Forgotton, Yet Ever Present
#1
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OOC


Cwmfen nic Graine wandered near Flanders Field. She did not know why she felt so much attachment to the place. Perhaps there was some sentimental value—the place of her acceptance into Dahlia de Mai. Yet, while she indeed did consider such places in her sentimental values, it was not in her nature to linger around such things of the past. The past was an entity in which experience was gained, but it was a thing which must be forgotten. What appealed to her the most, she concluded, was the life-song there. So grey, cool, gentle…like a cool brook at high noon of the summer season. Black feet, with toes banded by blue woad, tread quietly through the summertime grasses. Her hands brushed fondly over the stones of the dead, and with each touch she could hear their whispering, so faint that it could merely be dismissed as a breath.


Her attention was averted as something scurried through the grass beneath her feet. Immediately, the woman gave chase, shifting mid-stride back into her lupus form. Her movements were effortless and swift, like an otter through the water, as she gave chase to the snack. Her maw reached forward, as if tentatively requesting to take the hind legs of the—she inhaled the scent deeply—rabbit. The small creature was quick, but she knew that rabbits eventually traveled in a large circle. So, the she-wolf took off to one side, bending the arches of the rodent’s circular path—and intercepted the poor creature .The graceful jaws snapped audibly shut about the hind leg of the rabbit. As the marked limbs ground to a halt, the female flickered her maw, adjusting her grip to the creature’s neck. The death cry of the rabbit echoed dully in the damp air.


The black auds pricked forward, someone had arrived at the boarders. The black fae turned her white gaze towards the approaching wolf. Her gait was light as she closed the short distance between them, and she hardly seemed to stop at all, so fluid were her movements. The woad-marked female realized that something was not quite...real. And then the one who had approached upon the boarders disappeared, a mere ghost of her memory. The white orbs considered the space, those quiet eyes contemplative. The shade had belonged to her sire.... She recalled the strange and dark calling that had risen from her heart, even knowing what he did, even hating him. For, if there was one creature in the world that she must love and hate with equal passion, it was her father. Perhaps it was best, she thought, that I had left Onus. That black smudge upon her bright soul would never fade.


A woad banded ear flickered as if hearing a distant call, and then she turned away from the boarders, returning to the forgotten meal.

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#2
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Fweee! Req!

Just short of a month. That was how long the child had spent in Conor’s care, or more accurately in the care of Dahlia de Mai. Dahlia was not a neglectful keeper; it kept her safe and fed, just as the ghostly grandmother who had brought here promised it would. There was also ample opportunity for learning and interacting with others, but Nayru had been reclusive. Sometimes she would talk with Conor, but aside from him and the children that resided with him she did not speak to many others. There had been a few chance encounters, but Nayru had fallen into the habit of turning tail and hiding when scent or sound alerted her that another might be near. Like a wraith she vanished into the underbrush, her breath so soft that one would imagine it did not come at all; they all passed eventually and Nayru continued on with her day unnoticed and rarely thought of. She was a living ghost; among them but separate and she saw no reason at most times for it to be any other way. Dahlia de Mai allowed this, for whatever reason the pack as a whole did not insist upon her presence, it was content to know the child was alive and thriving. And she was.

A full five months had gone into her development and it showed. Childish fat underneath her downy puppy fur was being replaced by lean muscle that propelled her forward in leaps and bounds and runs and tumbles. Swiftness was on her side, she could already see that and much of the day Nayru spent just chasing after nothing, full throttled. Sometimes, if it appeared, the black and white shadow would follow a bird or rabbit but they always slipped by her and that was okay. Ever since the bug that had perished beneath her paws she had not killed intentionally. Even if her body grew stronger by the day, her heart was soft. Only in dreams did she see the white lady anymore, and though the lady told her that one day her fangs must take the life of many creatures, she was only a dream lady and Nayru did not always heed her advice in the waking world. Still Nayru was clever, if naive about the world. Or perhaps not naive, but optimistic, which at times were nearly identical. This did not bother her, she had not yet felt the sting of unhappiness in her short life, it was only unadulterated joy as she raced through her new home, daily becoming more experienced and skilled.

It was during one of these free wheeling frolics that Nayru first saw the black women. She was visually, in everyway, the opposite of the white lady. The reality of dusk to the trance of dawn. Yet as Nayru watched the death dance between the women and the rabbit she could tell they possessed the same energy. Or similar at least. It was power and beauty. They had authority and influence, over her if no one else. As she had known with the white lady, it was these types of souls that reigned supreme in the world and Nayru knew that it was in her best interest to attach herself, or in the very least introduce herself. These women, strong souls and intelligent minds, came from the same cloth, and it was perhaps this cloth that the universal energy had cut Nayru’s shape, or so she hoped on some unknown level to herself. Yet it was this energy emitting from the women that made Nayru’s legs shake and her soft, fawn like voice quiver when she finally came close enough to speak.

You are very beautiful. That was it. What more was there to say to this creature?


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#3
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Yay~ ^=^ Oh yeah—I am scarce on weekends/long weekends now.... OnO


Her jaws closed about the dead creature, her teeth nimbly pinching the skin as she pulled away the fur that stood between her and the meat. And the skin pulled away with ease, as if it, too, were a mere illusion. The flesh beneath was still hot with the life that had just been taken, and as the rabbit relinquished itself to the invitation of those hungering jaws, the rain seemed to pause. The white orbs moved from the meal before her to the heavens above, considering the song of rain that had momentarily ended. Change was always around the corner, the Warrior mused, just as it had been for the rabbit. Just as it would be for her. Such thoughts flittered through her mind, whispering with voiceless sounds to her mind’s ear as the Raven Warrior took another bite. Her father was dead, but the spirits of the earth were never gone. Despite what he had thought, Corvus Vendetta had been and still was a spirit of the earth. The Warrior wondered what that would mean for her.


A soft movement and a quivering, young voice caused the woad-bound ears to swivel. The voice was young and simple, but it was often the simplest things that were beautiful. A pink tongue licked the blood from her jaws before the white orbs turned to acknowledge the small creature. The Warrior beheld a pup, the colours of black and white. The pattern was not immediately familiar to her, although the colours, or lack thereof, hinted at lineage. The eyes, however, were a feminine shade of pink that she had never quite seen before. A quiet smile seemed to dance within the white orbs, although the Warrior’s face remained tranquilly unmoved. “Such kind words,” the alto melody sang at length, the Caledonian lilt dancing upon the damp air. Beauty was a thing that she saw differently. The black fae wondered of what sort of beauty the young girl spoke, but she did not ask. A compliment had been given and not meant to be questioned.


Although the black fae had children of her own, she was still not as adept as others in the interactions with the young. With her own, she felt comfortable, perhaps because she had nurtured them from the time they had formed within her womb. But with the young of others, she continued to struggle. The silence was permitted to ensue as the white orbs considered the young creature. The woad-banded auds, however, continued to listen to the songs that sang within the quiet world, and to her own song too. Slowly, she could begin to hear the small sound of the pup’s song. “Are you hungry?” Fluidly, the black Warrior’s legs lifted her body in a sitting position. A quiet, almost imperceptible smile moved across her black lips. “I’m willing to share my kill if you are hungry.”



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#4
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’tis fine! No rush if I reply like mad. I have no summer job and school’s out. Too much free time for me.

The woman’s voice matched her perfectly, or at least Nayru believed so. It was not as delicate as Nayru’s, her fairy voice floated so lightly it was as if at times a constant whisper, but neither was it low and masculine. There was beauty in that too, and it seemed to radiate energy, the same energy that seem to pulse from her woad markings and the seemingly pupil-less white orbs that made up her eyes. The energy was that of confidence and comfort, and Nayru felt safe among this woman. Although Nayru knew that logically it was not wise to trust one based on first impressions alone, Nayru gave into the feeling. The cow patterned pup nearly melted in the lady’s voice, almost wishing she could ask her to speak more, just so she could hear it.

When she did speak again Nayru dipped her head low in gratitude, although she knew not where the gesture came from. A dream maybe, the white lady teaching her how to accept gifts with grace. The child had never taken food from anyone but Conor or Vark, and though she always thanked them she never really considered how much effort they put into feeding children that were not their own. Perhaps it was because Nayru had accepted those who lived in the Victorian home with her as family, and that was what family did. Was it the same for any and all pack members? Did they look after their own, or was this a rarer treat? Nayru didn’t know the protocol and only hope she did not embarrass herself.

Thank you. The child peered up with her ruby eyes and tentatively reached out to the kill with her maw. The scent was intoxicating to a hungry child and it did not take much more to convince her to pull some of the meat away from the felled rabbit and set about consuming it. It was still warm, and again the dance of life and death she had witnessed flashed before her, the lady’s fluid movements. She was graceful but lethal, and all at once Nayru was envious. The bug’s life had been taken thoughtlessly, but there had been nothing thoughtless about the rabbit’s death. It was with purpose, and Nayru understood that as it’s meat disappeared down her throat. Pausing in her meal, she pursed her lips, afraid of what silly words might come out of her mouth, but deciding to try anyway. Do you think it had a name? Nayru would have flushed pink at that point, all at once finding it ridiculous to be concerned after she had already eaten a sizable portion of the rabbit’s body. Yet… did it have a name? And more importantly, did others worry about that kind of thing when they hunted? Or would Nayru eventually learn to put it out of her mind, as so many others seemed to do as meal after meal, body after body, was presented to her so that she might feed off their being and continue to live herself.


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#5
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I’m so sorry for the wait! OnO Struggling with my muse… Q~Q


A quiet smile moved across the silent lips. The small girl was polite, and the Warrior immediately approved of such courteous behaviour. The timidity of pup was also considered by the female; wolves were timid creatures by nature, and so the girl’s behaviour was not viewed as weak by the woman who fought with aggression. Indeed, Cwmfen herself was a rather timid being in social situations. Certainly this pup would be made timid by meeting a stranger that posed a potential threat. In actuality, while the woaded female praised bold characters, such characters could be in danger. To present a constant challenge spoke of arrogance, and arrogance, with pride, would eventually yield mistake and also death. The Raven Dreamer viewed the entirety of Life as a Battle, and so she tread always with deliberate steps and careful footing. And so, as she watched the young girl react to her, the Warrior was certain that this Dahlian child would be permitted to outlive many. She wondered at the pup’s role within the course of the unfolding Future.


The girl was hungry, and the meat disappeared as the small teeth tore into the warm flesh. But thought seemed to interrupt even the hungry girl’s meal, and a question was raised to the waiting ears of the black wolf. A name… “I’m sure it did,” the alto melody decided quietly, the gentle, accented tones gliding upon the damp air. The woad-marked fae smiled, almost imperceptibly, to offer comfort to the bashful pup. There was nothing of which to be bashful within the Warrior’s presence. “All things within the world have names.” And yet, at once, names did not exist. Life and lives simply existed, and that was enough. Names had been made to better communicate. Specific names, even her own, were adopted by the wolves to mimic the humans. But the Warrior was sure that even the rabbit, a simple prey creature, had a label that could be considered a name. “But a name is just something—a label—given to another so that someone else may recognize it....” The Warrior’s quiet voice fell tranquilly into silence. She wondered what such a thing would signify to the pup.


The white orbs shone with a mild curiosity as her gaze met the ruby eyes.“My name is Cwmfen,” the soft tones offered. “What is yours?” Once, the Warrior would have expected an introduction to be given immediately. But this girl was young and the black wolf was not yet fully re-integrated into pack life. Simply, the Caledonian-Korean was curious as to the bloodline of this girl, and if she knew the wolves that had sired this young pup.

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#6
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I am SO sorry Req. I didn’t see that you had replied for a LONG time. I suck so hard core right now.

Everything had a name, but they were just labels. Nayru sucked in this information, her developing brain working hard to digest it and put it to use. The child did not question whether this was the truth or not, this wolf seem a reliable source and it made sense. Most the words they spoke were just names, labels. Tree, Rock, River. They were simply words they used to communicate, to organize. On their own, like all other words, they meant absolutely nothing. One had to be taught to understand such words, language was not intrinsic. Rabbit. The word it’s self was a name, but she had wondered if the other rabbits called each other by names. Perhaps they did, but did they care if the predators that ate them had names they used with one another? Probably not. And so, Nayru couldn’t be too concerned with the rabbit’s name. As the creature was dead, it was probably no longer relevant. If it had a family, they would remember the name, Nayru wouldn’t have to.

Cwmfen. This name would matter, if the lady stayed in Dahlia de Mai for more than a brief visit. Nayru mentally filed away the title and shyly offered up her own. Nayru. If that was only a title, did her name help to make her identity? Did the simplicity or rarity of the name contribute to her personality in any manner? Did a beautiful creature with an ugly name suffer because of it? Nayru wasn’t sure and suddenly the pressure of focusing solely on her name was too much, and so unsolicited information trickled out of her mouth, her cherry eyes optimistic that it would be taken kindly. I am staying with Conor. The information seemed relevant, and Nayru didn’t have to worry if the lady would know who Conor was or not. Outside of Dahlia that name meant nothing, but within the borders everyone knew who the male was.

The thought occurred to her then, who really did exist outside of Dahlia de Mai? Although she was curious, she had not real desire to wander off and find out. The names of the other packs trickled in, and maybe when she was older she would venture and find out, but as it was there was more than enough to keep her busy in Dahlia. The amount of wolves to her was still startling, having lived alone with her parents and two sisters for all her life prior to her arrival at Dahlia de Mai. There were enough souls to try and figure out here. Such as Cwmfen. No longer shy, she ventured to sort out the mystery. Why did you pick Dahlia for a home? Nayru hadn’t chosen, it had been chosen for her. She knew that Conor had been born here, but what about the others? What made a pack? And why this pack and not any other?


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#7
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No worries! ^w^ Sorry about the quality >n<
500+


Naryu the black wolf repeated to herself. “Hello, Naryu,” the soft melody greeted. It was that strange sense of respect that the wolf considered to be polite. Despite the fact that she had already exchanged a few words, the two had not properly made an introduction. With the knowledge of a name, a label, for this young creature with striking eyes, the Warrior was better able to make that introduction. The woad banded maw dipped lightly and an effort to offer a soft smile was made, although such efforts were not made manifest. The tranquil features remained unchanged, but perhaps the pup would understand. Upon learning that Naryu remained in the company of the Alpha Male, the Warrior nodded softly. “Conor is a good wolf,” she commented, and she truly did believe it to be so. He was not like his father with darkness grasping so completely at his heart. The thought of the chocolate and cream male called memories of long ago. It had been Haku that had accepted a younger Cwmfen into Dahlia, who had given her the first taste of womanhood. But he had threatened her family, and he had dishonored Dahlia de Mai. Despite the female’s intrigue of the dark, she could not recognize him as she had once had. He may have been dead, a new wolf replacing him with strikingly similar features.


The pup lived up to her curious potential with another question. The white-eyed wolf paused for a moment in thought. It seemed as if the young one had dipped briefly into her mind. It was a curious thing. “I came here because I had been running,” the alto tones admitted openly. And perhaps, when she had left Dahlia, she had been running once more. It was frustrating for the Warrior that she had not stood her ground. But she knew, also, that some fights were never meant to be fought. And she remembered all the things she had learned her brief lifetime about War. “Dahlia gave me protection. And so, in return, I gave Dahlia protection too.” There was a brief pause, and she noticed her own use of the past tense. “I’m a returning member, you see,” she explained, “and I’ve come to give the pack protection again, if my services are needed.” She fell silent then, feeling that she had explained herself. She would not be surprised however, if her explanation only caused more questions to arise. She would be willing to answer such questions. The black fae was not one to conceal thing, even and especially from a young one.


“You were born here,” the soft tones supposed, the white gaze contemplating the young Naryu. The Warrior wondered who the young one belonged to, whose blood ran through her veins. But, in the end, such a thing did not matter, she supposed, and so the black wolf was silent. “Do you like your home?” With pups, it was always a game of trading questions, but the black fae did not mind. It was a way for the youth to practice the use of their mind, and such a thing was the most important.

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#8
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Pssh, your posts are always good, no apologizing!

Playing the part of dutiful pupil Nayru took in Cwmfen’s words, never interrupting the raven warrior although the question welled up inside of her. Running from what? Protection from what? Why would Dahlia need protection? A small twinge of dread tried to work its way up from Nayru’s stomach, but she quickly swallowed it back down. The child felt safe in Dahlia, and with Conor. Even if those feelings were false, Nayru knew on some level that to live in fear was not really to live. Nayru did not enjoy the brief glimpses of fear she had felt throughout her life, and so she forced herself to avoid needless worry. There would be time enough when something actually went wrong and even then Nayru did not know that fear was a useful emotion. Perhaps, like everything else, it had its place, but even now Nayru was learning to control her emotions. She was clumsy at it and often times the emotions slipped out or she forgot not to feel something, but the mottled pup was in more control of herself than many adults, even if she did not realize it.

It took the patience of a saint to not ask the barrage of questions that were on the tip of her tongue. Although Cwmfen had been completely honest, it occurred to Nayru to not abuse such a privilege, to have a knowledgeable adult so at her disposal. Had she been only a few months older she could have walked away without asking anything more, but as it was her youth got the better of her and shyly Nayru decided to ask the one question that seemed more important than the rest. Dahlia she could learn about in time, she was not going anywhere, but Cwmfen might. Nothing and no one was solid but herself, and so she had to always be prepared for them to disappear. What were you running from? It was essential to know more about the mysterious women, to try to and learn everything she knew. Nayru wanted to capture the energy that emitted from Cwmfen, wanted to make it her own.

When Cwmfen guessed at Nayru’s own background, the child dipped her head and averted her eyes shyly, embarrassed to correct someone older or wiser than herself. I was not born here. Nayru looked back to Cwmfen to see how she would take the news, and easily she continued on with her story. It was not extraordinary, it wasn’t interesting, but it was the truth. The white lady brought me here, she said this is my place. It did not occur to Nayru to clarify who the white lady was, because Nayru wasn’t sure herself and so she hurried on to answer Cwmfen’s other question in her sweet voice. I like Dahlia de Mai very much, but I don’t know what I am suppose to do here. Nayru admitted it openly, the dilemma that usually didn’t set in under later in life. Despite having no solid purpose, she was happy, healthy and learning. When a life role finally arose, she would fill it, and until then continue to prepare for such a role, prepare to fill all the potential her small body contained.


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