Unbowed, unbent, unbroken but almost drowned

Unbowed, unbent, unbroken but almost drowned

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The waves had tossed him around, battered him, churned and shaken him in every direction like a poor rag doll. Fragile he had been, powerless in the face of the imminent death that lurked and out of breath before the overwhelming force of the torrents. Taurenis had seen himself leaving, disappearing, his flame submerged by the raging waves.

But he was spat out, rejected by the swell onto the stony shore. The capricious river had threatened to reclaim him, tickling the trembling sides of the brown wolf before retreating.
He was there, he had survived; The fierce fire of Brûle-roche would still burn as long as he remained. From his lungs he had to expel the unwanted water: He was coughing again and again, then finally he could breath again.

 “Where the-...” He could talk, he could see, he was alive. “ Where am I ?” Could he even catch his breath, as speaking had been so difficult for him? But he was strong and the flame kept burning, fed by the hope and the will of his children. After staggering, Taurenis tried once more to rise but his trembling legs, threatened to give way under his weight. Never had he felt so heavy after being so weightless under the river's wrath.
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Thanks for welcoming Taurenis and for joining me in this RP. I'm very excited to write with you ;u; !

---

"Hello?" A noise that shattered through his skull with the same brutal impact the waves had used to break him. For now, he could offer no clearer response than a low growl, a sign of the discomfort her words had caused. Taurenis was still dazed, barely managing to regain his bearings now that the ground no longer swayed beneath his heavy paws.

He finally lifted his head, abandoning the exhausting task of fully getting up. Before him stood another wolf—or so it seemed. The stranger bore the dark fur of his region, and at that moment, Taurenis felt relief; the tide hadn't carried him too far and probably still was in the foreign lands of Brûle-roche.

“Where are we?...” he murmured through clenched, weary jaws. “The mountain. How many days?” Days of walking—because he expected to be able to return home, to Brûle-roche. It couldn't be this far, and that rougeoise — The inhabitant of Brûle-Roche for whom Taurenis mistakes Twyla. would help him, for that was the way of the wolves of Brûle-roche.
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He understood nothing, and it sent a sharp pain through his head. Wasn't she a Rougeoise? What was this language? It bore no resemblance to the ancient Rougeois, nor did it echo any of the dialects he had once heard from the lips of travelers in his childhood. Bewildered, and now gripped by panic, the tall brunet dug deep within himself, summoning a growl that came from somewhere deep, like the rumblings of Brûle-roche's volcano.

“Je suis rougeois, tu ne me comprends pas?!” — I am rougeois, don't you understand me?! He growled, frustration thick in his voice. It felt like a nightmare, one that would end the moment she stopped playing the role of the wild foreigner, and with a knowing smirk, would confess that she had been mocking him all along, switching to the language of their homeland, and to soothe him, would say warmly; "You are still home, Taurenis."

Around him, mountains and rocky terrain began to emerge, but nothing like the land he knew. The flame that had once burned with hope now blazed with anger, fear, and uncertainty. He was lost, far from his people, far from home. Or was he? He would not accept it. He would deny it to the very end.;

“Où est la Montagne?!” — Where is the Mountain?! He was beginning to show aggression, like a wounded animal, drawing closer to the stranger in a desperate attempt to force words from her—an answer he longed for, desperately.
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Oops, my bad! Noted!

---

“Growl at Twyla not!” He had responded with an internal growl, a murmur meant only for himself. She wasn’t a rougeoise. He had to face this truth, though it was far more bitter than the gallons of water that had nearly claimed his life.

“Sorry.” He had finally whispered, exhausted, his head lowered before the one who had unjustly endured his wrath. She was not to blame, but she was the only one there, the only one against whom he could vent his frustration. Yet, she was not to blame and he knew it.
The tall, brown man had finally stepped back, or rather, forced himself to shift his tired body as best he could, groaning from exhaustion and discomfort.

"Two mountains. One is home?" At these words, Taurenis had painfully lifted his gaze once more, searching for the mountains he had already scoured earlier. Perhaps he had missed something. One last hope.

“None is home.” He rasped, as if desperately holding onto a faint glimmer of hope. “Brûle-roche. This is my home. You know the place?” His burning gaze pleaded for solace, for a glimmer of hope. Taurenis knew deep down he was lost, yet he still refused to accept it until the truth was spoken aloud. A rougeois will always find his way home as long as the flame within him still burns. But hadn’t that flame been weakened by the torrents that had torn it from his home? A flame on the edge of extinguishing. He was on the edge of extinguishing.
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Of course not, she did not know.
Taurenis had curled in on himself, seeking solace as a wolf cub might, cocooned in his own embrace while he rekindled the embers of his spirit. He exhaled softly, and for a fleeting moment, closed his eyes—as if mourning the last flicker of his hope. Lamentation was a thing of the past now—he could not afford to linger in sorrow anymore anymore though the pain was still teeming.

At last, he lifted his weary gaze toward his interlocutor, ears standing tall.
“Yes I am sad and I carry the flame within me so I am not lost.” He paused briefly before murmuring on. “But my flame, it lights no path.” Thus, he was lost. He would find his way again—it was only a matter of time. But for now, he needed to gather his strength, to grant himself respite.

“Twyla. Your name is Twyla?” he asked before continuing. “Brule-Roche is a mountain with no end, no summit. I never seen it, the summit. She is... Choleric. She spits fire when she is very angry. Yet she can be merciful, she is a guardian to her children. I am one of them.”

At the mention of his homeland, Taurenis' eyes glowed with a passion already steeped in nostalgia. These mountains here were nothing like Brule-Roche. It were lusher, steeped in green. Wetter, too. The air here was crisper, gentler, he would have said.

“Is this your home?” he inquired, his gaze once more tracing the contours of the landscape. Despite the thunderous roar of the waterfalls, a strange serenity lingered in this place. Or perhaps, it was Twyla's presence —calm, yet soothing in its own way. A stranger she was, her purpose unknown to him, and yet she had stopped. She had listened. He, a castaway, had been heard.
Would he have done the same in her place? Would he have halted his ascent for a weary, wandering soul? ...
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Tao is a poor exhausted man, he's falling asleep xD
I loved this RP, especially Twyla she's a cutie ;u; !

---

Twyla wasn’t a Rougeoise, and yet, at times, she seemed to speak like one. Wherever she might have come from, she understood the castaway’s words—she grasped their meaning.

"The flame...it will burn big again" In response, he graced her with a faint smile, the only one his weary body could still conjure.

She had listened intently as he spoke of his homeland, and it had seemed to him that she harbored a quiet curiosity for the place—or at least for the story it carried. Small gestures, one after another, weaving together a fragile thread of comfort for the weary traveler.
And so, as their quiet conversation continued, he learned more—not just about the place, but especially about her. Enough, perhaps foolishly, to feel no sense of danger.

She, too, came from the mountains. She must have known the taste of ascent, the love of great heights. But with such small paws—where could it possibly have carried her? The thought crossed his mind. The Fate's Summit... A name that stirred in him a longing he thought lost, an ember of ambition glowing once more beneath his fatigue.

"I am Twyla. Name?” Her voice pulled him away from his reverie.

A name? For one born at the feet of the peaks, in the clash of rock and fire, now cast adrift by the torrents. A name that could be spoken in this land. A name that, from this moment on, would be his.

“Taurenis. That is my name.” He had murmured before letting his heavy head sink against the earth. “Twyla... thank you,” He had further added, voice fragile. “I am exhausted. But when I am better, I will go and meet her. To know what Fate she holds for me: I might speak with the stars themselves or maybe dance with them.” He smiled.

With that, he buried his head between his calloused paws, his eyelids falling shut, drawing him into the depths of sleep—deep, unyielding, and, he hoped, restorative.
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