& these are words in childhood taught me,

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for @River ♡ but any welcome & FC tags just for reference ofc

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a bird shrieks overhead and one stout, fluted ear tilts absently in its direction. measures it and finds it wanting. finds it unfamiliar  —  if not somewhat strange, for there should be less feathered songs here and even where her own claim resides. but she has long since learned that not all things abided by nature's law here. most, still ...but not all, as it should. regardless, the silver moves away from the distraction and instead makes her way further into the same glacial gardens that she had visited a moon or so prior; highstepping over frozen foxtail grasses and what shrubbery that had not been able to outlast the midautumnal chill.

kekri is so near.

the nightingale feels it in the strain beneath her skin; and though somehow she knows within her marrow that he has not gone to dust and godsmeal, all of this is more vestigial than it had ever been before. the clamoring of their old court souls; the phantom thrum of all their heartbeats, clawing at her from within and snagging on her tarnished moonshed spirit. but their dreams that had come alive were waiting for her, back at her cloudrest claim; coming into their own even if under the fierce protective eye of @Inarius and @Eira.

so, for now, the sotaherra removes the anguish that bruises her mind, and sets about to her intended foraging; falling into an old habit of humming whilst hunting for herbs.

save for that, it is quiet.[/narrow]

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River had been in Shiroshika for two days, and it was... nice, to be part of a pack. To feel this sense of belonging and security that she'd not had for as long as she remembered. Being alone was fine, she supposed, but this was much better - to have a group of wolves that she could rely on, and who could rely on her in return. 

And she was going to be the best damn packmate ever. She was determined of it. 

Today was the first time she'd left the territory since joining, though she supposed it'd only been two days. She wasn't running off or anything - in fact, she was hardly outside at all. But there was a lot to see, and she wanted to get a good feel of the land just outside their home. 

It was still bitingly cold, but River was getting used to it. She traversed the landscape easily, hardly even stumbling, until she reached a pungent, startlingly green land. It was the same as the cherry blossoms on the mountain - it didn't make sense, but it was beautiful all the same.

And she wasn't alone here. The woman - who she first believed was a ghost - was humming beneath her breath as she picked her way through the herbs and flowers. River stopped for a moment, a little awestruck at the dainty creature - otherworldly, almost - before she shook her head. Ghosts didn't exist, and she reprimanded herself for being so stupid. 

"What're you humming?" she asked with a small smile, hoping not to startle the woman.
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[narrow width=800]"o, an old thing,"  wisps she by way of stone-throwing gray eyes over a sharp shoulder; sees the glittering jade-held gaze, scents the gift of cloying blossoms upon woven through that burnished hide and though she is a greenseer she cannot place nor remember whether or not she'd ever come across such a tart-sweet fragrance before. neither does she give herself time to wonder at the how of such could thrive in the cold  ( as she, and as this other seemed to )  as she turns from where she treads to face the stranger in full; believing it would be of no harm to mention also,  "one that i've yet to story to my children."

if only just this once, in this moment, where she might speak of them and not need to hold her breath and know that they would not sift from her spirit like sand to some other ...way that she could not reach.

could not rip through to the very seam to follow.

in any event, she lets her own sorrows lie loose and strung about her shoulders and instead draws nearer to this new company, short dry-leaf laugh and all.  "so much to sing to them, with winter coming,"  –  here, if not already  –  "so little wonders left to warm them with."  looks upon the copperhead with a cant of her chin. there is not as much freebird cheer than the last time she'd been here in the presence of that gladiator @Tiberius ( is that who she scents now on her, too? )  yet the nightingale smiles still.

careful, for once, to not use all her teeth.

"what of you? do you remember the songs of your people?"[/narrow]

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This woman was cryptic, River thought. And she didn't know if she'd ever thought of anything as cryptic in her entire life. But she really liked the way the ghostly wolf spoke, and her eyes rounded a little, brows raising just a bit. And her song was lovely, even if it was a little sad that she hadn't gotten to sing it to her children yet. That would be nice, River mused, to have a mother there to sing to her. 

She didn't move away as the woman moved closer. They were of a similar height - the stranger being a hair taller. Her eyes were as pale as her fur. 

"Maybe there's more wonders than you realize," she responded, always looking on the bright side. Of course, in her mind, there were wonders abounding all over the place, everywhere she looked. 

River shook her head at the next question, a half-smile on her maw. "I don't remember anything of my people, ma'am," she responded softly. "I wish I could."
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