they had spoken last? "And do feel free to visit the church whenever the mood strikes you. If I'm home, I'd be happy to introduce you to the little ones."