500+
The woods were quiet, and the trees whispered softly to the wolf who was silently passing. The black fae was listening, that strange tranquility filling her soul so that she sang back to the world. The Warrior’s wild song hummed quietly in the undertones, feral and restless, aggressive and merciless. It was that song that beat within her heart and that moved within her mind, that peered through those white orbs that shone like the moon in the half-light. The pied Raven croaked in response, a coarse and yet fitting note to that belligerent melody. The Dahlian Warrior breathed softly and listened to the song of silent predawn.
The drizzling rain made the Warrior’s fur damp. Cwmfen paused, shaking her painted coat. The drops of moisture fell upon the foliage and earth with soft ringing laughter, so mirthful and friendly that she paused to listen. She sneezed softly as the air changed direction, and the white eyes considered the trees that offered such change. The wolf slowly continued walking, her fluid movements soundless. She became a predator, a Warrior. The Raven fell silent and fell up into the darkness of the branches above. Another had come within a favorable distance—favorable for a warrior, as proximity allowed for contact. The voice that broke the songs of predawn, however, was not aggressive, and the Warrior’s song, Which had risen to a loud thrumming within her breast, fell once more, like an ocean’s retreating wave. The woad bound ears lifted forward and the ethereal movements ceased. A woad-marked tail moved behind her with curiosity.
The voice seemed to truly desire the help for which it was asking. The Dahlian wolf moved in the other’s direction, pausing once more when a comfortable distance had been obtained. "You called for help," the Caledonian lilt sang quietly in the damp air. The white orbs seemed to contemplate the male with unnerving tranquility. The bipedal male did not seem to require ‘help’ as the Warrior would define it—he seemed to have obtained no crippling wounds. The wolf was curious, however, with what this male needed help and if she could offer a solution. The woaded Warrior breathed softly but deeply, drinking in the scent of this stranger and storing it within the back of her mind for later use. The pack signature was one that she did recognize, however: Cour des Miracles, the pack of dogs that followed a King. The pied Raven, having landed in a low limb above the black wolf, eyed intruder with its inky, empty gaze. The other carried birds, though in a strange manner, it seemed. While the Raven followed the Dreamer willingly and was spiritually linked to her Dreaming, the bird at the male’s arm seemed to harbor resentment.... The Warrior, at times, could not understand the human qualities that the wolves had chosen to adopt.
"Perhaps I may offer you a solution." The alto melody was soft, neither amiable nor belligerent as she sat back upon her haunches, displaying to the distraught male that she offered no hostilities.