for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky

@Riannon @Archon @benry (though he is npc)

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The rootless wanderers had finally had enough of their solitude. A journey, which was supposed to take several weeks, took nearly double that. Delayed thrice (first by territorial packs, second by the golden wraith himself, third by the sudden reappearance of the titan), the trio of travelers descended upon Cloudrest like a cloud of bats in the evening, to come home to roost in their dark expanse. Though two of the three of them had never once laid eyes on this place, the spellsinger had described it well enough during that convalescence that they, too, had come to think of it as their future home and looked forward to soon settling in.

In the meantime, they waited. They rested. and they looked for bam-bam.

When the salves and poultices of herbs had done their jobs, and the two warriors were healed well enough, Olive realized they could wait no longer; not with winter and hunger looming in the ominous distance. So, that shrouded woman traipsed right up to the wafting borders of Frostchant and the mystifying woman Riannon, signaling their approach with a practiced song-upon-wind. She was finally here, with several figures to which she felt somehow soul-bound, at long last — and it felt good.

the staff team luvs u

^^It might have taken longer to reach their destination, but to Archon, this was an adventure and adventures had no expirations. He didn’t care where he was going so long as they kept moving, because that meant his search for Bam Bam would continue. Hewas asleep nearby on the best pillow ever (Ben-Ben) when Olive began makin’ noise that he’d never heard before. Slowly sliding off Ben-Ben, Archon yawned with a stretch as he made his way over to the cloud that was his care-taker.

“Do you ever sleep?”

^^
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[narrow width=800]

tags are just for reference, keeping things vague since ik things have been quiet ♡ no obligation to join unless u absolutely wanna & this post is a mess anyway

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she does not know that in the echoing halls of @Valtyr's dreams there is the sound of wartalk and merrymaking and the clink of earthenware hum like ghosts. she does not know that @Asamir's have not been so reminiscent of what would never be known. she does not know when her @Aisling might return from wandering these mists, coming into her own more privately, more pensively than the rest. she does not know that the wake that @Ifalna had held when she and the willowisp had found had been for who she had lost in somehow waking to here. she does not know where the rest of her lostlings are, or whether or not they even walk this world that she does.

but in this moment, where she sees what has been brought to her threshold, she knows that she would kill to keep guarded their growth ...as any mother ought to.

so she waits.

and waits. waits to feel @Inarius or @Eira at her hip, her shoulder. waits to be tethered, waits to be rooted where she stands as each second of her sensibility ticks by unchecked, irrecoverable. waits  —  as her mooncut jaw works to grind the edge of her teeth into tongue and those hard eyes narrow, taking in the curves and valleys of him while she wonders how the graygold of his fur would look in addition to the pelts already cast to floor of the tribe's communal cavern. if the spellsinger could not come up with some thing to let her listen to reason  ( rather than rhymes on the wind )  then the silver might just be in the market for new seasonal bedding to rest the shorn side of her head upon.

nevermind the slew of favor his being here might bring, might be; her lip curls in anything but warmth, welcome.

with tight-wound shoulders, utter stillness, and glittering gaze never leaving i hravan — the wild beast, it is only the numbers she lacks that keep her from doing what horrors her blood bades her carry out for the sake of a line already half-gone and without succession. only this, and whatever has been woven between her and this olive-eyed gyptian. it is presently a threadbare thing; pulled too taut and fine over a fury that for now presents itself in the pink flare of nose.[/narrow]

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It had been so long since she had last been here — how long had it been? Far before she had met Meissa and Flynn and joined their band of gangsters, but the actual measure of time was lost of obscurity. It looked, felt, different in the bleak end of the season; cloud-cover compounded with snow, it felt quiet and ethereal. Both familiar, and daunting. The sylph looked toward Archon as he joined her, and a sleep-riddled Benry not soon after, purring in greeting (a trick she had gleaned from her feline companion) but not daring break the uneasy, fragile silence—

The mythic woman descended from her roost and greeted the party without word or warmth. This, Olive expected, seeing as no one was quite as accepting of her parole officer as she and Archon were. The veiled prophet was also beginning to understand the unspoken layering that comprise the woman; pain on top of sorrow on top of loss, all swallowed and unable to be processed. In truth, it was this that brought Olive from the Plains to call the Mountains home in the first place — a soul in need of healing, so that it could achieve a bigger purpose at hand. It was her god-spoken duty.

The slight woman took a step forward and dipped into an obeisant bow, looking into her mirror and allowing their nonverbals to do their communication for them. She knew why Olive was here, but she clearly did not expect her to bring companions, nonetheless those of a different species. "He is a crusader against evil and has kept us safe," the women spoke with her nose still tipped towards the earth, but her gaze lifted. "I intend to do the same for him."

The waif regained her composure, immediately directing attention over her shoulder, towards Archon, with the arc of her nose. "and for him," she clarified. Her green eyes moved to hold the moonbright gaze of the vision before her, "and for you, and yours." Knowing there to be many children within these invisible walls, and realizing the scars upon the Matriarch's visage to be new, Olive felt assured this would be where her skillset was valued most. The wind gathered strength and gusted behind them, as if directing the group from the mountains into this haven, and bolstering Olive further. She felt the omnipresent here, and they were proud. 

the staff team luvs u

^^

feel free to skip Archon as needed.

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Archon found that his question was ignored by the ghost as another, more ghostly figure appeared - though she did not speak. Archon’s ears flickered, his attention drifting from one wolf to the other. Was this Olive’s mum? The boy tilted his head, paying almost no attention to whatever Olive was saying to her mother.

He gave a low grumble, blinking towards them only when Olive directed her attention to him, as he took a few steps back and moved to lay down, curled up next to Ben Ben.

^^
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short lazy post i apologize,,

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that her people were void of their palantír did not matter. not in this moment.

a scoff of a snarl; that is what she gives to the prophet before her as her tail lashes sharply above thin hips and her shorn snout creases further. her children are nigh yearlings but they are children and hers, still. and to acquiesce the welcome of something so other, so unwolven into her realm — once, she might not have objected so vehemently. once, she might not have trembled on her own threshold at everything but the chill gust that lofted itself from beyond the backs of such pilgrims. once, she might not have wavered on the nadir of her torment as she does now; rejection straining at her ribs, breathing herself full of charnel air.

"i do not deny it," the snowhite snipped ( though evident how frankly she did ), lurching about the other with fleet, eggshelled steps and everything but hearthfire within pearlmade eyes; already the spellsinger had laid out her intended service for her people. the boy, then, would be taken into frostchant's fold ...and perhaps the show of trust for the leonine guardian he displayed bore some truth to it.

but words only meant so much; it was time that would tell everything in the coming moons. "one claw out of line – one fang turned against those who have chosen you – and i will carry out my own crusade." a pillar of frigid fury; but aside she steps for the trio, watching with narrowed silvercast gaze for the boy nestled against his guard. waiting for him to be woken.

she would remain at her post otherwise, and not before.

"know this, and know it well."

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Her mind was not devoid of doubt, but her heart was. It was a conflict that had kept the sylph locked in the arboreal prison of the mountains for months; it was the the reason she had strayed from her intentons, after first coming to know the woman who haunted Cloudrest. Her mind wrestled with the idea, unsure if this was the place she would be able to relax and bloom, but Olive knew well that life was not about comfort, nor did the Gods owe her anything. She wanted peace but there was none to be found here; and therein lied Olive's deep vicissitude. She was as attracted to the darkness as much as she desired to repel it.

So the pale women honored the duties her karma assigned her, and she deigned to do it well, with zest and vigor.

With the prideful warning from Riannon's lips tingling in Olive's ears, and a deep understanding forged between them, the representative splayed her ears back in solemn acquiesce and dipped her thin chest and forearms into a bow; a silent agreement with the flair of compliance that she suspected the alphess to desire, and for her companions to lack in supply. They would behave, Olive knew as she tersely glanced back over at the snoozing pile of cub and cat, but they wouldn't go above and beyond with it. It just wasn't in either of their personalities.

Turning away from the woman who glowered across the scented border, she moved softly over to the two who rested. "A home is a privilege, not a right," she explained, feeling that she owed this explanation to the woman who had taken them in, though she felt it unnecessary. "You know what is expected of you," it might have sounded like a warning if Olive harbored any suspicion, but without any, it served to simply confirm they had heard their new leader. She placed a nose against the soft, fleshy shoulder of Archon and inhaled his and Benry's familiar scent.

"and a true home, we shall have."

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