A cold splash welcomed her back into more familiar arms. Nim was laughing breathless by the time her toes found the sharp, slippery ground, though it rather felt like someone had stamped hard on her chest with every inhalation. Drowned skirts tangled up in her legs like a heavy second skin, but she propelled nimbly onwards like the game might continue until victory or truce.
Until something stopped her sudden.
The old one blocked the path upwards. Surprise widened her eyes as she backed up into the wolf’s kin, her bare foot slipping atop the shell of his before she seemed to remember he was there. He was huge. Nim slipped behind him, her grip finding the crook of his elbow as she peered beyond the wide shield of his back at the sentinel of the large wolf ahead. She was not afraid so much as wary, recalling quite suddenly the warning that had chased her away the last time she visited. Rejection stung anew. She’d told him she meant no harm.
A shiver escaped. It would be effortless to leave, but then her attention caught on the dark paints whorled against the muscular canvas inches from her face, and suddenly the wolf faded from mind. “Oh.” She pressed her fingertips to his skin, following the sinuous lines of serpents while every thought rattled inside. “The scales that squeezed the soul of the earth. Eyes like twin fire! Such a shiny new, ancient thing you are.” As she explored, a name popped suddenly against the surface: Vanagandr, and though the knowledge fled just as quickly, it was not before she realised something. A monster of the river, not of the sea. Her eyes crimped, and a laugh puffed out on cold air. “The Grey Lady has a sense of humour.”
He watched Wyldfyre and the bedraggled creature crawl from the waves, disappointed but unsurprised. Curiously wafted strong as a pup’s first blinks beyond the warmth of the firstden, and he was apparently enthralled by so ordinary a thing as another two-leg. He’d told his brother only moments before that the wolf dream was shared by others, but couldn’t, he supposed, blame the trust of his senses over the words of another. There was so much to learn though, and if rumour were to be believed, so little time in which to do it. Are you finished staring, brother? Can we go now?
A wary flare of scent marked the forgotten one’s recognition of Thorn Paw’s presence, replacing the entice of play. She slipped behind Wyldfyre and shortly began babbling in that sing-song voice. The old wolf’s ear twitched, but said nothing else. Warnings would not be repeated. Pack would protect if necessary.
Until something stopped her sudden.
The old one blocked the path upwards. Surprise widened her eyes as she backed up into the wolf’s kin, her bare foot slipping atop the shell of his before she seemed to remember he was there. He was huge. Nim slipped behind him, her grip finding the crook of his elbow as she peered beyond the wide shield of his back at the sentinel of the large wolf ahead. She was not afraid so much as wary, recalling quite suddenly the warning that had chased her away the last time she visited. Rejection stung anew. She’d told him she meant no harm.
A shiver escaped. It would be effortless to leave, but then her attention caught on the dark paints whorled against the muscular canvas inches from her face, and suddenly the wolf faded from mind. “Oh.” She pressed her fingertips to his skin, following the sinuous lines of serpents while every thought rattled inside. “The scales that squeezed the soul of the earth. Eyes like twin fire! Such a shiny new, ancient thing you are.” As she explored, a name popped suddenly against the surface: Vanagandr, and though the knowledge fled just as quickly, it was not before she realised something. A monster of the river, not of the sea. Her eyes crimped, and a laugh puffed out on cold air. “The Grey Lady has a sense of humour.”
He watched Wyldfyre and the bedraggled creature crawl from the waves, disappointed but unsurprised. Curiously wafted strong as a pup’s first blinks beyond the warmth of the firstden, and he was apparently enthralled by so ordinary a thing as another two-leg. He’d told his brother only moments before that the wolf dream was shared by others, but couldn’t, he supposed, blame the trust of his senses over the words of another. There was so much to learn though, and if rumour were to be believed, so little time in which to do it. Are you finished staring, brother? Can we go now?
A wary flare of scent marked the forgotten one’s recognition of Thorn Paw’s presence, replacing the entice of play. She slipped behind Wyldfyre and shortly began babbling in that sing-song voice. The old wolf’s ear twitched, but said nothing else. Warnings would not be repeated. Pack would protect if necessary.