Manifestation

Cwmfen nic Graine · 08-03-2010, 12:14 PM

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She could hear him coming. That approach—it was only vaguely familiar. The rhythm interrupted the worldy song of Silence that was so befitting her soul, and the rhythm she knew she had heard before. Often, perhaps, but not regularly. That interrupting approach came from a memory of long ago, and the images and colours associated with that particular beat emerged slowly to the surface of her consciousness. With eyes closed, the woaded woman seemed unconcerned, untroubled by the approach of the other. Despite the recent battle, despite the approach of three loners at the boarders of her protégé, she did not move to act immediately, for the one emerging within her memory was not one to cause alarm, she felt. Yet, the Warrior, as always, was alert and cautious, untrusting of others and yet trusting of herself, loyal to her pack and to her soul. But this was not Dahlia. The concrete city did not require her skill at War. The black fae breathed softly. Yes, she knew the identity of this walker—

He spoke as if bidden. The voice confirmed the identity, and the white orbs opened to reveal the world to the healing Warrior. She did not look down at him immediately but contemplated in silence the words given to the air. One by one the Raven Dreamer picked them, gathering them into her mind until they formed a sound that she could understand. Slowly, fluidly, she moved and yet seemed to be still. A faint, knowing smile danced across her dark lips like the silver moonlight over a still pool. Cathubodva, was her mind’s response. Battle Raven. She was the Battle Raven, and yet the pied Raven was, and the Morrigan too. “Samael.” The name rolled easily from her foreign tongue. Ethereal movements of the sinew beneath her woaded pelt carried her to the earth, and the Warrior descended from her perch. Fatigued muscles went unheeded, unfelt, as she rose, her erected posture held in dominance and yet with modesty. “Did the Raven bring you to me?” The soft alto sang with silver tones, darkened by the presence of this coyote.

White eyes met Crimson, peering into them with a mild curiosity. The gaunt, golden male was definitely a curiosity. Thin and almost emaciated, the Woaded Warrior was not intrigued by his physical appearance. Samael was nothing like Onus, who had somehow ensnared the intrigue of the Caledonian-Korean on many and incomparable levels. Instead, it was what was within the depths of the red eyes that caused her curiosity to be tugged. She was curious of that strange darkness she saw, that darkness that was different from the unrefined fire that Svara could not control. No, this was not like that. This was different. Withdrawing, the wolf gazed into coyote’s face. “Why have you come?” Perhaps she already knew the answer. Indeed, long ago a promise had been made when her belly had been full like the moon in the sky. But the Warrior, far from those she had borne, was simply a Warrior now and nothing more.

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