Return Upon the Silence of the Raven's Wings

Cwmfen nic Graine · 03-14-2012, 05:09 PM

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Table by me (Req)

Hope this is okay… >u<
WC: 658

Cwmfen trotted silently in the lands outside of Dahlia de Mai. She was deep in thought, considering what had occurred the night before. Pausing in the brush, the black female shifted, taking on the luperci form. She lay there alone as she had spent every night. And yet, ever since the Long Nights, that solitude that she so required held a different quality.... Her mind turned the happenings of the prior night over, trying to reason through the events, attempting to uncover something she might have missed. Why had he been there? Unexpectedly, the Pied Wolf had appeared within her dreams, seeking…something that she was not yet ready to give. The warrior sighed, trying to push the thoughts away. She wanted to believe that she was something more, something with a soul pure and bright. But how could she of a pure soul? His blood ran in her veins. He had pushed her into woman hood and given to her the shape of humans. While the woad marked fae knew that the Crow Wolf had raped her, there was still a dangerous pull within her. Her soul was drawn to the darkness, was made to revel in it in a way that she should not. While her belligerent ways gave her the will to resist His pull, she feared that one day she would succumb to the cold, tenebrous tendrils of her father.

The female considered her own confusion and wandered from the company and advice of others. Social confrontations of any nature were never really her strength. War. That was what she knew. She knew how to fight, and she was good at it. It was easy for her to decide who would die, or who would live. There was no complexity for her in such basic, aggressive instincts. But she had, and possibly could, never adapt fully to the social life. In the culture from which she originated, the wolves never took mates. They only took lovers; while usually the nature of these relationships was usually very similar to mateships in the respect that only one lover was taken, the relationship was not binding. Indeed there was love, but there was nothing restraining both parties from the freedoms of life. Lovers shared warmth in the cold nights. They made love in their dens. And (perhaps most importantly to this particular female) they were comrades in battle relying upon one another, protecting one another. Why could not the relationships here be of that nature. She found often—especially after the rites of womanhood—that she desired companionship. But she did not want the ties that would prevent her from being the wild and free warrior creature that she was. And she did not think she desired companionship with her father—and yet his soul attracted her. In the depths of her soul, she could admit that.

Suddenly, the woad-marked female found herself wandering in strange lands. She had never really explored these particular lands, but from what she could tell from the strange, exotic city that surrounded her, she must be in the place named Halifax. The female did not like these constructs of human existence. Of humanity, she found only their ancient weaponry to be fascinating. There was nothing for her in these concrete jungles. Yet, she could not help but feel curious about these graveyards of man. What caught her interest the most was the way in which the earth was re-claiming that which was lost. The white orbs wandered over those seemingly frail vines with tendrils that penetrated and grasped at the sides of these edifices. How curious it was that these thin tendrils were slowly but surely conquering these seemingly eternal constructs. It was evidence only that nothing was eternal. The concrete jungle called to her, urging the Raven Dreamer. She hesitated at its borders, tempted to regress to her natural shape and find solace in the darkness of the woods.

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