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these words i behold no tongue
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The woman smiled kindly. "It’s okay to be afraid," the woman said—everyone had their fears. Even she did. "But you are safe within the pack. We all look out for one another, even if we all are not warriors. I simply fight the physical battles that need to be fought." Indeed, the woman believed herself safe within these lands surrounded by the other members of the pack. And Dahlia had provided her with security when she had needed it almost eight moons ago. And this idea of a unit built upon the respect of all creatures, the woman was compelled more strongly to protect the members. She fought battles and allowed Death to snap at her heels so that the members and the leadership may survive and persist longer. It was not seen as a selfless act by the warrior, however, for she loved the thrill of each battle even knowing that one may prove to be her last. The act of killing did not trouble her, and so she did what others could not, just as others did what she could not. It was a simple symbiotic relationship.
The pied crow shifted in the tree, the light catching the white of his pied plumage. The single eye watched the pup as she spoke, a quiet gaze that was almost empty and yet calculating. The woman looked up at the Raven as she answered. "No, I don’t think he does." The woman smiled as she looked back to the pup. "He doesn’t speak to me either—he’s very silent." There was a slight pause before the woman continued. "Wolves used to not have names; I think that the virus moved us to take these things. Naming is a human thing, you know, and many of the packs across the world have adapted to the remnants of the human existence." Brennt was probably a prime example of an unchanged creature—or perhaps the predator that often became him. Even the wolves that were not infected by the virus, because they lived among the luperci, had grown distant from the true roots of wolves. And the warrior could not yet decide if that were a good or bad thing. Certainly it had brought destruction upon the humans, but could the wolves persist?
When the pup turned the topic upon Cwmfen’s mother, the woad bound ears pricked forward as if such a thing had been unexpected. And yet, it could not have been, for curiosity took the mind in all directions. The woad marked woman was silent for a moment, the white orbs turning to watch the light play off the water of the pool. "No," the quiet melody responded. "She was killed about a year ago." There was a certain amount of sadness within the woman’s voice, but the time of lamenting had long since passed for the female. The white orbs looked back up to the small girl. "It must have been her time." Graine had lived long enough to give birth to her and to care for her. Then Corvus had killed her. But the black fae did not think that that simple thing had been her mere purpose. Certainly her death had had an impact upon her own life, and she could learn and know what manner of wolf her father was. Sometimes purpose transcended life.
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