Mama Isn't Here No More

Misha

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"And can't you see all the flowers dying all around you?
Got your hands in the devil's pockets
Got everything to lose

And so you lash out
To crush the ones below
Or all the ones that you fear most
And you call this crowd control
Well, let me break it down for you..."

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Misha trudged glumly along the woods on this pleasant evening as the sky burst from colors while the sun sunk. He had awoken far from home with a start. No one to dote on him at his every whim. But worse of all, still no mama. Misha soon came upon a small stream, the tranquil sound of water moving dominated the air. As he looked at his dishevel appearance, his normally well-maintained fur a myth of the past, it was the sight of his eyes that caused him to break down. Green, just like mothers. His first time of true solitude, away from his usual routine in a strange unknown world, and the fact that his mother was no longer living. He couldn't take it anymore. The normally energetic and cheeky wolf was nowhere to be seen. He wept, and wept.

The other day, she had been alive and well and then she suddenly told him she could not breathe. Her heart stopped, cardiac arrest. Though he did not know the diagnosis. To him she just suddenly wilted away. A beautiful flower, crushed in an instant. And he would never see her again because he had committed the gravest sin of all. He had killed another. Damnation awaited him, not the afterlife where his mother was now roaming. He knew this would happen, but he thought he would have more time, more warning, before she would wither. He was suppose to be the messiah, right? Then what kind of punishment was this?! He felt oddly vulnerable, a feeling he had never felt before. And anger. Towards those he had pledge spiritual allegiance too. How dare they take from the messiah.

His weeping turned into wailing before finalizing into a blood-curdling snarl. Feeling this boiling anger, he started biting at the water at his reflection erratically, wanting to sank his fangs into anything, just anything. But no matter how hard he tried, the water just slipped through his fangs. "Give her back, give her back!" He repeatedly spat as he spent his energy on his undead foe. If one were in the area they would surly hear the ruckus that had erupted in the trees.
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timed before her trip into the desert oops

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 And hear the ruckus she did.

 The witch moved through the forest, away from the man of the mist and away, too, from the lady beside the mountain. They were to the west, towards the river's heart: the sea. They did not matter to the woman right now, as she watched the young man snarl and bite into the water of a stream, howling about "giving her back."

 Ah. A newly departed.

 She slipped out of the shadows before him, eyeing the brilliant green eyes of the boy thoughtfully - for they were the colour of new leaves when the sun shone through them just right. “The stream does not have her,” she said carefully, looking over the lean boy. “Who is it you look for?” Whoever it was, she was no nearer than Andraste's own mother or the damned beast that had sired her. There was no doubt about that, from the way he toiled and the smell of the land that had yet to fully cover him with its stink.

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So absorbed in his tantrum, Misha did not notice the wolf that appeared before him until she spoke. He was so taken aback in fact, that he fell into the stream with a gasp, fur puffing up in his shock. The water was shallow enough for the fall to only be humiliating and a mere inconvenience as he laid there like one big mess, soaked and upset. Normally he would have tried to make a lewd joke from this but his pride was burning, or was this the fall after pride? "Haha...I guess she wasn't in there after all..." He joked and yet he did not look humored in the slightest, if anything, voicing that joke that was stained with truth made his organs feel like they were shriveling up inside.

Misha didn't have the time to be self-absorbed, he looked up at the stranger. She was the strangest and ugliest wolf he had ever seen in his entire life. He couldn't help but to stare with bright intense eyes as he slowly stood back up, fur heavy as water trickled down to rejoin the stream. Misha had no worries or thoughts of possible hostility from her, after all no one would ever touch him in his mind. Yet instead of the usual perception check for attractiveness (like could she be a freak in the sheets), or whatever else she could have that he wanted, he found himself throwing away his normality for hope. Desperation that she could give him what he no longer had. "My mother...I have been betrayed by the gods..." He said slowly, with each word causing his voice to only strain further. He was not use to showing or enduring such vulnerability. His pupils dilated as an unstable expression laid claim to him. "Can you bring her back?" Like a pup asking if the boogeyman would truly come for the misbehaved, he sought comfort.
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 The lean boy fell back into the water, clearly taken off guard by her sudden appearance. She watched him carefully as he picked himself up, turning towards her and making a lame joke about the predicament. It was clear that the boy was distressed and Andraste could already pick together the reason why. When he looked at her she recognized his disgust and ignored it with a twitch of ear-muscle. Once, long ago, it would have been a twitch of her ear. Sadly, there wasn't much left in the line of ear to twitch.

 He begged.

 Her eyes trailed to the water he had fallen in, then back to the boy. Hm. He wanted his mother back, what a shame - she was too far to retrieve.

 “No one can,” she responded simply, not bothering with gentleness.

 Her eyes returned to the boy's and she sighed. “I too was betrayed by the gods of my youth.” Those white-pelted glories who had twisted away without so much as a word. Their abandonment had been total, leaving even their own children to die in a hell of their making. This hell was different, in this hell she felt strong. She was not a lost woman huddling after a powerful man.

 Now she was powerful in her own right. “Welcome to hell.” She wanted to ask what he had done to deserve damnation but did not, instead regarding him silently as the crickets called in the distance, waiting for his reaction.

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Misha found his expression drop with each word she spoke. As if she were a Baba Yaga sitting on the walnut tree, each word had a spell attached to it that caused his blood to get colder and colder. In hindsight, he was an idiot for begging this rando for help, to fix all his problems, the fact he had even a small shred of hope for such a thing when the gods of his home could not be relied on. Normally rejection of any notion from him just brought anger to this narcissistic wolf, and yet he could not feel frustrated or angry at this stranger when she too had spoke of a similar situation. Betrayal. That is indeed what this was. And as he welcomed her to hell he couldn't help but laugh. It was ludicrous and yet so accurate. This was hell. Nothing the after life could give him would be worse damnation than the surprise assassination of one's heart. His love, tossed aside to rot.

"Thank you for the warm welcoming, Ma'am." He said as his laughter turned to a small snicker. Only the bristling of his tail now show his anger. He wanted to know more of this wolf, one who claimed betrayal too. Or maybe, even naive Misha could tell this was a wolf with much experience. "For one cast away by gods, you still seem strong. What is your secret then? Is it vengeance you seek, that gives you a will?" He asked, an odd hunger showing in his eyes with the last words. He was projecting a bit with that last sentence.

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Baba Yaga: slavic witch
Walnut trees: slavic myth of witches living/chilling in walnut trees
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 The boy laughed, though it was entirely unconvincing. It was clear the boy felt no joy but was ridiculing the situation - which was wise. This entire situation was fucked up and her nose twitched, chest shaking once in a silent laugh. Hell indeed.

 Wow. His tail grew two times when it bristled.

 “My pleasure,” she responded, striding up to the water to take a drink, watching the boy in her periphery. He went on to compliment her strength - ha - and ask of her secret. She drank for a moment longer before lifting her head to face him again. A smile tweaked onto her lips. “Why, I became my own god.” A chuckle at the irony of it all, paired with a shake of her head so that it was uncertain whether she was joking or not. “Death could not hold me, though it tried.” She licked her lips. “I became a devil to punish the damned.”

 “To devour them.” Her eyes lit with a savage glory and she grinned, fully facing the boy now.

 Her eyes flashed towards the south and she chuffed, thinking of the pack of heretics. “Perhaps one might call it vengeance. I call it fun.” There was a sick irony within this that even she did not know yet.

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Okay, she was still ugly, but there a sort of powerful beauty surrounding her existence he decided as he closely observed her drinking water, realizing again and again throughout today, this was no ordinary wolf. He was not expecting the claim that came out of her mouth. The claim to be a deity. Such ambition, many would probably laugh or scream from such a claim. He found himself staring dumbfounded, all previous lewd thoughts gone as he went right back on track.

As she backed her claim with reasoning and motivation, all Misha could find himself focusing on was the hunger and ambition that could never be quenched. This scarred beast would face and conquer each challenge. Misha felt like he was the biggest sinner of all for just one death, how many eternities did the gods try to make this wolf suffer for, and how many times had she bested them? Misha could not bring it in himself to dismiss her claims. Whether it was because of his current mental status or from the fact that she gave a new hope now, to defy fate itself. The spark in his eyes betrayed his silence, screamed of the huge reaction she was having on his senses.

He was silent for several long moments, replaying her words again and again. Finally a wicked grin broke out. "Wow, you're fucked up, no wonder nothing seems to be able to kill you." He said as a compliment. He hesitated with his next words, worried for once of consequence. For she was not the normality thus normal rules or logic may not apply to her, or so would be his conclusion. "Where I came from, I am considered a messiah dammed to the worst of hells to suffer through. So were you what was created to punish me, or is there a different damnation that your eyes can see? I rather you spare me to continue my existence with the goal to become just as beautiful and deadly as you." The last sentence was half of a joke and yet was serious as well. She was onto something. And he was beginning to believe that being the messiah he was, this god was brought to him, or maybe he had unconsciously summoned her in his time of need. Either way, this was not something of chance but of destiny he decided.
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 The wicked witch, twisted and scorned - a monster. She reveled in it.

 For what was beauty but a mask for the villain within? She had peeled back that skin, her true self open for the world to see. None could see her and expect her to be any different from a war machine, a beast of body and savagery. A woman who had seen pain, yes, but who had inflicted it as well. He stared at her and she watched back, impassive. Red eyes read his face, finding the spark within his eyes.

 She smiled.

 It was not a nice smile, not one like the pretty little ladies of the woods. It was a cunning one, savage, mirroring the wicked grin he also shared now. His compliment-insult was met with a smirk, though she listened intently as he went on. A messiah, damned? Her eyes lit up, curious, and she laughed. He thought that she existed solely to punish him. No, he was not nearly that important. In the grand scheme of things, he was but a shadow, a smear on the wall.

 “Oh, wow - what can damn a messiah?” she laughed, stalking closer to inspect the boy. Her motions were animal, eyes gleaming as she sized him up and down, sniffing. “Perhaps...” she mused, moving to circle around him. If he believed he was the star of this story, he would have to learn... or she could make him feel important. “Perhaps I am meant to make you into a devil to do Death's work with me.” For if he wished to be beautiful and deadly as she was, he could not pitter patter about.

 He would have to get dirty.

 He would need to learn his place beneath her, behind her as a follower. She would not have another boy-god-king trying to rule over her as if she were some peasant. “Can you do it?” Are you strong enough? Smart enough? Her teeth gleamed in a grin.

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+1 Formation Points

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The laughter caught him by slight surprise after that hair-standing smile. Anything that this wolf did that resembled a trait of the living surprised him. Upon her first question he could not help but bark out a dry laugh. She almost had it. He was not a messiah that became damned but the other way around. He chose damnation when no one else would and re-birthed as the messiah for doing so. He almost voiced it, but found the thought dropping away as she sized him up, sniffing and mumbling a 'what if' of sorts. As she circled him, he found a fear he had not experience before enter him. A fear of the living. Always he had lamented of the ambiguity of the dead but in this moment he decided what could breathe was truly more frightening. This fear only made him further interested, it was fuel, something different, meaning he was already changing from her presence.

His spine tingled at her suggestion, though his keen wits saw it immediately as an offer for him. The blood rushing to his ears as he stared at her grinning-toothed smile. Only seconds passed, but truly it felt like an entire lifetime was spent processing and considering her words. It didn't take much of an advance perspective to know this wolf was oozing with nefarious energy, that chaos would only ensure from interactions with her. Now the question was what was in it for him? It seemed to be a partnership of sorts she was offering, but her claims and accomplishments to god-hood meant that he would, and always, be on a lower position in the grand hierarchy compared to her. But, as he reminded himself that the goal was to be just as strong as her, it changed things a little bit in his mind. Even if he was getting used or remained a lesser man when with her, he was still being given the opportunity to learn from her, to take from her, to achieve what he needed to fight gods. There was more to gain from her than to lose.

Finding the words to convey himself, he began to speak, an attractive face filled with almost a romantic sincerity that was just so different from the expression she wore. It was harmonious and his soothing voice would match it. And yet if she was as observant as he thought she was, she could probably see the sneer hiding behind his expression. "I think you have it wrong. To do work for Death does not interest me. I rather work with or for you, a God. And if death is what your emblem brings then death I shall bring to cradle your ambitions as your handsome vulture.

Bringing death in the holy lands was what led to my damnation anyways, what allowed my rebirth into the Messiah. Maybe I don't have the muscle to fight against all, but I promise my very wits will allow me to prevail through all turbulence." His expression darkened, smile dropping, before he continued on in a more serious tone. "Humor me, please, Misha Antonov. I want to abandon my gods and find something new to cling onto."

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+1 Formation Points

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 Time moved on as she waited for the boy's answer, eyes resting upon his. If he declined, decided to move on without accepting her offer... Well, needless to say, she would make use of him one way or the other. Whether he lived or died was none of her concern but the answer lay resting upon the edge of a knife. Depending on his answer, he might choose his fate.

 His face took on a queer look and she studied it in silence, noting the sneer within.

 It pissed her off.

 Still, she listened as he went on, needing so badly to correct her. Air blasted from her nostrils at that - a single hushed scoff. Of course a so-called messiah would instantly move on to correcting a woman the moment he could. They always did, always had to prove something over women because of the things that lay hanging between their legs. Still, he was accepting her offer in his own way. She strode forward, standing over the boy and staring down into his eyes, into his soul. “Then work for me,” she commanded, marred face steely. “Cling to me.”

 The witch continued, “But make no mistake: You live by my mercy - Andraste.” Her mercy was not a weakness. A snarling smile lit her lips then. “Misha Antonov, you belong to me now.” Undoubtedly the boy would want to push back, defy it, but she would not have it.

 Whether he liked it or not, she was his Mother now.

 And Mother knows best.

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+1 Formation Points

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He had not expected her reaction to be as strong as it was. He thought he had made himself passive enough while ambling towards that slight bit of control, wanting to be vines that encroach upon her and grow through her veins. He supposed he was more flashy than he thought. If he had been more sharp and experienced with the world, he might have saw this coming.

But as she commanded him, the Messiah, to work and cling for her, a vile memory entered his brain, it was the first time Misha had ever felt true regret, despair. Bits of it currently peppered it's mind while the knowledge of the entire tale seemed to be stated as whole in his head with no effort. Why was that? It was his mind, his ego, trying to sound out warning bells over the choice he had just made. This was the second time in his life he had revisited those nostalgic emotions. Regret for actions and the fear of what they will lead to. And he wanted to hide it, his new emotions, trying his best to default back to his iconic self, to regain his feelings of grandeur. And with that, he attempted to regain some control.

His mental balance was lost however, as she introduced herself and claimed him as property. As if she had just traded some old marrow for wild cabbage or was beginning a brothel. His fur puffed up in indignation, he thought he had been pretty generous and selfless up until now too.  "Now, now, Baba Yaga, why don't you calm down? You're reminding me of a possessive ex lover or two I've had." He tried to start it off with a joke, but it fell flat with his irritated appearance and chipper voice oozing venom. Purposefully not using her name to scrape her metaphorically with fangs. He was playing with fire, a normal wolf could see that. But this was his story, his future. Only someone as special as himself could act this way to a god. "Doesn't the idea of looking at this like an apprenticeship sound nicer?"

Her fangs were getting closer to him, he found himself starting to try to walk backwards, instinctively lowering his head to protect his neck, not for feeling submissive. His senses were screaming at him even louder than before, but his brain tried to push them away, he was the Messiah. He was important. He was special. He was loved. Yet as he tried to face her and back out at the same time, he felt her gaze consuming him. Was this what it was like to meet death in the flesh? He opened his mouth to retort with more, to fight, but nothing came out, as if she stole the breath right out of him.
 

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-Syn = son
-Mamaliga = is a dish
-Shishiga = white female Russian swamp creature that harass people
-Babushkas = Old lady/grandma

The sun was setting, trying it's best to imitate a Picasso painting as the saturated colors beamed upon their fur. With heavy lids, Misha glanced at his mother who seemed impressed with the sky. He thought he was going to get chewed out, but maybe she called for him to view the world, to take a breath. The blank white canvas, frail, yet strong, that was his mother. Turning her head to look at him, her peaceful expression turned into one of anger. Oh no.

"Misha, syn, when are you going to brush up on your survival skills and get an adult rank?" He had a hunch they were going to argue about this again. "You make it sound like I've been leeching for years Mama! I'm just a yearling, besides, no one expects anything from Mamaligas, the shame of such a name even." He mumbled the last sentence and he could hear her scoff. "Mamaliga is loving humor, we are known for hunting skills that serve Moolt, HINT-HINT. It is time to grow up, your sisters have-" That set him off and he found himself interrupting her with a snarl. "I am not my sisters! Sorry to say but I will never amount to their value. You sound like a mad Babushka! Good hunting skills? Then why is there never enough food to go around? And getting anything from anyone seems to cost an arm and a leg. I just want to have some fun before I have to become an ugly fish-eyed adult like the rest of you."

The words wouldn't stop spewing from his mouth, even though he wanted to take them back, the sight of his sad mother crushing his senses. The fear of being a nobody, of an ambiguous future that everyone already had figured out but him. It fueled him onwards. "I guess I am just a disappointment, I guess I really am my dad's kid, huh?! Shishiga is what we are! What...I am...a nobody, a failure." The last sentence could be barely heard by the living, his mother leaving them in a heavy silence, not able to confront her child's emotions. As the silence went on, shadows stretched into personal amalgamations, he found himself staring at them. They reminded him of the dark-furred wolf, Nonna. An epiphany of murderous intent began to blossom in his head like a beautiful flower. "Sorry Mama, I was out of line, I will make you proud. Can we change the subject for now? Humor me with politics or something. Is Nonna still preaching bile?"
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 He would need to grow used to the intensity of the woman, learn how she ticked. For while she came on strong, was circling him as a hawk circles its prey, she was more curious than hungry. A self-proclaimed messiah? Interesting, much more interesting alive than dead. He tried to fight back with words, his indignation clear as day. Oh, the poor fool, he acted as if he were a half-yearling, barking at being told to sit and wait while the grown ups hunted.

 She laughed, her teeth gleaming.

 When he moved away, she would move closer, circling still. If he needed her to show him the truth of his situation through force, then so be it. His mouth opened wordlessly and she smirked. “I am perfectly calm, perhaps it is you who should calm down,” she mused darkly, her eyes flashing. She was no lover, though she had had plenty and surely would have plenty in the future. Jealous and possessive, though? Absolutely.

 “If you wish some name to it, then I shall be your new Mother and raise you a devil in these lands, as myself.” This mother? She was fond of corporal punishment, which she would demonstrate with a grinning snap of her teeth.

 The Mother of demons, of devils? Why, she quite liked that.

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+1 Formation Points

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Her laugh sent shivers down his spine. Still she moved closer to him like a parasite. That was suppose to be his job. All control was lost before he knew it. Just gone, and he was feeling naive, like a yearling once again who was afraid of the unknown. He didn't like her first sentence, not being use to mockery anymore, but it was her last sentence that made time itself stop. She had just claimed the title of his mother. She was practically stomping on her grave with this sacrilege. The wound was too fresh, deep, the image of his mothers dead contorted face flashing in his head. Perhaps if it wasn't another white wolf doing this it would not upset him, or maybe even if it had just been an ordinary peon. This felt far too personal. 

"Don't fuck with me!" He screamed, his pitch turning almost feminine due to the note it raised. And then his eyes detect movement before momentarily he felt impact and became dazed as the slight wobble of his body indicated. Eyes shutting tight as his face began to sting, scream at him with nerves he didn't know he had. It was above his right eye on his frontal bone. Warmth trickled down and into his eye, causing him to keep his right one closed by the time he regained enough composure to open his left one. He glared at her, his new mother with a look of protest. But then the tears came, causing his eye to sting more due to the tears inviting the blood covering his eye to join through the lid's crack and to seep into the membrane. He was upset at feeling powerless, and being hit, but most of all, he was upset with himself. Because he knew that somewhere deep down, he wanted to accept this relationship. To try and replace what he had loss and fill the void. He wanted a mother.

All he could respond with at first was a tch, but Misha was a pushy wolf, and it would be his downfall today. After a few moments he gathered enough of the anger he felt at himself to spit back. "Wow, wonderful. Feel strong now hitting someone smaller? I see manners were lost with you too. Violence will only get you so far." The hypocrisy of his last words weren't lost on him. It was almost like he was just going through the motions now, saying a joke before getting to his actual feelings, yet no taunting or nothing, his joke had just been him channeling anger through habitual practices and it now boiled over as he got to the main course. "You will never be my mother!" He snarled, the nerve was struck, all vulnerability was showing. Only youth and his previous environment was fueling his rebellion. But it seemed more like a tantrum at this rate, knowing this battle was lost but unwilling to accept that.
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 To be honest, the woman didn't care if he liked it or not. Her decisions were set and she was certain of the things she wanted now.

 She had not meant to bite him, yet somehow had forgotten space and when she snappee her teeth, his cheek was within range. Had it been an unconscious movement of her body, instinct sending her into violence when she had simply meant to scare him? Regardless, his blood was upon her teeth and she licked them clean, watching as he pulled a tantrum, snarling and yelling.

 The witch would not apologize.

 Her voice grew low and she slipped forward so her face was besides his, her jaws drawing up to hover beside his ears. “If you scream like that,” she said, eyes flashing across their surroundings. “You will draw the man of the mist or the queen whose followers kill those of us with ivory pelts.” It was a warning and an instruction, perhaps an explanation though it only came to her then. An excuse. Despite this, she continued, “See the mark as a reminder that there are those who can overpower even we gods and мессии — Messiahs with their numbers.”

 Perhaps it was a kindness. It had a softness in it, as if she truly were a mother giving gentle teachings to her child.

 It was a taste, also, of truth. In order to stand a chance against the white-hating wolves or the man and his stink, they would need to train, to grow. She moved back to allow him to breathe, looking him over discerningly. “And we will see. There is much to learn in this hell.”

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Misha thought he was about to get smacked again as Andraste grew closer, causing his ears to lay flat upon his skull and for him to flinch. Instead her maw had stopped near the side of his face to whisper into his ears. Her breath caused his to twitch from the ticklish feeling while sending a slight shiver down his spine at the same time. He had not expected her words. She warned him, the sentences almost felt like a puzzle from the sheer bewilderment it brought onto his brain. There were enemies about? The sheltered wolf never thought of it, but hostility might be plenty among unknown worlds such as this. Was she also truly saying there were wolves that would harm him because of his pale complexion? How barbaric!

His rebellion forgotten for the moment as he silently processed what she said. His attention snapped back to her as she spoke of his mark (causing his fur to bristle with momentary agitation), his jaw dropping as she shifted languages with the way she pronounced the word, messiya (messiah). There was something comforting, bond-forming, when others can speak the languages of your homeland, especially when giving a warning like a secret code. He found himself at that moment being swept away completely, she had full control of the conversation now.

As she backed away, he found himself exhaling a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in. He blinked almost stupidly at her final words. It was this moment that would mark the beginning of independence for Misha as the cogs in his brain began to turn, growing sharp and lean as he started to use his brain more intently than had been necessary in his previous life. There must be many pieces on the board that he needed to identify. After a pause, he spoke with a big smile "Ya ne govorju po-russki, ya govorju po-rumynskom, jaja! (I do not speak Russian, I speak Romanian, haha)." He joked smugly as he purposefully stiffed up the sentence despite his fluent tongue. Apparently he wasn't done yet trying to be funny either. "Devushki lyubyat ushami. Da? (A woman falls in love through her ears, yes)." He said in a low seductive manner, letting the vibrations rumble through his throat as he fluttered his eyes to add to it. His sense of cheeky humor returning with more pep once again as the stimulation veered from negativity. The whiplash of emotions would not be ignored, however. He would need a good long nap after this meeting.

His smile shrunk a little as he grew more serious, both eyes now finally opened as the platelets had been successful in their blood clogging attempt with the wound. "It seems there is a lot that I must learn." He admitted reluctantly, feeling vulnerable at the thought of admitting something he lacked. "What do you suggest for now? You seem to have some big ideas brewing in that charming skull." Surly she had plans for him already. If anything, she seemed to be two steps ahead. He needed to adapt to this new environment as quickly as possible. As he waited and likely while she spoke, he began to groom his fur again to maintain it's quality, making sure to clean the blood off in a manner that would remind one of a feline.

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Devushki lyubyat ushami: A romantic Russian proverb
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 The witch had breathed her spell, waved her wand, and claimed the soul of the man.

 At his words, spoken in their tongue, she grinned - though she did not know this "rumynskom" he spoke of, she knew the sentiment well and understood it as a joke. He spoke of love and she smirked, lifting a paw to bat playfully at his leg with no true force behind it. Love, ha. It had been a long time since she had felt love of any sort. She much preferred the heady anticipation and then thrill of the hunt to the emotions that might string others along. It was true, she was as victim as any to the physical desires that had lured her time and time again into bearing litters that had failed to make their ways in the world... through every fault of her own.

 He grew serious and she watched him, listening as he asked questions of her.

 “I will travel westward, see what land is beyond the grasp of these sinners. You may follow now or later - though I do intend on returning at the height of summer.” She had yet to explore the land there but she did not suspect the man of the mist or the deer-whore would follow her into the desolate land. She would need to find a hidden place where the forest wolves could not find her. “For now... I will prepare your welcome meal. If you wish to join me on the hunt, you may.”

 She licked her lips, “I warn you - it will be a very familiar meal.” How would the man react to being thrust into her own tastes?

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+1 Formation Points

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Oh yeah, she playfully bat his leg, go him, he's awesome. Misha's head swelled with pride over such a reaction from his humor. Maybe he wouldn't care so much if his sister Sasha didn't get on his nerves. Claiming he was not funny, bah!

As she spoke Misha paused his grooming, tongue poking out in mid-thought from her plans. He could follow her like an infatuated pup, or do some of his own investigating. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he felt like could only handle so much crazy at a time. He wanted to learn what he could, and see what was there for him to take from others. Who knows, maybe he'll find some useful cards to keep close to his paws. Being opportunistic was just his default nature but Misha had a personal interest in general anthropology, thus just learning how this world ticks would be amusing enough for him. "I trust you to be plenty fine without me for a bit of time. But I will make sure not to stray too far from your path in the process." He said with a wink and and a surprisingly dexterous flick of his tail.

His eyes sharpened with curiosity at the talk of food. He would like a meal, and since none of his peons were here, food wasn't to appear before him anytime soon it looked like. Himself hunting also just seemed like a ridiculous idea, but it may do him some good to get any experience he could right now, that's what his mind was leaning towards. He had no idea what she meant with that warning though, he'd have to be careful.

"Of course I will join you! I'd like to see you in action anyways." He said with a forced kindness that oozed like sludge to all with keen ears. The smaller white wolf then finished his grooming, posture crooked and yet elegant as he stared at her with an unreadable expression.
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 She was, of course, playing on the narcissism and pride of the man. While he physically appeared three years old or so, he reminded her of yearlings who might boast and brag about their achievements. So, despite his flirtations, she could not rationalize them as being serious. He was, after all, a boy.

 And boys did what they wanted, didn't they?

 Well, he'd learn, she did what she wanted too.

 Still, she smiled at his promise to follow her with a delay. Whether he did or didn't, she didn't mind - she had no formal designs and had yet to meet the young woman who would take her ambition and shape it, reminding her of who she was and what she had become. This here, this was a tease, a temptation, a taunt. It would become more, for certain, but Andraste was not aware of the extent at this point.

 “Good. Now, follow me,” his forced kindness was noted and she ignored it, ignored the clear resentment he felt towards her and her abuse. She rose and strode on, making clear her route would not trespass near any of the packs she knew.

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We could either end it here or have him witness her perform a kill in this thread, up to you!

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+1 Formation Points

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