I was just guessing at numbers and figures

Rustle.

Perennial sprigs left barren from winter scuffle hollowly against wintry gusts, spurring light flecks of bark to flutter from their vacant canopies. Even within the aching clutches of winter’s onset, the gentle slopes of the forest are teeming with bustling movements and abrupt sounds. Pining songbirds twitter upon their bending perches, dancing and whirling in their intricate displays of affection. A nearby squirrel disturbed by Welkin’s approach scrambles deftly over rivulets of oaken bark, chittering a horde of mocking curses at the wolf who had disturbed its last-ditch effort to cache a few spoiled acorns. Welkin is not perturbed by its potty-mouthed tantrum, but rather the alarming shrieks that have now outlined her clear presence within this patch of forest.

Insidious little squirrel.

The swooping incline -if this hillock of a mountain could even be referred to as such- is easily conquered by Welkin’s trampling gait, which ushers her deeper within the reaches of the wood. Batches of withered ferns dangle precariously from dampened trees, caressing at the ruffles of her fleece like despondent, pliant fingertips. Groves of pine jut outwards from afar in an audacious display of green, contrasting against the thin blankets of frozen alabaster. Worn and beaten into crumbling foliage, the game trail she follows meanders indiscriminately and angles towards the noble pines. A meager sigh puffs from Welkin’s parted jaws, her tongue lolling in an effort to detect prey scents ferried along by the downwind breezes. She is thankful that the trail will lead her within an adequate batch of undergrowth to allow her to prowl about undetected; against the pastures of pristine white, her coat might as well have been a signal that blared ’I’m right here, go ahead and waltz right into my jaws!’’

Her hubris had prevented her worries from extending into matters of her survival; Welkin’s endeavors had remained fruitful over the course of the fall and winter reeked of a homely familiarity. She was a wolf crafted to thrive within the elevated regions of towering peaks, but not a canine of a blanched canvas to travel effortlessly across open expanses. The abrupt change of environment from her awakening here had festered a kernel of unease that brewed quietly in her gut, the beginnings of her peeping diaphragm serving as a grim reminder of what failure would pose.

Welkin had done the only thing she knew best; trudged through the dreary pastures to the mountains that urged her forwards like a famished fish drawn desperately towards bait. Sustenance would be her lifeline within the dead of winter and the ridges held a magnetic, familiar pull to them.

Squawk!

Speak of the devil.

Exhaling a bated breath, Welkin flattens her substantial stature against the snow, resisting the urge to flinch against the onset of cold that nips at her tender belly. She is positioned perfectly behind the sheltered embrace of leafy shrubs that smother her telltale coat. Parading a few flank-lengths ahead is an audacious pheasant that crows proudly, brandishing its marvelous plumage to the hen that lies somewhere unseen. Welkin cares not for the hidden animal and instead vaults upwards to intercept the rooster mid-takeoff, strangling its panicked cries in a deadly embrace. She has not yet delivered the killing blow, still poised in mid-air to land solidly upon the stable loam and stake claim upon her supper. When her hinds brace for contact upon the chilled snow, her digits unexpectedly glance across a slippery substance that sends her careening forwards.

Shoomp.

Her rear-end plunges within a confined space and the abrupt, jarring impact sends the pheasant -alive, but rendered motionless from a potent shock- plunging within a drift of deepened snow. The concentric walls of a hollowed stump compress Welkin’s form on all sides, rendering her limbs useless and pinned beneath the inflexible timber. Had she not been cemented up to the fringes of her nape, escape would have been inevitable and the rotting wood easily shattered against her volatile movements. Instead, the she-wolf is forced, anguished, to watch the pheasant flounder in an attempt to regain its bearings while splintered wood jabs pinpricks within her tender skin.

To any passersby, quite the unusual scene would befall their eyes- in the form of Welkin spewing enraged snarls while thrashing aimlessly in protest to her mindless captor.
the staff team luvs u

Alone, lost and afraid. How could her companion leave her so jarringly? Since Voro had left the den in the middle of the night, he hadn’t returned. She’d stayed in place for days, lowing her own kind of melancholy song, hoping he would hear her and return, but wherever he was, he wasn’t coming back. She was hungry, and lonely, so off she went to find some sort of company, whether it be from her prey or a new friend wasn’t of much importance to her.

A strong breeze bit through the sparse woods around her, and she passed endless ranks of naked oaks and pines in her journey. It had taken much of her energy to walk from Cloudrest to Stone Mountain, but she was glad she did: it was easier to breathe down here and the snow wasn’t nearly as deep. She heard a squirrel race past her, hurling insults at some unknown entity, but he stopped and chewed her out as well before scampering into the canopy. Once he was gone, the woods seemed almost silent, and she padded out a rhythm in the crunching snow that matched the melody of birdsong around her. After she’d let the squirrel live, they seemed considerably less afraid.

“VORO?” She cried, “VORONA WHERE ARE YOU?” An echoed ”Where are you?” Was the forest’s response. A shiver ran down her spine, though she wasn’t cold, and she fought back the tears that were welling hot and fast behind her eyes. She feared the worst for him, but she also hoped for it, in a way. If he had simply run off to go chase some dam, she would cuff him ‘round the ears when she found him again. It was strange, though, his disappearance. Not only had his physical form disappeared, but his scent was gone too. There were no footprints in the snow for her to follow, and so onward she went on blind instinct.

A female pheasant, its eyes rolling in terror, careened past her shrilling about some wolf or another in the brush. Adelaide was so taken aback by the bird’s panic that she didn’t think to kill it. The sound of a vicious snarl startled her and made her jolt forwards onto a large patch of ice. She scrabbled her paws desperately but gravity won their short battle and she began careening face-first down a short incline, where the source of all the racket was suddenly visible. Even when she’s snarling she’s pretty the lass thought, before the second and much more pressing matter that she was about to cave this bonny wolf’s skull in. She had the wherewithal to say a quiet, “Oh dear,” Before she slowed to a halt with her nose a mere inch from Welkin’s. Her eyes had been squeezed shut, but she squinted one open to survey the damage, and there was none! In even better news, between her forelegs was a rooster pheasant, which was surely dead of shock. 

She scrambled backwards from the frightening woman and waited for the onslaught that was about to befall her, but she then noticed that Welkin was struggling against a tree stump which had rendered her quite immobile. 
“My goodness, you really must watch where you’re going, you could have really hurt yourself!” She grabbed ahold of part of the trunk and tugged with all her might until-

*CRACK* The piece she was tugging gave way and she landed awkwardly in the snow. Welkin still wasn’t free, and Adelaide giggled apologetically. “I s’pose I’m not as strong as I thought. Hold on, I have another idea.” She trotted over to the split in the trunk and scrambled on top of it, stepping on Welkin’s head in the process, “Sorry, dear, I’m not very nimble either.” With a look of intense focus, she carefully positioned her two front paws on one end of the stump and her hind paws on the other, then pushed with all her might. Her new plan both had the desired effect, and an entirely unforeseen consequence. When the stump split, she lost her footing and landed right on top of the poor trapped stranger, who was once again captive. 

Once Adelaide wiggled off her back, she observed her work and flicked her ears apprehensively. “Not my best work, but I did catch us something!” With a proud puppy smile she offered Welkin the pheasant that was now dangling limply from her jaws. “You can eat it while I pick out all your splinters!”    
the staff team luvs u

Ear-splitting hollers reverberate through the copse of virid pines, seemingly stirring the sensitive needles to action as they jounce and wobble with unpredictable movements. The cries are distinctly canine and feminine at that, beckoning in nature and growing closer with each ticking second. Whether Welkin has been blessed by a slipshod stroke of luck or cursed with misfortune is unknown, and she casts a longing glance at the bird lying motionless within the alabaster. A benevolent stranger may offer their own succor in crumbling her wooded captor for a share of the bird, her bird, but the opposite outcome was equally as viable. She could watch, hapless, as a ruffian pilfered her hard-won meal and left her lodged within this blasted stump.

It is then that the stranger parades into view, her eyes blown wide with alarm at the hen who has just realized its suitor has passed from the realm of the living. Gilded and tinted a potent shade of dijon yellow, they flicker upon Welkin’s own visage and connect for a fragment of a second. She’s pretty in a sort of innocent, pudgy way- like a homely maiden with rounded edges. Her pallid, rose-tinted sniffer appears squashed against her substantial countenance, contributing to her stoutly image. So pale and strange is the color that Welkin can only assume she sports some rare malady…

Seemingly corralled by some beguiling hand, the smallish wolf by happenstance bungles across the same obscure patch of ice Welkin had just minutes ago. Her talons claw helplessly against the slippery decline, sending her careening right where Welkin is fastened. The noble thrashes feebly against the straining wood, her leafy visage blown wide with alarm as momentum carries the stranger on a straight-pathed course.

Until-

Somehow, the blonde skitters to an abrupt halt that lands her nose mere millimeters from Welkin’s own. The noble recoils in disgust from her salmon nose, her expression contorting to one of concern for her own well-being. She certainly would not appear as imposing with such a pallid nose. It had better not be a contagious fluke…

In a delayed reaction, the blonde’s visage widens hesitantly to yellowed pinpoints. The second her gaze flickers tentatively at the bird propped between her limbs, Welkin stiffens, her coat bristling with possessive instinct. ”Don’t you dare-”

Most baffling of all, the stoutly wolf abandons her interest in the bird to flex her digits upon the concentric stump.

…

Huh?

As soon as the stranger’s mouth opens, however, the befuddlement quickly subsides and is replaced by an aggravation that broils in her gut. She is irritated beyond belief that this, this puny dimwit thinks she can lecture Welkin of all wolves when her actions are so hypocritical.

”Riiight. Let me get this straight- you want to lecture me over my lack of wherewithal when you nearly got yourself into the same predicament… for the exact same reason.”

Leafy eyes avert to dubiously inspect the stranger’s futile efforts, which currently only prompt weary groans and creaks from the battered stump. Her salivating muzzle dribbles saliva across the splintered grains, forming a small rivulet that drains earthwards towards Welkin’s entrapped paws. Her brows furrow worriedly until a distinct crack! interrupts the fragmented silence. It is not wide enough to allow for Welkin to maneuver, but has at least disposed of the salivary dribble that had threatened to topple and spill upon her feet. Of course you aren’t as strong as you think, Welkin snarks inwardly. If it wasn’t for your bulk the wind would blow you clean off your feet.

”I’m thrilled,” she mutters sardonically, cringing inwardly at what this wolf may have in store. ”Your ideas have been very fruitful so far.”

Suddenly the blonde is balancing precariously above Welkin’s head, her forelegs and hinds implanted along opposing edges of the stump. When her dirtied heel wobbles backwards to compress against the noble’s once pristine features, Welkin retracts sharply from the contact to nip at the underside of her digits. ”So you’re not strong or nimble- what are you good for?”

Apparently crushing innocent bystanders with her impressive bulk.

The stored oxygen within Welkin’s lungs simultaneously empties with an extravagant whoosh, a hoarse, crackling wheeze of protest sounding muffled from beneath the blonde’s thickened coat. The noble buckles, thrashing upwards like an boisterous animal saddled by an unwelcome force. Eventually the suffocating weight is uplifted, and for a moment Welkin lies listless to recover her pilfered breath. The blonde’s lobes waver in apprehension, and a kernel of satisfaction brews in Welkin’s chest.

As she should feel.

At the very least, she is unconstrained. Welkin’s limbs flex repetitively against the alabaster, tingling as if a horde of ants are stirring within their inner depths.

Wait a moment-

What did that idiot mean, that she had captured Welkin’s bird?

”The only ‘work’ you had to put in was retrieving its dead body. That’s mine,” she snaps reflexively, her possessive instincts stirring the fibers of her nape. She is starving and has no intention of feigning diplomacy, regardless if this wolf has helped her.

The ‘help’ was painstaking, anyways.

”Absolutely not,” she rejects, recoiling at the idea of this wolf preening through her ruffles. The dangling bird is snatched promptly from the other’s limestone jowls, sending a plume of feathers flurrying haphazardly in her wake. Ow. Her abrupt movements reveal just how abhorrent the splinters embedded within her skin truly are; the feeling is akin to having plunged within a grove of nettles. As Welkin stoops low to plunk the bird against the frozen loam, a repetitive series of internal ows and ouches ensue, her tender skin protesting against the foreign objects.

…

She relents.

”Fine. But if you ruin a single tuft of my hair it’ll be you I’ll have for supper and not this bird.”

She's bluffing, obviously, but the blonde doesn’t have to know that.
the staff team luvs u

This was not a very grateful wolf, but it’s alright, she was trapped in a stump for gods know how long, with wooden daggers digging into her skin. Adelaide supposed she, too, would be grumpy if trapped in the same situation.
“Oh, I really don’t think you should-“ Before the little wolf could finish her thought, Welkin was off, limping on all four paws and gritting her teeth like she wanted to shout. “You can stay, you know, I won’t think any less of you because you’re hurting.” She trotted beside Welkin, waiting for her to slow to a halt. Her honey eyes softened until they threatened to melt, and she gestured to a soft patch of moss for the woman to lie on. “As for what I’m good for, I’m a healer,” she began, gently taking the first thorn in her teeth, when it was out, she continued, “You’re lucky, because these wounds get infected very easily.”

Humming while she worked, a small pile of sharp twigs, some of them coated with Welkin’s blood, grew beside her. “You’re very pretty miss… um, what shall I call you?” she tilted her head to the side and spat another stick into the pile, “And grumpy, too, you remind me of my-“ she stopped abruptly, “Well, that doesn’t matter.

My Voro she wanted to say, though she knew this woman wouldn’t have a clue who she was talking about. She missed him so much it hurt, but she couldn’t think about him now. “Almost done!” she said, thumping her tail against the frozen ground, “You’re very brave.” When the last of the splinters were out, and the girl was free, she almost whispered,
”I’m lost, may I come with you?”
the staff team luvs u

Stay

Less

Hurting

Seemingly gripped by a sudden daze, Welkin’s listless stare lies unblinking upon the shattered remains of the pulverized stump. The blonde’s words enter through one ear and immediately exit through the other, neglected by her stalwart fatigue. A thorough shake of her fleece sends her ruffles into a wobbling frenzy, distilling both her vacant bout and a few specks of wood. By the time she is fully coherent, the stranger has maneuvered upon her flank in an attempt to steer Welkin towards a convenient batch of moss. She veers from her guiding touch, a sneer prompting the whites of her molars to flash from her curled lip. She is being contradictory simply for the sake of proving she is not some hapless pup.

”I said I felt fine,” she grumbles defensively, shooting the wolf a wayward and dubious glare. ”Your opinion of me matters little. Splinters’ve never killed anyone before and I’m not going to be an exception.” She exhales a haughty snort from her blackened nostrils, the bout of heat distilling in billowing clouds of air. Admitting you are hurting is to admit to a complete stranger that you are vulnerable and subject to the whims of their actions; regardless of this wolf’s seemingly benign appearance, Welkin will not chance the odds that she is waiting for some moment to pilfer her hard-earned meal.

Her paranoia sends her diaphragm expanding with abrupt movement, her eyes flitting about the clearing in a flighty manner. That is obviously what the blonde is sticking around for. No other wolf has truly harbored a full tolerance to Welkin’s hostile remarks. Ever. Her barbed statements are inconsequential to the smallish dame and it stirs unease within her abdomen.

It is especially unsettling to know that your words are meaningless to another when they are your sharpest weapon.

The blonde’s eyes seem to drip with sweetened honey, seemingly attuned to Welkin’s rampant unease at her provocative complacency. They are the maiden’s most significant redeeming trait in contrast to her unconventional nose, which glimmers wetly beneath the beaming sunlight. The noble’s gaze dillydallies over the surprisingly vibrant bed of mossy sprigs, which have somehow won the battle against the aching cold. So strange is its liveliness that Welkin compresses her paw upon the softened blanket, as if to ensure it isn’t some sort of warped plant. Having gleaned nothing out of the ordinary, she plunks solidly upon the plant with a resounding thump, wincing at the impact that jars her splintered ailments. A suspicious hmph follows-up the blonde’s testament to her own skill, a frown creasing her unconvinced countenance.

After the stunts she has pulled, her skill levels are certainly up for debate.

”I’m very lucky,” she deadpans, her expression radiating one of resignation at the embarrassing predicament she is now forced to lie in. ”I get forced into a stump, nearly get bowled over, stepped on, and then promptly flattened. Are you alone because none of your patients have ever managed to survive your ‘treatments’ before?” Her brows arch.

She attempts to stifle the flinch that ensues at the removal of the first thorn, her molars grinding against each other in a repetitive cycle. Eventually she is drawn inwards by the subtle melody the other hums, the tune indistinct but pleasant nonetheless. The silence envelops both medic and patient in a comforting blanket, easing the corded tension that runs taught through Welkin’s physique. Though she’d never admit it to the smallish dame, the preening is vaguely comforting and feels good. She is sucked backwards in time to her juvenile months, when Orenda would preen at her tangled ruffles to ease her distress. The memory sends a profound jolt through her thrumming heart, and she re-fixates on the melody the blonde strums up. She is practically the antithesis to her elder sister in matters of appearance, and soon the comparison is tossed from the crutches of her mind.

Welkin’s lashes flutter bashfully at the admiring compliment, preening outwardly beneath the other’s appraising attention. For the first time, even if brief, her expression softens to something akin to a soft smile. ”Welkin,” she starts, erasing the softened expression immediately. ”And you are?”

Remind her of who, exactly? The fragmented statement ignites her curiosity. A friend? Foe? Kin? Lover? Perhaps she too had been tossed here and lost any familiar faces.

”Your family?” she questions, unwilling to discard her curiosity at the expense of the other’s feelings.

Brave? Pah. A blatant and skyward roll of her leafy eyes follows the attempt at a flattering statement. It was only a few splinters, for Frore’s sake.

Her brow arches at the other’s admission of her wants. So, that was what she has approached Welkin for. The noble casts a satisfied glance at her plump pheasant, feeling much more secure in the amount of nourishment that would now come from her meal. Besides, the blonde was obviously not lacking in the food storages department; her bulk betrayed as much. The idea of having this wolf trail her for… Frore knows how long, is unappealing, but she will not leave her good deed unrewarded.

”Fine,” she sighs in resignation, a bit perturbed that she does not feel as disappointed in the other’s company that she would like to be. ”I don’t know exactly where I’m headed either, but feel free to tag along in my aimless endeavors.”

Perhaps she will find that idea unappealing and take care of the problem herself.

All Welkin needs to pretend is that she has a set direction and shelter in mind; the sun’s dying rays have begun to paint the horizon in vibrant hues, and she has no intention of lingering past dark to waste precious calories keeping warm. Rising to her paws, Welkin dabbles at the moss to clutch the bird within her jowls.

”Thish wey,” she beckons with a haphazard wave of her tail.

And thus they are off, wandering in no particular direction within the towering conifers.
the staff team luvs u

The repetitious act of plucking the splinters from Welkin’s fur eased her errant mind, and Adelaide relaxed until she began to sing quiet, melodious lyrics in between her licks and plucks.
“Led through the mist by the milk light of moon,” she began, pausing to lick down a particularly disheveled bit of the noblewoman’s fur, “All that was lost is revealed…” she didn’t sing anymore, but continued to hum, a great yawn drawn forth from her maw.

“I’m not quite sure how I came to be here, in truth,” she answered the woman after a long minute of silent contemplation, “I awoke in the desert alone, but I was quickly found by a very cruel pack.” She swept the growing pile of twigs out of the way with her tail and began inspecting Welkin’s punctures for any debris, a process that was entirely comprised of very soothing laps along her patient’s flecked coat. “I was abandoned in the night by my companion,” she whispered, “The one you remind me of very much. I cannot find his scent and I fear he is dead.” She grew very quiet and seemed to draw inward for a moment, some of the color draining from her eyes, but it only lasted a moment. “I am sorry again that I trampled you, I’m not very limber on account of being rather spoiled,” she giggled at Welkin’s cutting comments, choosing to ignore them rather than letting them under her skin.

“The pair of you would have gotten along very well.”

The dame’s eyes grew wide when Welkin told the girl her name, ”What a lovely name to match your lovely face, I am Adelaide.” With that unceremonious introduction, the pair were made friends, at least in Adelaide’s opinion. They walked away together side by side,Welkin carrying the pheasant with her new golden companion trotting alongside to keep up (she had little legs, after all).
the staff team luvs u

Large paws trudge softly across the chilled grit, disturbing small flecks of stone to send them careening outwards in Welkin’s purposeful wake. A stubborn fool she is acting as, and she knows it- but she will not relinquish her confident bravado at the expense of her companion’s gullible fawning. Complete adoration is what she sees in the blonde’s honeyed stare, and she intends to keep it this way for as long as possible. Knowing that this wolf, even if a bit guileless, wants to rely on her company- it feels wonderful. The feeling submerges her grief and fills the vacant hole that is eating away at her breast.

Having this wolf as some sort of a companion might not be as atrocious as initially presumed.

Dangling secure within her jowls is the rooster pheasant, threatening to smother her innards with loose feathers should she attempt at conversation. Welkin stoops lowly to relinquish her hold on the lifeless creature, re-adjusting to instead pluck the bird up by a barren limb. Somewhat muffled by her clenching molars, the noble’s lobes pivot backwards in acknowledgement to her words. ”I woke up here just as you did,” she admits, turning slightly to level an unceremonious squint at her diminutive companion. ”But not in a desert. Tell me, how did you manage to brave the desert and this supposedly monstrous pack?”

Truthfully, Welkin doubts the credibility of her claim. This wolf of softened edges and squashy appearance appears prone to label a wolf who’d harm a fly as vicious. Everything about her is gentle in contrast to Welkin’s jagged edges.

”I was abandoned in the night by my companion.”

Seems they at least shared one commonality between them.

A look glazes over her leaf-blown visage, distant and vacant. Welkin knows all too well the feeling of being stripped of a loved one- of putting so much of your faith into another, only for the world to crumble it to smithereens.

”That’s about all wolves are good for. You’d do best to learn that as quickly as possible.” Her expression hardens into a multitude of crinkling rivulets, a soundless grimace conveying her distaste towards her own kind.

The blonde’s crestfallen expression sends a piercing javelin through her breast. Whether it is sadness towards her own loss or in response to Welkin’s harsh reprimand… a kernel of guilt stews in her gut.

Alright…

Perhaps her approach could be the smallest bit more gentle.

”I’m sorry,” she says awkwardly, averting her stare from her companion’s listless look. ”I understand how crushing it feels.”

”I am sorry again that I trampled you..”

”It’s fine,” she interjects quickly, eager for the change in subject. ”I trust your judgement if you say I still look ‘pretty’.”

You sound too soft.

”But the instant I look at my own reflection and I see any damage, consider yourself alone for a second time.” Her molars flash.

Much better.

Nonetheless, the second compliment prompts Welkin’s breast to swell outwards, her diaphragm expanding with pleasure at Adelaide’s compliments.

Her voice does not match her expressionless countenance.

“You’d best hurry up then, Adelaide, before darkness falls and your spoiled self is left exposed to the chill tonight.”

There is an inkling in her bones that whispers, shelter, find shelter incessantly within her head. Right now the sky appears vibrant and clear, but Welkin is remarkably familiar with the unpredictable changes of weather within the mountains. At one second you may feel secure and bathed by the sun’s pleasant embrace, only to be surrounded by blinding alabaster the next.

She can only pray they stumble on a viable shelter by happenstance- because Welkin knows not of where they are, nor where they are headed.
the staff team luvs u