It was a new day of glorious reign. She had risen from her makeshift bed one day past, refreshed. When had she arrived here, in truth? She was uncertain, but she knew she had not slept for numerous days. But then, her purpose had been fulfilled, and she had slept like a puppy, curled up into a ball in a hollowed trunk she had found. Then a day and night was spent trying to find a more suitable place, and still she had not found anything. Was there not an abandoned house here? She would not return to Wolfville, for it was not for her. Instead, the little gray wolf trekked the area, zig-zagging her way across forest and less dense vegetation in pursuit of a suitable home. She wore a soft smile.

Her dress may be tattered, but she did not seem to mind, or even to know. Perhaps she did not know that it was not supposed to look like that - it was hard to tell. She was not bothered about her appearance, in truth, and her mane was not well-kept, either. A necklace of white lay around her neck, seemingly made from old, unwashed bones. Tiny gray paws carried her to a height where she could spy the whole landscape ahead, and she leaned on her walking stick as she studied the ground below her and plotted a path in her mind. For once, the forest was not teeming with life around her, and the creatures seemed to be still asleep. With fog creeping in and threatening to blanket the tree tops, to obscure her view, she decided to sit there and wait it out instead. From her crude leather bag she produced an old tattered boook - her book of fairy tales. Except this was all very real.

Hello, I refuse to make use of dialogue
The creatures she speaks to and I reference are all imaginary
WC: 368

For once, she was without the constant chatter of her companions. Sometimes looking up at the sound of her surroundings, she found that it was only a squirrel, or something falling from a tree nearby. The gray lady merely looked at them before returning her focus to the pages in her book. What a paradox it was that she found relief in her little friends' continued absence that morning, and yet here she was, reading about them. She laughed sometimes at the inaccurate descriptions -- if this book only knew them like she did! And there was no mention of her steed anywhere, only his brother, the water horse. Oh well, one would hardly expect the humans to be very clever, since they had eradicated themselves and left their kingdom for Vesle to claim.

Sounds disrupted her concentration, sounds of a different nature. Curious, her ears perked as she looked up, but saw nothing below. It could be pray, coming this way. An easy meal for a scrawny one as herself was not something she'd object to, and she placed the book on the ground before standing up to get a better view. Something moved down there, that much was certain. Moments passed, and disappointment came rushing in to replace her hope: the scent was strange, but not prey. Almost like... something long dead, but not. And dirty. Not fearing that someone would steal her book on her land, Vesle merely left it and started down the hill, her tattered dress moving in jagged waves behind her, some tears long enough to snag branches. Her movement was not hindered by it, though, and she merely kept moving as if its ruin did not bother her at all. It did not take long before she saw a cloaked creature, and stepped forward noisily, demanding its attention. Her approach was wordless, but unmistakeable: tail raised, mane bristling, posture erect and her ears defiant. Teeth shone from behind partially withdrawn lips and spoke plainly. This cloaked creature was on her turf, and Vesle did not like it. Her tiny size did not seem to be a factor, nor did she even stop to think about any other disadvantage she may have.

The gray female turned her threatening teeth into a twisted smile at the sound of fear uttered by the other, clearly much older, wolf. She saw that now, she saw numerous details in the creeping fog. Some were shapes in the background, looming just out of reach, just out of sight, only her gray orbs saw them anyway. Vesle was perhaps small, but she was not old and frail. Satisfied, the lithe female took a sharp step forward, as if to taunt the other, but settled there in a calmer stance of sorts. "And I am to take such foolish advice from you, stranger?" She asked with her chin raised in arrogance, challenging and confident in her position, and while phrased like it, it was certainly no question. She took another step forward to study the filthy thing standing before her. No longer a threat, she could not decide if she pitied or despised the frail image, for that was what she interpreted it as. Weak, frail, old. Pathetic. Vesle laughed loudly, head thrown back for a second and neck exposed before the throaty, hoarse sound came to an end, and she pointed to the old woman. "I cannot put away my teeth, old lady, as I still keep them in my mouth." She remained entirely in her comfort zone, taunting the old thing, but something irked her suspicion still. What kind of business could this old woman possibly have to dare to venture so far from any pack on her own? Her smiled died and her face grew solemn, her stance still dominating and daring the other to attack her, but growing less openly hostile by each moment. "How do you think you have the right to walk here? Do you seek to die?" Had it not been for the present predicament they were in, the stranger's answer to the last question could have been immensely interesting. Right then, she was not feeling philosophical, however.

And with that, she relaxed. Quite so, this one could not harm her at all. Vesle knew she was small and frail-looking, but this one was clearly too old to be any threat. And she did perhaps have a deahtwish, since she did not care to defend her life. Vesle would not indulge her. As if an obstinate child, she refused to give in to any suggestion regarding her actions. Ask Vesle to do one thing, and she will do the opposite. How fortunate a day it was for this old woman that she had not told her to spare her life. In fact, there was something strangely appealing to the old woman's suggestion. Perhaps Vesle was a ghost. It was hard to tell for her, too, sometimes. When forests grew dim and fog crept in between the tree trunks, showering the world in thick moistness and air that was heavy to breathe, it could be difficult to see what was real and what was not. Although Vesle always knew that she was real, as were the cretatures who sometimes led her astray, or home, along foreign paths in foreign forests. Vesle never felt as naked as she did on an open field.

The gray lady giggled hoarsely at the old woman, as if attempting to confirm the question. "I never have had color, not since the beginning of my life. " Hers was the cursed color of her runaway father, none of the splendid arctic furs of her mother. No hint, even, remained in her. She could disappear into the fogs in an instant, so little color had she that she grew dim alongside the morning mists.

For once, Vesle found herself fascinated by something other than herself or her underlings. The old lady had to be crazy, obviously. It was ironic that she should feel that way, though this point was not one she had enough insight into her own nature to understand. She was not one to speak of seeing things, but the difference was that Vesle knew her visions to be true. This one just saw colors where there was only grays. The gray woman giggled arrogantly. "You can't, you're seeing color where there is just a ghost." One little head of a twisted thing peered at them from behind a tree trunk, behind the old woman. Vesle lifted her eyes and looked at it and its mocking gestures, and giggled again with spite.

When she looked back at the woman, she had her hand outstretched, still talking rubbish about colors. Uncertain now, and with a suspicious change of her stance, the female cautiously observed the contents of her hand. What was that? She had never seen something like that - what were their purpose? "What are you talking about, hag? How will dried plants make me see colors where there are none? You said as much yourself - I am a ghost, and ghosts have no color." However hostile Vesle was towards most, the woman could not help but feel intrigued, much against her will. She had had no plans, today, to endulge some old woman in her fantasy and broken perspective on the world. Vesle saw all that was, and always truth, and she saw only an old crazy woman.

The balded creature that peered at the two wolves from behind the tree trunk stepped forward, and swiftly scurried over to the robed old woman, shuffling in between her legs and layers of clothing. Vesle's gray eyes followed him intently as he moved, a broad grin splitting his face in half as he played hide-and-seek between foot and robe and tail. Lost until the old woman spoke again, Vesle peered at her differently. If the little one would play with her, perhaps this gray queen of the woods should too. But more important were the implications that followed the woman's words, and for once, Vesle felt uncertain. She liked to feel strong, empowered by her underlings and how the forest bent to her will, but she had never been able to shake the feeling of otherness, not since her birth even, or at her mother's side. Perhaps this was wisdom come to her one misted morning, meant to mend? Or was she sent to sever her soul completely? The creature giggled with a shrill voice between the woman's robes, but Vesle knew that no one could see him but her. Perhaps she was more of him, than of this other wolfess. Perhaps she indeed was a ghost, not a wolf who merely dressed in the shape of one.

A conflict bubbled to the surface as she did not reply, but stared at the woman half defiantly, half in wonder, as she ate the shriveled plant and spoke of different worlds. Not so aggressive now. Velse already had the gift of sight, she knew. But the woman had forced a tune into Vesle's mind that she could not avoid listening to; its melody echoed and followed a similar tune she had always sung, and it filled her with doubt. Had she drifted away at some point, unknown to her? Was her underlings not of this world only for her to see because she, too, did not belong here? Her tattered dress gave a shuffling sound, and amidst the shrill giggle of the elf and the overwhelming meaning of the woman's words, she could hear her own hoarse voice speak, as if out of her control. She knew it was not so, but they came before she considered them. "I will have some of your colors, if you will give it." One hand was outstretched.

The other did not question her at all as she asked for the dried matter, and though she was still far more accepting of her presence, she still narrowed her eyes as the old woman professed that she was "glad". Why would she be? Perhaps this was a poison, a wild woman come to bewitch her. Holding the substance, she moved her fingers to watch it move around in her hands, shuffling lightly. They weighed nothing, and she had trouble imagining eating them - they were plants, after all. Frowning, she looked at them, studied them, as if that would give any answers without her having to eat them. Relax? Gray eyes were lifted to look at the woman. Vesle had never thought about opening her mind before, but unknown to her she already knew this trick. Knew it, but had no control, much as her impulsitivity took over and decided that she was done staring at the thing. In a swift, sweeping motion, the dried things ended up in her mouth, and she swallowed them quickly, not used to the feel of such things. Vesle had never et anything like that before. And why should she? Eyes rolled upwards and looked at nothing and random things as she concentrated, trying to look inward in search of a reaction.

No colors came. The forests were as gray as before, as gray as herself, and the old woman looked no different either. Suspicious again, Vesle's inexperience was handling her now, and she stepped up her stance a notch, eyeing the other with small slits again. The tiny female took one step forward as if to threaten. "Nothing's happening? Where are the colors?" The lady was uncertain. Was she to be suspicious, was she being tricked? Should she react with anger? But there had been a faint hope of wonders to see, and she wasn't sure if her disappointment wasn't more devastating than enabling her to rage just then. "I opened my mind," she added, quickly; self-consciously. Or, she'd tried to do so, at least. Her tail drooped with her growing uncertainty, and the elf giggled at her from within the furst of the old lady, as if mocking her. It was always mocking her.

If she was unable to express the deeper dimensions of her mind in words and conscious acts, at least truth lay quivering in the surface of the rest of her, and her uncertainty and unknowing was clear as day if ears were closed to Vesle's words. It could very well be that her world was smaller in her mind, than it in reality was: she had more going on than she was aware. This much was obvious as she struggled to twist her thoughts to follow the turns the old lady was taking, the parallells not quite there for Vesle to grasp. Impatient, and not at all reassured by the lady's words, Vesle moved again as if to start pacing. Fortunately, the other one was smart enough to elaborate, and the gray woman understood with relief. She snorted, almost mockingly. Of course. The old one looked as if she wouldn't know what was going on, as dirty and matted as she were. Clearly, she knew little in general, even if she did carry with her magic color-granting plants. Vesle smiled, though, clearly reassured by the other one's words, despite her arrogance.

While the dialogue that was taking place between the two could hardly be described as normal in any way, for the two females communicated in such vastly different terms, Vesle was beginning to settle into the rhythm between them. It was long since she had spoken with anyone like this -- well, any canine. Not so taken aback now, by the strangeness of the older female, the gray Lady hesitated less now at her proposal. The little elf at Discordia's feet giggled and gazed upward at the old wolfess as if in awe and admiration, and Vesle found herself mirroring the smile, either from the elf or the wolfess -- or both. Expectations to suddenly see colors in the creeping fogs around them were still at the front of her mind, but what did she know? Perhaps the colors could be summoned through their singing. Vesle certainly did not doubt the power of her howl, not since she had summoned the Neck one night moons back by mere wordless song. Uncertainty was slipping for the moment, and Vesle nodded, still very much waiting for the older female to start.

Vesle joined in after the other's beginning, more eager to blend in with another's song than to stand out on her own. For all her singularity, she did not really wish to be set apart. The anger was a simpler solution than to take in and deal with the implications of reacting with other parts of her emotional spectrum. The entirety of her spectrum, and her potential, could be woken by their song, however, and she enjoyed it for this reason. If only this fact had come to her as realization or knowledge, her dealings with the creatures of the forest, including the canines that strayed across her lands, could have been simpler. But for now, she was reacting on instinct, brought and wrought by anxiety. Her voice was not clear and strong as her mother's had been, but she didn't listen to its quality, only their shared melodies.Eyes closed as she listened and joined in, escalating -- but their surroundings muted their song, dimming light and sound and feeling.

She wasn't sure exactly how long they had sung, or if it had been long at all, but the song became all-encompassing, feeling almost enhanced, penetrating her whole being and echoing in her ears like nothing she had ever heard before. The elf's giggle had disappeared, and when she opened her eyes to look for it, it was not sitting at the other's feet anymore. But there were other things that moved, sometimes right at the edge of her eye, and disappearing when she moved her head, and sometimes moving magically as she looked at it. The bark of a nearby tree had the most amazingly living patterns, swimming and living in front of her, colors mixing and appearing out of nowhere. A sharp intake of breath hinted at her wonder at the sensory impressions, and the young female took a few steps forward to touch the other, as if checking if she was real. She'd been right: there were colors in those dried plants.

Song still rang in her ears as she looked at the other with funny eyes and registered that she was real. It was the strangest mixture of emotions: awe and wonder at the things she was seeing, but with a fear beginning to rise in the back of her mind. For if this was real, was not the other reality she knew unreal? Was she real? The old lady certainly was, so that had to mean that on some level, they were both real. The other creatures around her, the vette and the elf, had fled. Probably their singing, she concluded. She did not often sing, but she felt more like doing so now than she had in... it was hard to pinpoint. Ages, probably. Not to mention the fact that time somehow seemed different now, as if the world was slower somehow. It was harder to keep focus.

She touched the old lady's hand again and giggled, not entirely certain whether she should listen to the little tinge of fear in the back of her mind or not. It seemed as if she could not as easily direct her attention, and a worried expression came across her then, as she stared at her own hand. "I am no ghost," she explained, smiling knowingly. "I was just tricking you." A short giggle escaped from her mouth before she stared at her hand again, wondering which reality she preferred. This one was certainly a lot more interesting than the other, even if it had no underlings in it. Had they fled because of the singing or because she was real here, and not there? A doubt gnawed its way further into her consciousness -- one that was hardly new as of that moment, but certainly strengthened. Who was she? A liar, for one.