[ P ] Mockingbird Valley

Is ait an mac an saol -
Life is strange.

It was still early morning, and Blythe rested beside a lazy creek. She had been up the entire night, hunting in the darkness, which was rather difficult for an Arctic wolf to achieve. Unsuccessful and weary, the wolfess stared with blank eyes across the water. But she did not dare to look down.

The guard had been intentional to leave as much damage as was possible to the woman’s cheek. And since she had been ordered to face execution, no one had bothered to provide her any relief from the wound, which should have been better healed by now. But Blythe had no healing knowledge beyond what was necessary to help the cuts and scrapes of her sons when they were still young.

Without the aid of a healer, her face was looking rough. The white wolfess could not bear to bring herself to look at her reflection in the water’s edge as she leaned closer – not because she was ashamed of her new face, only angry that the Royalists had been the ones to do it.


An unwanted sound nearby alerted her to the presence of another. The femme muttered under her breath, ”Chan ann an-duigh…” - not today. It was unlikely she could sneak away without being seen now, and so Blythe lowered her face toward the ground to hide her ghastly wound – the telltale sign that she was a wanted criminal. She demanded in the old language, in a cold, fierce voice that still found defiance: ”Cò thu?” - who are you?


@Mordred

A hush had fallen over the forest as Mordred crept delicately through the trees, careful not to make a sound. In times like these with threats around every corner you can't be too cautious. The scent of a rabbit caught his nose as he loped along and abating hunger suddenly became the primary objective. The very tree themselves appeared to bend and twist out of Mordred's path, the leaves underfoot barely audible but to the most sensitive of ears.

Then the scent morphed. Intermingling with another more familiar scent. Somebody was nearby. Taking precautions, Mordred silently stalked this new presence and peered through the underbrush towards a wolf who appeared to be resting by a creek. Mordred feels a sense of wariness wash over him, but for some reason he trusted this wolf. Unfortunately the decision of whether to reveal himself was taken out of his hands by a small misstep and a cracking branch underfoot.

The stranger immediately averted her eyes by turning toward the soil in the riverbank before boldly exclaiming, "Who are you?" He thought about the question for a moment before replying, "A friend to most. Now might I ask what you're doing in this neck of the woods?"

Is ait an mac an saol -
Life is strange.

The beast who approached did not appear to be a Highlander, which was the most Blythe could have hoped for in such a situation. He was dressed in shades of smoke, with a mane of snowy white. Her gaze remained downward cast, but her ears pricked forward expectantly.

It seemed that the stranger understood her when she spoke her native tongue, that which belonged to the Highlanders where the others had let it fade from memory. He responded simply, but in the language of the rest of Rionnach, which inspired the hint of a smirk on her pale muzzle. "A friend to most.” Despite her tarnished condition, the ivory woman could not help but respond with a question: ”And what are you to the rest?”

The male continued with a question of his own: “Now might I ask what you're doing in this neck of the woods?" Her shoulders rolled in a shrug as finally she turned her facade to face the stranger, revealing the jagged scars upon her visage. ”You might,” Blythe responded in silky tones, with the hint of mischief apparent in her remaining good eye, which watched the stranger closely for any hint of malice or violence. She was not in the mood for either today, and she addressed him as the stranger he was: ”You are so curious, coigreach… Does this land belong to you?”


For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself

@Mordred