Cwmfen’s actually somewhere in the Trenches on the 29th, but maybe she runs really fast...? ^=^;;;
700+
Cwmfen was on her return home, returning from the ancient castle that held many memories of her homeland. The young man, Haven, had proved to be no foe, and together the two had partaken in a mutual training—it was similar to the meeting, she decided, with Ezekiel de le Poer. While these young men may not have been members of her pack, and indeed, one was a member of the rivaling clan, she had found a goodness within them. The warrior had said it before: one can never truly know another until they fight. As a warrior, she believed this to be true. The quality of the other’s soul could be determined through such a thing, and because the warrior listened to the songs of war, such a thing was quite acute within her mind. Even when she had fought Brennt, she had understood what the male was; intrigued by that yellow-eyed predator, she had known him through that other, more intimate way of knowing. But that male, unlike Ezekiel, Haven, and Onus, was not based upon an honor system but upon a system built of a jealous, injured soul.
And so, having happened upon Haven, the woad warrior returned now to her packlands. And she paused, lifting her ears to behold the call upon the air. That voice was familiar, unmistakable. And that song called for both the Adonis and the Rosea. The warrior was immediately alert: what would cause the solitary Lilium to call upon the leaders of Dahlia de Mai? Though already traveling at an elevated pace, the black fae broke into an easy run, her fluid movements allowing her to glide with seeming effortless strides across the landscape. Badb within her hand hummed quietly to her, gleaming hungrily in the light as the Raven flew overhead, his head tilted to compensate for that missing eye. And the warrior acknowledged the powers of her Dream as she moved toward that call having fallen silent. The white eyes were alert, expecting trouble. And yet she did not believe that she would find trouble at the boarders, for the urgency within that call had not been to such an extent. Nevertheless, the warrior, as a warrior should be, was prepared for anything that would appear.
Cwmfen caught the Lilium’s scent, laced with that of another, that scent strong enough to tell the warrior that its carrier was present. As her pace slowed to an easy trot, the warrior approached them, coming from behind as she crossed the boarders. "Haku," the golden alto called in greeting, alerting him of her approach. Those white orbs briefly acknowledged the black fae that accompanied him, knowing immediately the nature of her soul. And so the woad warrior was wary, though she did not question the Lilium’s choice of companion, knowing that he would not bring danger willingly beyond the boarders. And it was ironic. The last time she had seen him, he had come to her den to do just that, to question her choice and judgment. There was marginal resentment, if such a diluted emotion could be called such, for his lack of trust, and she would not forget what had occurred upon that day. Nonetheless, that did not change her loyalty. She was not ignorant—she had known since her Long Nights the nature of this soul, even if he had suddenly changed.
As she neared him, those white eyes saw clearly what the wind had taken from her nose. And yet, save for the one upon his neck, the wounds seemed superficial, though he was visibly weakened, leaning upon the woman at his side. The warrior was concerned, not because of the wounds and not because of an attack upon a member. She was concerned because this was Haku, and she had rarely seen him in such a condition. With silent steps the warrior came around to face them, preventing the Lilium from having to turn to greet her, if he would. The white orbs met the Lilium’s gaze as if searching for something. Then the Adonis bowed silently to the superior wolf. Upon rising, the alto melody was taken in question: "What happened?" The obvious. It was the obvious that must be initially approached.