Goat Stew

Cwmfen nic Graine · 08-08-2010, 09:21 PM

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That’s okay—you’re not slow, I am! I don’t normally post on the weekends, so I’m just writing when I have a chance. Tomorrow I may only be able to reply once! But this joining thread is my priority! (And yes, Anna did a nice job on your table, ^=^) I think that one more exchange and Ife will be accepted~
500+

The Dahlian approved of the coyote-canine’s quick response. The Warrior believed that all members should respect one another, and she knew that Conor would agree. “It is fine; I understand the barriers that cultures may present,” the soft alto sang in response. “But you must adapt to the differences. While Dahlia de Mai welcomes all canines, we are mainly wolf-run. The wolf’s culture is prominent here.” A pack was a family unit, and each member relied on one another to be there to support and contribute to the pack. That was how a pack functioned. Like an army, a pack was a unit that was as strong as its weakest player. “Should I find that you will be an acceptable member, we as a pack will help you with your needs.” Dahlia wished to survive, and she was struggling to heal from the wounds that Haku had made upon her. The borders had remained, strong however, since her departure, and the Warrior, who had pledged her loyalty to the safety of the pack and to the pack’s leadership, hoped that she could protect each and every member. Cwmfen was ready to fight, for that was her purpose. Cwmfen was ready to die, for that was her doom.

The black female listened patiently and did not interrupt the ‘jackal’. It seemed as if Ife Yahimba. Had a passion of her own: the care and use of the pre-animals about her. The wolf understood a little of what Ife Yahimba could offer to the pack, but she knew that it would be a good addition to have within Dahlia. The wolves that had adapted to the human vestiges as Ife Yahimba had would find these things useful—she was sure of it. The jackal could find a good place within the flower pack. The Raven Dreamer however, was most impressed by the offer to kill the prey-animals should the winter prove difficult. The Dahlian nodded thoughtfully. “It appears that you know exactly what you can offer to Dahlia de Mai.”

A faint, golden smile seemed to brighten the serenity of the Warrior’s features. “Ife Yahimba,” the faint, Caledonian lilt sang, “I am Cwmfen nic Graine, Warrior of Dahlia de Mai.” The Woaded wolf dipped her double-banded maw in respectful greeting. “I apologize for my prior hostility, but I wanted you to understand....” Cwmfen was not a wolf that was moved by anger—not often. Nor was she moved by fear. She was moved only by the frenzy and the songs of War, those songs that hummed eternally within her soul, that sang forth into the air and through her body. That song lit her tranquil eyes and made her soul burn white with the silver flames of Nemain’s moon in the dark heavens.

“If you are willing to learn and abide by the wolven laws, then I believe that Dahlia will benefit with your acceptance.” A brief pause was allowed to ensue. “You are correct in assuming that I will be one wolf that may deal with those who cause trouble,” the gentle warning sounded, “but I never act out of anger.” That was a promise, a law of her own soul.

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