In search of a den.
#8
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"Was Slay the one who accepted you at the boarders?" The woad bound ears pricked forward at the name of her packmate. "He is one of the friendlier personalities of Dahlia." The warrior had liked the diamond marked male from the moment she had met him. The black fae reminisced upon those many moons ago when she had sought the Head Hunter. It had been before she had obtained a rank that would allow her to accept a co-rank, and she had been considering a Hunter’s position. Of course, the passion for war had pulled her back, but she had nevertheless learned much from that experience. Slay had been the one to show her how to hunt with another, to use the innate ability of a wolf to work as a unit with others. The black fae had put Slay’s lesson to the test at the first Pack Hunt of the year, and it had been a successful run. "He’s a skilled hunter and offers pleasurable company."


"But it is the danger that makes the journey worthwhile," the alto melody replied quietly with dancing silver tones. Her own journey to this land had been difficult, but she had gained much experience from those early years of her life. And she had come down, having traveled up onto the northern icecaps and down again to find her way to the Dahlian boarders. Her body had grown accustom to the cold, and she found nothing more beautiful than the slowly falling snow of the winter twilight. It did not snow within ‘Souls or even Caledonia as it did upon that northern ice, but then the summers and lush greens of the forest were as no where else. "What was it like," the curious female asked suddenly. "Where you come from, I mean." The white orbs regarded the ruddy male almost tentatively, hoping that her curiosity did not delve too deep within memories unwelcomed. But she wondered where he would have come from that such an appreciation for nature would come only upon the journey from such a place.


"Yes," the female replied with a knowing smile. "I’m glad that Slay has already suggested her. She is quiet among newcomers, but she will not chase you away." Mew was similar to herself in that way. But the black warrior had slowly grown accustom to pack life after those years alone, having fled the crow wolf that had sought her mother and now sought her. But he was a distant memory now, and she felt a safety within the Dahlian boarders.


Silently, the woad marked fae listened the male speak. She had heard the word ‘furniture’ many times, and she thought that she had perhaps seen one. But the female was not quite sure what it was that he was building. Perhaps it was like a house, she thought, and his words of his father’s skill made her believe so (and, noting his saddened tone, the female did not press the matter). Perhaps she would be able to see what it was that the male could do in the near future, after he had settled. "I’m not sure what ‘furniture’ is," the female admitted openly, undisturbed by her lack of knowledge; she was reminded of the word ‘ladder’ that Lubomir had had to explain to her. "But I’m sure that there will be those in need of such things." There were, after all, those who lived in some of the human edifices. "If Mew does not have the tools you require, ask Lubomir, her mate. He might know."


The female smiled when the male spoke, looking to him as she slowed her pace upon entering into the unique setting of Berwick. "It’s my pleasure, Rath, and no trouble at all." Then she turned to allow her own white gaze to flicker across the strange—or what she thought was strange—landscape of Berwick. "These are more accommodating to your needs, I think," the alto melody continued. "The forest is only a little farther south." The black fae paused in her movements as she wondered whether he would chose to look here first or look at the others closer to the forest’s edge.

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