✧ bury me shallow

---

It was the whisper of a novice that sent the world careening, turning tail and fleeing with the words of prophets on their tongues—unfulfilled dreams they'd said, hopes of fools they'd lie. Twyla bloomed within a dream, falsified truths were spewed and coddled her in a warm embrace until it was all she knew, all she could see.

She knew nothing but what she was told, nothing but what the Star Mother so graciously entitled her with. Her language and her faith clung to her like tight silk, caressing her in a way that was as chilling as it was sensuous. And though she adorned them with pride, the loneliness of the world crept within the corners of her vision, tainting and bending her views to its liking.

And then she was nothing. The worlds she'd traipsed within amounted to lost memories and fractured feelings—as fleeting as they were forgotten. Taken, again and again, forced to adapt and conform to worlds foreign and strange. She was exhausted and confused, relying on pleas from silent lips to light her path.

And then there she was again, reborn from the very stars she found herself praying to—pleading to.

The grass crumpled beneath her sprawled frame, rocks sprinkling off the small cliff to her left. Wanton and persistent, the winds tugged at her immobile frame, urging her to wake and start anew.

---

@Runar Vanderfell Woods Joining Thread

the staff team luvs u

I haven't played him as an adult yet, so I apologize if I'm rusty figuring out his flow!

---

It was a day like any other, or so far as young Runar could tell. Admittedly, his memory was foggy upon the morning's light, but he thought little of it. As High King, he had more responsibilities than he could count, and it was his mother who urged him to start his days in the break of new light. Patrolling was one word for the task at hand, though his father preferred to call it a stroll. He was alert as he walked, senses focused, listening to the cries of Mother Earth. Even in the crisp winter air, it was a beautiful day.

Perhaps he could spare a few hours by the lake in the run below. The river had yet to freeze, and if he was lucky, he might spot an easy fish or two. Unfortunately, his meal endeavor would have to wait for later. It was something else that caught his eye, still and dark, breathing against the rock and grass. A woman. Runar turned on his path and bounded quickly; heavy paws thundered the narrow paths underfoot with an ease that only came with experience. “Miss— are you alright, Miss?”

He'd allow her to keep her personal space, but Runar would still loom overhead, hesitant to lower his muzzle and check her should he be met with fangs.

the staff team luvs u

---

Bleary eyes flitted across the first thing she noticed. Ahead of her, sprinkled across plains and rolling hills of green were trees unlike the ones she'd grown around. Tall sentinels pointing to the sky rivaled the short and bare ones she was used to, those crumbling with age and desecration. Had she not noticed the pressing call of another, she might've dove off the cliff in an eagerness to explore what lay beneath.

Alas—

Twyla's nose scrunched as she turned her curious gaze to the side, soft tendrils of her fur cascading along her cheek as her head shifted slightly. Curious, indeed, though it was one word that slipped from her lips, pressing against his words in a failed answer. "Loud."

An incessant pounding spurred within her temples, waking and wishing for a place of solace—a place of shade. She was well, her wits intact. He did not need to fret. He was taller, draped in the furs of a moonlit sky, and for a second, Twyla might've thought him to hail from the very same place as she. It was a foolish thought, one even reprimanded by the spirit that lingered within. Though she didn't linger, she wondered even still.

"You are?" She asked lightly, her limbs pulling towards her as she prepared to stand. She was not fluent in common, a trait lacking since birth, but she could get by—marginally. Simple questions, simple answers.

the staff team luvs u

She shifts, and something inside the High King relaxes. She was conscious, good. Her answer, on the other hand, raised his brow, confused. “Loud, I might be, but that is no answer.” Yet his voice would soften at the unspoken request. He sits, prompted by her question to puff his chest, “Runar, Miss. High King of this very mountain.” His paw shoots out, almost as if to steady the woman, but still he refrains from touching her. “Ah— N-No need to rush, you may rest if needed. Runar is not concerned with you being here. ...Might you have a name, or something to call you by?”

the staff team luvs u

---

Twyla's nose scrunched at his reply. The spirit of a child bleeding through her womanly facade as petulance marred her delicate expression, eyes narrowing and face scrunching in a pout. He had eyes, perhaps if he opened them, they might work better. Though she'd never dream of uttering the words aloud, she'd hoped her expression was satisfactory.

And then he spoke again, confusing Twyla with titles she hadn't heard in...what may as well have been years. Kings? Dreadful men, she'd recall. It was no surprise her father wished to be one. "King?" She'd echo aloud, brows furrowing. "How?" Because how could one alone conquer a mountain—a force and a life far bigger than their own? Surely he was not that strong.

Incessant, maybe. The charcoaled woman tsked at him and dared to gently swat away his bare advances, a silent act of reassurance as she gathered her bearings. She was no fawn. Her ears shifted to him as she straightened, brows furrowing. Did they all refer to themselves as he did? Should she?

Her head swiveled to the side, taking in the harsh slopes of the mountain as she spoke. "Twyla has name." She paused, confusion marring gentle features. Perhaps that was not the right phrasing—

She turned to him again. "Twyla." She could practically hear the snickers of her brother, relentless teasing even amidst what was once her cold grave.

the staff team luvs u

The night-clad man's brows drew upwards at her expression as if his mother had just scolded him. He could not comprehend her reason to glower and pout, so instead he tried to move on to her questions. “Ahah...It was my chosen birthright? The role my mother wished for Run— for me to fill.” A role come too soon some may argue, but dear mother could only take so much, even for such a powerful woman. Ever since father died...

“My family has lived here for years under my parents... until recently.” Runar would not let the somber tone scrape his voice, but it was visible at the corners of his eyes, where they crinkled with sadness. His paw drew back to his chest before settling on the ground, “If I have offended you, Miss, I assure you it was not my intention. I only wished to help. ...Does Tylwa have a home? If you are lost we have lived here our whole lives. My brothers travel more than I; they may be able to help you.”

the staff team luvs u

---

Birthright. Twyla did not like that word. Too many unworthy, too many foolish children awaiting it to drop within sticky hands.

Her gaze shifted over him, silent thoughts filtering across an otherwise empty gaze before her maw parted. "You are bad king?" Not an accusation but a curious question, her paws flexing against the soft blades of grass beneath her. She did not wish to stay beneath a mean king, a bad one, but she was neither smart enough to deduct such a detail herself. She'd take his word, regardless.

Her Star Mother saw to it that she was guided here, manipulating the woman's body and placing her where she was needed. Twyla wouldn't obstruct her plans. "And you have...whole mountain?" She was sure she could find a place of worship, an altar of her own making should he allow her to stay. Perhaps he would even take her faith upon his own shoulders, lean into a life led by harmonious symphonies from the stars.

Dark lips turned downward at his soft admission and it was with sympathy that the acolyte regarded him. "Twyla has no family, too." Whether he meant death or otherwise, Twyla didn't care to question. He would share if he desired, but the woman would assume nonetheless.

"No home." She would answer, neither upset nor bothered in the slightest at the fact. "Stars. Stars are home."

the staff team luvs u

Runar blinked stupidly at the words that fell from her mouth. They were without hostility, without judgment, a question, but took him by surprise anyhow. Quickly he'd shake his head, a stutter at his lips, “N-No, at least Runar hopes not—!” His brows drew with concern and authenticity, then down with something more somber. “My family is here, only... we do not all walk this realm anymore.”

Where his father had gone, he was uncertain. Perhaps Hel, living amongst them here on the mountain. He had gone peacefully in his sleep, but there was still the chance to be selected for Folkvangr despite not passing on the fields of battle. Runar must have misled her into a confession that no longer shared common ground. The High King swallowed, “They are good people. The mountain has been kind to us, and the forest plentiful.” Then a spare glance to the day sky. “They are gone for now, but the stars are here too. You could have a home. Maybe a family.” He could promise she'd find those here, but Runar knew better than to fill her with hope if this life was not meant for her. Life in Vanderfell was wonderful— he was biased, of course, but it could be hard. It was not for those soft of foot.

“Do you have any special skill? Something you pride yourself on.”

the staff team luvs u

---

"Where then?" Twyla would wonder aloud, curious and probing eyes settling on him. "The stars?" She was sure her family was within them, scattered across constellations like they were born to be. Were his as well?

Twyla was not surprised by his next words. The mountain was thriving, breathing the very life into their own bodies. And it'd chosen Runar—Runar's family—did that not count for something? But his next statement seemingly confused her, her head shifting. "Gone? Never gone." Her lips seemed to soften in a small smile. "Here, always. Just hiding—testing." If they remained within view, how else would their faith be proven? They are meant to believe even in the absence of their picture of faith, to believe even in the absence of it all. He would learn, eventually.

Her ears fell in time with those two uttered words. A home. A family. Though the woman hadn't dared to crave them in their own absence, it was with warmth that the thought of them settled within her chest now. The offer, however slight, was enough to have her expression lightening.

"You are giving home?" Twyla would ask, a fleeting feeling of desperation settling at the base of her stomach.

Skills? Twyla supposed she was good at some things. Her brows would draw together. "Hunt. Tellings—like story." She was no fighter but she could learn with a tender hand, perhaps. Then, unashamed, she would straighten. "Faith." Though he understood it naught, he would grow to learn of her commitment should she stay.

the staff team luvs u