morning mind fog

Crisp morning air, and woods blanketed in the fog of dawn. It almost gave the young poet a sense of familiarity, despite the black hole that was her memory. It had been only a day since she became a woodweaver of Elkshire, not that she really knew what that meant, and she was still quite anxious about it. There were many rules she had yet to learn, but she was far too afraid to ask the queen herself. She’d been welcomed with open arms — though for what Calliope still wasn’t quite sure about. What use did a poet with few other skills, and fewer still memories, have to a pack like this?

Sleep was near impossible when you had an endless amount of room in your mind not taken up by memories of your past. Calliope found herself rising to watch the sunrise, trying to find something that would trigger a memory or some sense of belonging to somewhere. Nothing had come. Based on Queen Célnes’ familiarity with this, she was starting to realize that an empty mind was normal for many in these woods.. perhaps her memories were gone for a reason.

And so Calliope rested beneath a twisted oak tree, watching the river pass by with yellow eyes distant, lost deep within her mind. Fog swirled above the current. Her warm brown fur tousled by the cool early morning breeze. It was here she remained, at least until the summer sun reached higher in the sky and cast its intense heat upon the forest.

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It was on the perimeter of the forest that day; the royal guard was on his standard routine of vigilance. The experienced wolf made sure to vet any leaving and going the shire. His passive listenings to Celenes' chatter gave him enough info to know who was part of their band.

This one he had not seen before, it was a brown female, one touted as a poet. He had only heard of her until now. It would be in his best interest to seek her out to get a mental image of her, in order to not later mistake her for an intruder.

It was there he found her, sitting beneath a twisted oak. She appeared to be deep in thought, as if in a far away land.

As the wind gently swept the shire, Remus stood their silently, waiting, with only a face of stone to be shown.
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---

Stepping out into the damp heat of dawn, slumber dripped from him. It spilled from his unkempt furs, drizzled like an evening rain from his softy parted maw, and swam dizzily in the earthy currents of his slowly blinking eyes. The young Prince had only recently awoken, yes, and it appeared upon his face in every sense of the word.

It had been a pleasant few hours that sleep enveloped him, though, despite the warmth of his sleepy home, there had never been much keeping him there. Not a bad place, no; he'd decorated it fondly with what bit of memories he'd retained from his childhood, returning to his bedchambers was a lovely way to end the day.

But his day had just started.

“Good morning, Remus.” The boyish charm that laced every word that flew from his mouth was ever apparent today. Perhaps it was a sign of good health? Though he was no doctor, only a happy-natured fool. “I do hope that rest has favoured you, yes?” The lad couldn't help by wonder if the brute even indulged in a nap from time to time, but his mind told him no as soon as it brought it up to ponder. He was certain there was more to the big bloke, though he didn't know exactly how much.

Flynn nodded his farewell to him as he trotted along, scouting the land as he normally did before anyone opened their eyes. Of course, this time, he too had caught glimpse of why Remus sat idle. She was wrapped in dreams, sunkissed coat lapping at the fair weather. It wasn't his place to wake her, no, but he had a funny feeling this was the poet Cel had mentioned. He supposed only time would tell.

—

---

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The poet eased to her paws, knowing in the back of her mind that she should not lie here all day. But her yellow eyes were locked upon the river's current, still lost in her musing. Finally she tore them away, but froze with a start as she turned and two others seemed to have melted out of the fog and forest behind her. She could hear words over the wind, though not what they were. Had she just not heard them approach? Fear tugged at her heart for a moment, fur standing on end, before she came to the realization that these were no foes. She recognized them, their scent was that of Elkshire, though she had yet to grow used to it. And had no idea what their names could be. Her ears turned back in embarrassment. How long had they been there? Calliope wondered.

"Oh, well, good morning to you two," she called out. Her words were smooth and trained, as they always were, never betraying her fear—though in an odd juxtaposition, her body language was usually a clear tell. She approached them, still keeping her distance though, yellow eyes hopeful that they would accept her.

"I don't think we've met... My name is Calliope."

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As Flynn trotted by in his carefree, yet graceful manner, Remus responded to the boy's greeting with a respectful nod and recognition, "--Flynn".  The boy had alot of potential, he seemed sure hearted enough, yet a bit Naïve, not un-like most of the others around here.

With a bit of a delay, the boy turned to see what he was looking at -- the poet.  Before Remus could respectfully take his leave, both he and Flynn where being addressed by the poet.  Though it pained him a bit, the guard couldn't help but feel curious about her. After all poets where lore-keepers of a sort; the heart and soul of a culture, a civilization. 

"Calliope, the poet -- I am Remus, royal guard." He retorted, holding himself formal.
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---

As the woman rose, so did the light in his freshly budded optics; tail gently swaying at his rump as he witnessed the first blinks her eyes had to offer him. She was a fairly little dame, one of hickory and honey; rising slowly with a body nearly as short and stout as a tree stump. But she was beautiful, no doubt. The little star that twinkled betwixt her lenses caught his attention almost immediately, nose wiggling forward as he squinted to inspect it. “You've 'a very pretty face there, miss. Ya know that?” He'd laugh, boyishly yet charming. 

Though, as introductions were hashed, the prince was unsure exactly how to address himself. It appeared Remus had a title of sorts, whether it had been given by Cel or by his own lips, the boy didn't know, but today, his mind had its own calling. One he'd heard the Queen say herself. “Ah, greetings, miss Calliope! I'm Flynnigan,... The Deer Prince. Though most call me Flynn.” Something about the words that left his mouth brought a tightness to his chest, but... It felt right. “You're the poet, correct?”

—

---

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The poet didn't know how to react to the Prince's comment, clearly unused to that type of thing. Her cheeks grew hot underneath her fur but she smiled nervously, nodding in bashful gratitude.

"Oh my, thank you," she responded, ears facing backwards as she dipped her head. "The Prince and the Royal Guard," she mused, considering their titles for a moment. Calliope realized with a start that these two both were of quite high ranking, and close to Queen Célnes for that matter. Anxiety brewed in her stomach. Though she'd had many pleasant interactions with the Queen, she remained fearful of her rule, desperate to impress. Flynn however seemed so friendly and informal that much of these nerves were eased. Her anxious smile faded into a more relaxed one as she continued:

"It is lovely to meet you both." She finished with a slight bow, searching for acceptance in their eyes, "I feel very lucky that I was welcomed into Elkshire."

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Remus stood there slightly less stone faced than normal.  Sure he would accept her, why wouldn't he.  In fact, he was glad that this civilization had a lorekeeper and poet of sorts.  It was a good start for this upstart culture.  

The guard didn't say anything else, opting to let Flynn do the talking.  Turning his attention to Calliope, he waited for her to do something... poetic.   Perhaps this old warrior, could find some inspiration.
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---

“Ah, charmed! Absolutely charmed you could join us!” His excitement had always been a hassle to match, even during times that didn't require a smile, the boy was seemingly trained to giggle and grin. Though truthfully, he was a naturally happy-hearted lad, tail wagging at her in hopes that the duo could one day become good friends. Despite his endearing demeanor, he'd only managed to wrangle in a single friend... Or two, if Remus felt like being included that day.

“So, um, not to put you on the spot, but how exactly did you come to be a poet? Do you have any great works? Songs?” Sitting, his full undivided attention placed on the little pumpkin-of-a-woman. He was curious. He, too, often found himself humming and marching to the beat of his own drum, that drum being the sounds of his paws galloping across soft grasses, upon damp dirt, along rocky streams. But music was music, was it not? Nevertheless, he'd wait, big eyes fluttering with interest.

—

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”Oh, well thank you,” she responded with a smile.

The prince’s question following however threw her for a bit of a loop… the only thing Calliope knew of herself were poems, an innate desire to create and weave words. Though she awoke with none, a few had been created both for the queen and for her own personal way of interacting with the world. After a moment of thought, she responded:

“Well, I suppose I don’t quite know how I came to be a poet. It is all I know of myself, besides my own name,” she said, her voice smooth though still quite shy, “How did you come to be a wolf, or an elk become an elk? I am Calliope, the poet.”

Her own answer surprised herself. She had spent so long worrying about why she was here, instead of deciding that she was here to stay. Is it not enough to just exist?

“I suppose I could recite one, if you both would like, either one I’ve given to the queen or a small one of my own..”

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Her answer surprised Remus as well; how did a wolf become a wolf? and a poet a poet?  It sounded like she had already started. It was hard to comprehend but nonetheless stimulating.  Remus calked his head, showing a bit of interest through his stony demeanor.  He side eyed Flynn, curious to see how he would react before looking back to the poet expecting more. 

With a slight nod, Remus sat, silently, intrigued.
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---

His felt cheeks turned red with question, downy ears of chocolate twisting and turning as if he could find a secret hidden in her phrase. He supposed there were many ways to respond to such a thing, but he couldn't be sure which one she was wanting, or if, mayhaps, she wanted them all or nothing of the sort. “A ponder... A wolf becomes a wolf due to divine destiny, just as the roots in the ground know not what they are to become until the surface, we only know who were are to become when we believe. You could be a poet, or I could be a poet, or hell, Remus, too.” Smiling, nodding to himself in agreement. He didn't know if what he said had many any sense, but he'd said it with confidence.

“But, also, I'd make a horrible poet! Ha! I'd love to hear your works, though, yes.”

—

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Calliope smiled as Flynn spoke. "See, you'd make a wonderful poet, Prince Flynn!" she said with a laugh, finding herself much more at ease than before. Remus remained a quiet shadow, though, and his stare could not go unnoticed. Steeling her nerves, she prepared to recite the poem that had granted her entry to The Elk's Crown in the first place. Her first poem here. She supposed it was good enough, if it was good enough for the Queen to let her join Elkshire.

Braver now, Calliope lifted her head and filled her lungs with air.

”Awoken in a crimson forest
I did lie among the petals.
A doe, and a wolf
upon red grass settled.

Entwined is their history,
yet to me unknown.
What should be rivalry
instead an alliance grown.

Um, that's the poem the Queen heard when she invited me to join Elkshire," Calliope finished, dipping her head in a modest bow.

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