How long do I have to climb, Up on the side of the mountain of mine

Only one participant, please!

---

Swish, swoosh, swish.

Dangling listlessly from above, the yellowed strands of a crestfallen willow oscillate in tandem with gentle breezes. Shafts of sunlight penetrate with ease through the shedding foliage, illuminating the mustard strands in a brilliant, gilded glow. A lingering copse of cedar stands resilient against the afternoon’s chill, their virid tendrils standing in stark contrast to autumn’s warm touch. Flocks of hurried geese and duck fly onwards to less chilled destinations, their distant cries but a soft babble from the sky. The wolf lying beside the embankment of a vast lake, however, displays none of the hurried fervor that ensnares the instincts of the flocking avians. In fact, it appears entirely unbothered and serene, strewn languidly alongside a wilting batch of once vibrant flowers. The overhanging sun embellishes its darkened coat with a gilded sheen, lulling it into a contented slumber.

Welkin’s dreams were void of meaning, conveying only the simmering warmth which bubbled beneath her pebble-tinted ruffles. Her expression of customary annoyance instead conveyed something much more pleasant, the faintest of smiles baited by the pleasant sun. In the space which bordered between surreality and reality, Welkin listened, attentive, to the flickers of sound that ruptured through the silence. The chittering of a lonely wren and distinct slap of a beaver’s paddle-like tail were all contemplated until silence would regain itself. In this second, everything felt right and all Welkin could do was revel in the feeling, fleeting as she knew it would be. And indeed it was momentary, as a warbling and beautiful cry pealed from above.

The intimacy of the sound struck a profound chord in her chest, and as Welkin stirred in response the best she could do was allow the pang in her heart to subside for the moment.

Home.

She knew this sound well- by heart, and how could she not? She remembers brigading with Orenda through their elevated mountains, browsing through copses of pines to listen in awe to the heavenly sound.

All at once, she is flattened with both reverence and grief.

Hazel eyes bubble to the cusp with balmy tears, threatening to topple and spill at any moment. Stop it she hissed inwardly, recoiling against the soil to compress against the dirtied loam. Immediately her pristine ruffles were soaked, chilled to the marrow with a waterlogged weight. The shock did nothing but prolong her struggle as her ears pressed flat against her skull in defiance.

It all shattered as the bird warbled once again.

Welkin choked against the painful mass lodged in her throat, burying her visage within her soaked ruffles. Her diaphragm expanded and contracted in haphazard, jarring movements. She was utterly baffled- these emotions had been buried deep where they should never have shown face again. Banhar, Hlaorith, her brothers, even Orenda- they meant nothing. They are traitors to their own kind and Welkin has adapted to face these threats.

She had thought her methods to be effective against these sorts of emotions.

And yet here she was, weeping as dejectedly as the willows that caressed the space above her.

@Célnes
the staff team luvs u

It was not often she would stray to the east — for the territory over yonder was not an ally of hers, but more of a neutrality, and a greed to dominate their thrones. Yet the plans haven't been in motion, for the silence from them was all that was needed to be said. They were of no harm, and no direction to more conquer ; she could take all the time in the world to dethrone the self-proclaimed Gods, and rested easy with those thoughts. To focus upon her own diminishing group and the children she raised.. Princess's and Prince's, the royals of the Déorwine name, and soon they shall take flight, and bring more to the name of their group — Elkshire.

Yet sometimes she found herself wandering to the borders, where the river held tightly to. She could not forget @Tavra who claims over so. Where was that fabled fire now? Beyond the realms of the forest was an endless plains where she could vaguely see forests scattering, but beyond was a golden realm she had not stepped into. Maybe another day Celnes would go forth, but there was no one to protect her kin, or trusted enough to take reigns of Elkshire with her adventure. The life of a Queen was something she yearned and brought forth, but there was always a flaw of her wandering legs that could never go beyond with the crown that she held. 

She wandered beside the river, following down it's path and taking note she was getting awfully close to that of The Pantheon ; yet wasn't exactly within their territory. When she looked around, it was noted a lake was rather close to them, and the river stopped at it's path. Winter was upon them, and any trees that held leaves were now bare, and yet the place was covered in pines that continued it's green beauty. She could hear the faint sound of osprey's in the distance, but lacked the sight to see them beyond their nests. Pleasant, though, and it was relatively close to plains.

Though a sound wisped through the silence, the faintest of cries to be heard.. And so the Queen ventured toward that voice in a wonder, for who was crying within these lands?

the staff team luvs u

Creeaak.

Billowing and haphazard, an unpredictable gust sends the spindly limbs of the overhead tree groaning in protest to the wind’s advancements. The aching groans of the distressed wood fumbled dimly at Welkin’s misplaced attention, some feeble instinct urging her to move despite the suffocating anguish that clutched hold of her chest. It feels raw and on fire, as if the sweltering antithesis of her home had forced its brimstone claws within the tender flesh of her diaphragm. A strangled cry emitted from the wolf, muffled by her stained ruffles. Coarse and unrefined, her matted tangles envelop her in a teary-eyed embrace, for all she has is herself. This is how it would always be. That is how things have to be.

Right now, that conviction stands feeble in her mind and rings sullenly within her lobes. Why, Welkin, do your own words sound so unconvincing?

There is little time to ponder her flimsy thoughts as the loam crumbles beneath her dirtied heels, and sends her sprawling slapdashedly within the full depths of the shore. Recoiling from the aching chill of the near-frozen water, Welkin retreated carefully from the fringes of the embankment to preen at her sodden carriage.

…

Wait a moment-

Why did the lake suddenly appear so insignificant?

It could easily have been a mirage. It certainly wasn’t unheard of for the cold to permeate through the vulnerable crutches of a creature’s addled mind, to play tricks upon itself in a desert’s illusion. Welkin would have believed this to be true, had the tree- what once had stood as a decrepit willow- not loomed, leering, as a noble pine. It stood unconventionally, the evergreen needles prodding forth from its outstretched limbs as if to say ’What a misshapen little wolf, to think me to be a willow tree.’

She is so entirely baffled that her previous distress is forgotten all at once. That is, was, is supposed to be, a drooping, saddened specimen of a grand tree nestled beside the swooping embrace of an impressive lake. What on earth…?

Snap.

The fibers aligned on Welkin’s dorsal uplifted in unison, unsettling pinpricks traveling down her tender skin. Something is in there. Something is watching her from the bushes. Whatever has just happened… is this wolf, could they be a… a witch?

It sounds far too implausible and far-fetched to her ears. Then again, she had just awoken in a very unfamiliar space, far different than the realm she’d traipsed through before she’d slept.

Nonetheless, Welkin refused to appear meek in the face of this unknown stranger. Untangling a final wayward strand, the noble paces forwards with an unmistakable hubris reeking from her paws, as if to say ‘I am better than you in every. Single. Way.’

”Who’s there?”
the staff team luvs u

Oh how they were a beauty. Truly fitting to that of the forests and reminding her of the hawks itself — she seemed as if any moment she would soar to the sky, and yet remained earthbound. She was coated in browns and blacks, and yet stained upon white in a variety of places ; a speckling of an owl. The scent of pine came through as it drenched to her pelt, and Queen of the Elk emerging from her shadows. Though the spooked and turning to a proudness, she remained tall with a pleasant smile — though some may call it devilish, for the Queen was not the most pleasant of wolves if any had heard of rumors.

The other held a stance of royalty, she seemed to be the one that wept and yet masked onto a fake persona of toughness. A slow chuckle, brought forth, unknown if the other would hear it, "My, it seems you are not from around here," Celnes said, taking a glance to the surroundments before back at the similarly tall woman. She was not someone that the Queen had seen around, and overall had a persona that screamed a 'plain walker.'

the staff team luvs u

Peeping between the pliant strands of undergrowth are a puncturing set of vivid, ocherous gems that gleam beneath the fluctuating canopy. Tangerine orange and leafy hazel meet for a fragment of a second, only to part ways as the stranger makes visible her bordeaux countenance. Welkin is taken aback by the intensity of her piercing stare, and for a moment flounders beneath her immobilizing wake. She too reminds her of home, with those oscillating eyes that can’t seem to fully concede to her pleasant, subtle smile. It is the smile of a patricious wolf who adorns themselves with many masks, each as carefully crafted and as hollow as the last. That same veiled expression sends her gut coiling, reeling from the familiarity and uncertainty of the mountains. It is the jouncing dance that aristocrats must play, carefully jabbing and prodding all while donning an innocent smile.

Fine. This wolf wants to act as if she knows everything?

Welkin can play the same game just fine, too.

Galvanized to action, her impressive paws canter delicately around the dark-chocolatey wolf, her lip curling in an embittered manner as she sizes up the nameless stranger. They meet head-to-head, though the other is more strapping in bulk than she. This does not seem to unsettle Welkin in the least as she pivots swiftly to leer forwards at the wolf.

”Who do you think you are, to make such fallacious claims?” With luck, her show would veil the uncertainty that brimmed in her chest, and the bluff she had just spoken. ”You’ve only just set sight on my face, and yet you leap at the chance to make assumptions.”

Tch. This was no sorceress of any kind, even if the other hoped to present herself as one. But, she had obviously come for a reason- this one was purposeful in her stride and apparently would not waste her valuable time in fruitless antics.

”What is it that you want?"
the staff team luvs u

"Oh my, aggressive aren't we?" When she heard the weeping, Celnes was not expecting a fireburst of a woman to appear. Vaguely so reminded her of another woman who held the same type of anger — and yet, she wondered why such a facade was appearing. Her ears could not be wrong by an earlier assumption, she had heard someone weep, and would think it would not her yet.. Though there was no one else around, and she could only assume it was the stranger upon the lake. She had thought her own smile was pleasant as well to provide a comfort, and yet it had gained an opposite affect. Ah, tricky to these types of wolves ; but entertaining.

Stepping closer, the Queen continued to smile with cresent view, "I had heard the sounds of weeping," she said with a slight muse in her voice and a hum. A fire gaze passing through around her, taking a glance toward the sky itself for one moment. She continued looking up as she spoke, "perhaps I have been mistaken?" the elken queen said as she turned back to look upon her. She couldn't help but think a new toy that appeared, and what rhymes could be played against.

the staff team luvs u

The patronizing lilt threaded within the wolf’s words incites a kernel of spleen to fester in Welkin’s gut, as leafy eyes narrow to virid pinpoints. ”You’ve ruffled my feathers, wolf. I know not who you are and yet you saw fit to spy on me from the bushes. That isn’t exactly the most friendly of gestures, is it?” There is a lingering apprehension that her instincts send out, a diminutive voice that confides; Do not trust this wolf with a single hair on your pelt. It is ominous and foreboding, mirroring the intensity of her puncturing orange stare.

At the mention of weeping, Welkin cannot forestall the finespun clench of her delicate jaw nor the subtle contortion of her aggravated features. She knows full-well that the flushed, swollen skin of her eyes are betraying her every move, and humiliation simmers warmly beneath her skin. The lessons ingrained upon the impressionable child have left permanent ruptures in their wake— nobles do not weep. Weeping is strictly reserved for the weak-willed and the incapable, for wolves of unotable bloodline not distinguished by their inherent greatness. It is a sign of vulnerability- and in the mountains wolves must be as cold and immovable as the very pillars of stone they walk on. ”That you are,” she croaks firmly, stifling the tremble that threatens to peep through her bravado. ”It could’ve easily been a mockingbird of sorts…”

Despite the warmth in color of those tangerine gems, Welkin feels thoroughly chilled to the marrow when that calculating glint flickers at her once more. There is something vaguely sinister about this wolf, in the way she studies Welkin as if she is nothing but a mere plaything to serve at her whims.

Whatever hopes she’d had of resolving her bizzare predicament crumbled to smithereens. She has the inkling that this wolf will gleefully ensnare Welkin within her web of lies for… whatever she could have possibly wanted from her.

But make no mistake, the noble has no intention of letting this wolf think she has gained any vantage over her.

”Have none of your parents taught you that staring for long periods is impolite?”
the staff team luvs u

"I'm afraid my parents burnt to death." A sick humor as she laughed ever so slightly — thinking that they ever taught her anything. Absent parents, where she learned purely by watching and mistakes to give. Though without proper ways she would get a lecture, and as a Déorwine, did her best to lift her up. Perhaps that was why she strayed so far from the light, there was no guardian to properly teach what was right, and what was morally wrong. Though she knew well enough, being an adult, and leading a few packs — but it was too late by the time she knew, for no longer did she care as long as she had got, what she wanted. Continual in a smile, sickening in words as she uttered so.

"I live near the area," her paw ventured to the west, "and came out for a stroll." Which she knew that it was not mistaken, her ears did not lie on hearing someone weep ; and instead found a wolf who presented as a personal of nobility, of a prowess. She was strong-willed, the Queen would admit, and yet couldn't help but look down at this attempt of presenting like one. Especially in front of a Queen, but alas, she had yet to utter her name, rank, or even location. All between them remained a quiet mystery yet to be unraveled, "I only happen to come across upon hearing the weeping."

the staff team luvs u

Thank you so much for threading with me, I loved writing with you and I hope for them to meet again in the future! c:

---

It feels as if her gut is corkscrewing- as if every fiber of her inner body is recoiling at the nauseating cackle that the other unleashes. Gloating, gleefully, at the death of her own family. Now, Welkin of all wolves knows full-well that parents are a fickle thing; some are attentive to their babes and coddle them affectionately while others would rather subject theirs to harm. By the hills, her own brood had deserted her from the selfish pits of their vacant hearts! But she would not dance gleefully over their charred corpses and find humor in their deaths. Indifference? Absolutely. But mirth? ”Did they ever drop you on your head too? You’re sick.”

In that moment, the mirror-like windows of the poignant, simmering orange eyes are stained dark and radiate a potent wickedness. The thought that spurred from the other’s evil was unsettling…

Is this some sort of purgatory for misbehaved souls?

Welkin is deserving of many things- tongues lathed with praise, riches, a life of endless spotlight- but eternal damnation?

Ouch.

When she finds the muse to respond to the other, her tone is steeped with evident sarcasm. ”I applaud you for having such a benevolent soul as to come and comfort a poor creature. Unfortunately for you,” she sneers, her lip curling in an embittered snarl to flash porcelain molars- ”You’ve got the wrong animal and I am frankly not interested. Now good day.”

She cannot fathom where she will tread next or how she will determine her sudden arrival within this place, but one thing is for certain;

She needs to be rid of this creep.

A split-second decision to head towards a distant patch of mountains, towards familiarity, allows the wood to envelop her departing form.

--Exit Welkin--
the staff team luvs u

Shame to say this wolf did not fall for her charms and pleasure in words. It seemed she approached wrongly, from the shadows then introducing oneself which resulted in a more of less hostility, an aggression — letting the devilish continue to play even when mentioning of harming, of her thoughts itself. She could only shrug slightly, where it wouldn't be surprising such neglect came to be, and warped what her mind was today. Though the Queen could say she blamed her childhood, the desire of attention that was severely lacking made but a greedy woman, who desired power and love from all that it was — complete enamor at herself that was hard to gain. Maybe she would have to change her strategy..

"If you ever find yourself," she echoed to the departing wolf, "near that of Elkshire, feel free to call for Célnes Déorwine."

the staff team luvs u