A Sense of Balance

Cwmfen nic Graine · 06-29-2010, 09:01 AM

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I’ll have Cwmfen call Conor in after we post for a bit, ^w^ And Cwmen is in lupus form right now.
700+

The heavens had calmed their weeping. The rarely seen sun had been allowed to shine his light upon the earth far below and feed and nourish that which the water had cultivated. The summer world flourished with the green life that gave homes to all creatures, that fed the leaf-eaters so that other creatures may feed upon them. Such was the power of nature. Such was the profundity of a simple and yet complex existence. It was not the power of the sun alone that allowed life to persist upon the mortal lands, nor was it simply the water or the earth. It was a combination of all entities, the individual, solitary workings of each entity lending its work to the others of the world. It was a web perhaps, though not the tangle webs that most minds associated with spiders but a sheet web, one with the weaving so fine and numerous that a simple mind may believe it to be a single textile. The Woaded female was a simple wolf, born only of that most natural shape. But she had learned many things that allowed her to understand the world. Perhaps such understanding was not the understanding of others, but it was not incorrect. And she was only permitted to know, she believed, what the Morrigan had fated for her. The Morrigan had fated for War to be known.

The black wolf moved fluidly through the woods, her fluid steps quiet. Despite moving swiftly, Cwmfen’s sharp eyes missed very little. Her nose worked as did her ears, and the sinew beneath her black, woad-painted coat worked with effortless power to allow her tenebrous form to move such that her existence seemed ethereal and ephemeral—not even a ghost. Simply a shadow.

A soft whispering came to her ears before it died. But the whisper rose up again, and died again, the cycle repeating rhythmically in the warm, quiet air. She knew that sound. It was a sound—a powerful sound— that had captivated many, and it was a sound that intrigued her. The sea was not far, nor was the edge of the woods. The light grew ahead of her, and just as she broke through the edge of the woods, she turned to trail its edge, remaining in the shadows, her body low in the tall grasses. Without pausing, without breaking rhythm, the wolf’s gait slowed to an easy amble. The woad-marked crania lifted, and she smelled the salt that had coated her fur upon her return to the flower pack. The tranquil mind greeted that powerful force, and she listened to the song it sang within her soul. It was a gentle song, a silver song that whispered with timeless tones, that stroked her soul and consciousness with a weathered and wise breath. A soft smile danced across those quiet lips, across those tranquil features, as the light of the sun danced over the calm waters of a pool. It was only the beauty of the world that could cause the enlightened Warrior to feel in such a way.

The woad banded ears lifted. A much harsher sound cut the air from a great distance. The calling of the pied Raven rose up, his empty voice harsh with mirthless laughter. The white orbs turned to the sky and found the black speck that marred its vastness. Suddenly, abruptly, the black wolf was running, the sinew of her body thrown forth with the knowing of a Warrior. There was a spark that lit up within her soul, and it sang with the fury of War.

Her pace slowed, and her fluid movements carried her forth before she allowed herself to pause. What she found at the base of the cliff was not entirely what the Dahlian had expected. The large male was injured. She could hear his sounds of pain and smell the familiar scent of blood within the air. The white eyes seemed to consider the fallen male, her gaze touching upon the quality of his body and the things he carried. A stranger so near the boarders was suspicious to the black fae, and the Warrior within her grew hungry. But that tranquility that so settled upon her soul allowed a calm to remain. She was always thinking clearly, her mind quick and ready to react and to not simply ‘anticipate’. For now, the Caledonian-Korean disregarded his injury. She knew how dangerous a wounded creature could be. “You wander dangerously near our boarders, loner,” the alto melody sang quietly, the silver tones dancing upon the air. It was a pleasant sound and not unkind. “Perhaps you can explain yourself.”

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