Learned my lesson way too long ago

It was in the fog that the maiden walked, fur practically blending in with the world around her. It was a curious place she found herself in, the land bridge she had discovered from here to the place she had woken in opening the path to this mystical place. She could hear the souls cry out to her, soft and whispering voices that sought her attention, though she ignored them at the moment.

Why?

She was distracted in her explorings and discoverings, having paused at what looked, felt like a grave. Head lowering, the woman closed those stormy eyes and murmured a prayer of sorts, paying her solemn and tender respects to those that stayed trapped in this limbic space.

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It was strange to think it could be true, but the yearling felt himself adapting. Slowly, but surely, each day as a fully-fledged loner became easier to cope with.

In a very distinct way, his queen mother's cold distance had helped prepare him for this turn of events. Independence had needed to come early to his litter, after all, especially to those like him, marked in the dreaded white. Weirs learned young to function in his own solitude under those conditions. Now that the rest of his family and pack had vanished out from around him, Weirs put to good use a lot of his self-taught strategies--and with them, he survived. Even if he was alone, and he missed his treasured-few loved ones dearly, he was managing to scrape by. He could catch enough food to feed himself, and the springtime was kind to his efforts.

Curiosity had eventually begun to take true root when worry eventually dulled, because not only was the Elk's Crown largely surrounded by a strange new (and massive) body of water now, but even south of here, it extended. He was left to wonder--did it have an end? And if it did, what might await? It was certainly like no creek or riverway he had encountered before... To investigate, and pass the hours, Weirs had taken to tracing the coastline further, beyond the forests he was most familiar with.

It led him to these odd vistas, with unfamiliar structures watching him through the dreariness. They cut into the sky, unlike treetops--and sparked a cautious wariness in him when he did not know what else might lurk here. His progress became more careful, given the circumstance and all of its reduced visibility.

But he could make out an unfamiliar scent, one of another wolf, and he tried to follow it. Eyes squinted, and ears swiveling hungrily for any hint, he thought he heard something, too, but couldn't make out what it was exactly. It made him more mindful of his own paws suddenly as he searched the fog--not yet ready, or confident enough here, to announce his own presence.

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It did not occur to the sea-witch that her murmurings and prayers, especially spoken in a language that was unlike the common tongue, would sound perhaps ominous to someone that could not quite see her through all the fog. It also did not occur to her that in this place, with this fog, and the spirits that lingered here, that there would be someone else. Truly, it felt as if she were alone among these ruins, and she might have been for a moment. But another form began to materialize out of the swirls of misty clouds, drawing the attention of that periwinkle gaze.

At first, Esme could not tell if what she saw before her was of the physical or spiritual world. Was she having a vision? Had she taken anything to induce a vision? No... Not that she could recall. Still, if she was assuming incorrectly, she risked riling and agitating the spirits of this realm. What to do, what to do?

“Hello,” She would attempt, calling out to the wolf-ish form and waiting to see if she was either acknowledged or greeted in return.

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With his nerves coiled tight, his steps were small, but enough momentum to bring him here, closer. He was uneasy in such a new place, especially one made of strange structures and limited visibility. But these were good first experiences. Necessary.

Hello the unfamiliar feminine voice said. His ears pricked, then splayed out. Further, he aimed to hone in with this new information. Careful still but beginning to let himself lean into a true curiosity. Just a hint. “Hello,” he echoed back with a little scratch on his own voice, because Weirs didn't see many these days... but, he did not bring any ill intent, as risky as meeting strangers in the mists could be. The yearling was too out of the element of his forested home and far from the comfort of his littermates to be anything except painfully present.

He blinked, and could finally find her. It seemed so sudden to him. She was mottled in pale silvers, dressed in a way he had never seen before. “Hi,” he repeated, maybe a touch more firm. “Is.. was that you, from a few minutes ago too?” he asked, meaning the odd voice he had traced here. He wanted to believe it was her. If not, maybe he had bigger problems right now but until then, the Déorwine sought confirmation first--staring wide-eyed at this new stranger.

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An echo, but not quite. A different voice. Otherworldly? Esmerelda couldn't tell just yet. She would take a careful step towards the voice, and then another, before the fog finally began to shift and allow them to see each other. Not a ghost, then, nor a spirit. And no, they were not quite the same thing.

“Yes,” She provided easily, not wanting to spook the boy, for he seemed more boy than man, though not in a way that was meant with ill-intent. Moreso that he seemed innocent and approachable rather than arrogant and full of himself. “My apologies if I made you uneasy. I was simply attempting to help give peace to the dead here, though I doubt they will find it so easily. This place feels old in a way I cannot describe.” Her muzzle cast upwards then, looking to the pointed tower of the castle and down to its walls.

“My name is Esmerelda. I live close-by. And you are?”

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She very much suited the scene, practically manifesting from the fog and stone that surrounded them, while Weirs still felt out of place away from the woodlot. But he was taking this in. He was a bit embarrassed that she picked out his uneasiness so soon, hence his splaying ears that corrected when she spoke of the dead that resided here, then looked up. The yearling followed the motion towards a particular strange tower and he squinted, considering this.

It did feel old. Weirs was glad to be able to agree there, as it put into words a distinct sensation he had found here. The notion of the dead here alone threatened to trip him up, however--he simply hadn't thought about them until now, not so specifically when he was distracted by the low visibility and strange architecture. What type of history had this place seen before them? Who had lived here, then died all the same? He tried not to think about his brother's gravesite tucked miles away in the safety of the crown and what would become of it years later after even he was gone... “How do you give peace to the dead..?” he asked, still not sure exactly what he had heard as he looked back to her. “I thought it felt strange here, too...” was all he could remark, however small it seemed in comparison. His perceptions did not span so wide.

Next she gave a name: Esmerelda. It carried a cadence he was not familiar with. “Oh, how close?” he asked as well, as none other had claimed the same so he was quick to catch it. His pack was gone, and he had only crossed paths with few others. Had he finally roamed far enough to find where others were now? “I'm Weirs. From the forest of the Elk's Crown,” he said. “Not too far away.. but I have never seen this place before,” this time he gestured his muzzle at the castle walls in general. At least he thought it was not too far away. “A lot has changed.” Evidently.

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The mottled woman would watch him survey the ruins above them, around them, curiosity and wonder evident in his gaze. He would give voice to such wonderings, too, bringing a soft smile to her face. “There are many ways; honoring and acknowledging their sacrifices is my preference, though many have different methods. I choose to pray and pay my respects, which is likely what you heard me doing.”

“We live across the waters to the north; the island of the Saltwoods. My wife and I are building a home there.” He mentioned his own home, as well, and Esme was careful to take note of the location he supplied. His last phrase, however, brought about the slightest tilt to her head, ears rotating forward to give him more of her attention. “What do you mean?”

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It was not an entirely new concept to pay such delicate, postmortem respects. His mother had honored their fallen, and their lost, in her own ways. Weirs had seen a certain level of the process play out real-time for his brother, but never to quite an extent where he knew just the right questions to ask. He had been just grief-stricken enough to make it through at all. “What do you pray to for them?” he asked, his tone clenched with a little less uncertainty now. In his family, without question, it had been their High Elk. His queen mother had said that the life taken too soon had gone to be with Him after, then with the promise of a hopeful new chance at life.

Weirs wondered if hers, whatever here from the seaside she carried, would be essentially all the same.

But, at least he knew now that there were others--not that he grasped what an island was, exactly. Saltwoods. Her wife. Nothing familiar to him. It left him nodding slowly then, and deciding how to answer her when there was no easy summation of what he meant by a lot has changed brought his ears back again. “Earlier in the spring the whole pack vanished except for me, I guess. They're not there anymore. Our forest--The Elk's Crown, if you can even call it that anymore--didn't use to have these strange waters near it either.” he gestured vaguely beyond, because it was sounding as strange as it deemed. “It's like almost everything is new,” he supposed, still never able to understand why just him? Had others felt it too?

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A difficult question. One that changed with each being you asked. It was a smart, well-mannered question, however, and Esmerelda had no problem with attempting an answer that would explain in a way that would honor not only her gods but the ones that she did not personally worship as well. “It depends on who you ask, as they may have different beings of power, or different idols to show reverence to. I pray to the Goddess of the Sea and the Goddess of the Soul. The Mother Sea ferries the lost and wayward souls to where the Soul Mother can greet them with a kindness that may not have been shown to them in the living world. All souls deserve kindness in the end; there is no one i would wish eternal turmoil and pain upon.”

It was a deep answer, but one that she whole heartedly believed in, likely evident by the care and affection with which she spoke.

Her ears would fall as he spoke of his family and home vanishing, the world around where he had lived changed. It was as if the gods of this world, this universe, treated the land and those that lived upon it as playthings; the wolves and creatures their pawns, and the land their evershifting, everchanging puzzle. “I'm sorry to hear that, ...” She realized then, that she had not caught his name, nor had she given her own. “I am Esmerelda, by the way.”

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Goddess of the Sea. Goddess of the Soul. Both, mothers, and very much a part of the purpose of what came after life. Thinking sadly of his brother, and maybe even the rest of his family now, he agreed that he could not wish eternal turmoil on any of them. He wanted them to have a kindness that he did not, left here, alone in their hollow woods. Wherever they were, be it with these revered mothers, or the company of their High Elk, Weirs did not know.

He was grateful that Esmerelda had answered him, and in her words, he sensed something earnest--deeply real, too. It gave him something to chew on, despite not having the words right for it here. He understood the depths thanks to his proximity to those that had left him, but that was just a drop in the bucket of the grand scheme of greater experience... “For my family, it is a being called the High Elk..” he said, drawing back on her mention of different beings of power. However, he did not particularly feel like going into depths about their most sacred, not when he had lost a lot of his connections to it recently and the ache was still so unprocessed.

“Have you explored much else of this strange place?” he asked, looking past them again--wondering what else these shrouded halls had tucked away.

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The High Elk. Esmerelda found that interesting in a way she could not explain. A holy deer was something she had not heard tale of in her years but she didn't challenge him on it. She worshipped the sea just as he did this deer, which was likely equally as confusing to him. The silver coated woman did not pry at his silence, letting him wrap it 'round him like a warm, safe blanket.

Only when Weirs spoke again did she respond similarly: “No. They are as unknown to me as they are to you. They do look like they have quite a bit of history though.” This was to say the least, the looming walls and spires piercing the skies above them. There was a gloom to them that seemed to speak volumes of a book that had no written words. Even the air smelled different; distant, old, ethereal...

“I'm not quite sure I'm ready to, either.”

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So it was unknown to her, too, and he nodded softly, face still furrowed pensively. The histories surely reached well beyond the scope of him, so he could only theorize what else these walls had seen before they had come here today. Even as inexperienced as he was, he could sense it vaguely enough, but had no way to interpret more than that--it was mysterious. Big and looming, too, even for something with such clear bounds.

But at the very same time, he knew not everything was always as it seemed. “Yeah. Maybe it is best it keeps its secrets,” he ultimately agreed.

“Have you known any other places like these before?” he questioned lightly enough, though his icy gaze still wandered over all the features surrounding them. Weirs had no actual word for it--a castle, and all it entailed, even past its strange, eerie vibes that seemed to coalesce here. In his world, the walls were absent. Instead, a forest, its towering trees were his boundaries and their spires. Who knew if her worldliness went far enough to know, either.

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