Follow My Voice

For Willow

POSTED: Fri Jan 04, 2019 8:44 pm

Miramichi Valley, late January.
WC: 343

The forest was quiet and cold. Woodland creatures sneaked through the naked undergrowth, heralded by tiny footprints in the snow. They would be buried by morning, but the tracks brought a small smile to Falcon's lips; they were signs of life and warmth in a cold, dormant world. His stomach rumbled just thinking about them.

Falcon had never liked winter, but he sought solitude in frigid places. There were too many Luperci in Mistfell Vale. He needed a good hiding place, somewhere he could build a fire pit and hide away from the world, but he hadn't found one yet. Even if he did… Well, Falcon had left the packlands for a reason.

The green-eyed hybrid spotted a clearing up ahead, a field of uninterrupted white between naked trees. A single, snow-dusted oak stood in the center, separate from the rest of the trees. He hummed thoughtfully to himself; maybe that would work.

Falcon stepped out of the treeline and walked up to the sleeping giant. Thick, gnarled roots broke through the shallow snow, climbing over old stones before plunging back into the earth. He brushed fresh powder off the old, cracked rocks and wondered who'd put them there. Falcon had found writing on rocks like these once, each with names and numbers he didn't recognize. Maybe they commemorated someone or something? The answer, whatever it was, had been lost to time.

Falcon leaned back against the large, old tree and breathed warmth into his hands. Its trunk shielded him from the wind, even if only partially, and put the young Mistwalker at ease. Practice made perfect, and Falcon had a lot of practicing to do—the longer he could stay out, the more he'd get done.

After considering his options, Falcon took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “The world is full of hidden things,” he began, projecting his voice into the quiet woods. “Some of them you go looking for, for sport, or pride, or glory— and the rest come looking for you...”
Note: Falcon uses he/him pronouns publicly (i.e. to most packmates, acquaintances, and strangers) and she/her pronouns privately (i.e. to specific, close friends).
Mistfell Vale
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They stole my dirty socks... :(

POSTED: Fri Jan 11, 2019 12:47 am


The winter here was not half as harsh as the arctic -- where there was little cover from the frigid winds, and where the sun disappeared for months. Her time with the Inuit dogs taught her much about how unforgiving life could be, but about how tradition and community could ensure survival for those resourceful enough to adapt in harsh places. Willow, too, had been forced to learn and change, and while she had done well among the fisherfolk of Iqaluit, she was thankful to be back home.

The brown wolfdog bounded along now through the trees, her nose dipped to the snow, sniffing for voles and lemmings and other small creatures who made trails through the frost. In the north, her deep-colored coat granted her no favors -- but it was a boon in the woods, the mahogany of tree trunks, the speckled white of melted snow near her belly.

She trotted, her dark ears pricked for scurrying sounds, her bushy tail waving, until a clear voice rang out from the trees. The Lupus female stopped, cocking her head this way and that, and wandered toward the voice, still sniffing here and there for interesting things in the snow.

If she was aware of the irony of the words, come looking for the speaker, Willow did not show this. She merely showed up, staring at the dark-colored figure and continuing to wave her tail in pleasure.

Her following silence could have indicated that she was waiting for him to keep speaking, or perhaps that she was just socially awkward.

I took the time to breathe
Among the rootbuds and the weeds
But the peat moss and the leaves took turns with both my feet
The Shoal
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Luperci druid the wilds where the caribou call They stole my dirty socks... :(

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