driftwood: a fairytale

Olive, in any of her lifetimes, had a wayfarer's soul. It seemed her lot in life to be constantly seeking — wanting, wishing, questioning how things might possibly be better. The length of her ponderings extended from simple things such as the weather (her mixed desire for different climates prevented the flighty thing from stay in one place for a lifetime), to her passions (might there be an undiscovered herb out there, somewhere, with capabilities she hadn't yet dreamt of?), and even the meaning of life itself (this is good, but might there be something better?).

Not only did travel give the little witch the chance to explore these things, but the hours and hours spent on the road afforded her much time to mull over these thoughts in her head.

If Olive had cared more for diplomacy, she could have made a very adept scout. Instead, she often wandered with out aim; simply for the pleasure of cataloguing yet another place on the earth, testing her knowledge against a new set of parameters, meeting other souls and keeping a little bit of their essence for herself to draw upon for eternity. It was what brought her back to the snow of the north for a couple day's respite — the responsibilities and stresses of pack life melting away as the ivory dove fluttered across the landscape, bursting into a sprint. Her vision blurred at the edges in her intensity, but it was not enough to obscure the dark forms of a herd of mountain goats, the first she had seen in a long time.

Skittering to a stop, Olive took upon herself a pointed stature. With her nose jutting outwards and a tiny paw curled into her chest, the woman hauled in a deep breath and felt the scent bolster the fire in her belly, lighted by her mini-flight. The endorphins had just begun pumping, and she hadn't nearly tired herself yet.

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Ragnar awaited the war to come still. He wondered, if it not for @Ghidorah and Sindri's push for blood, if there would be a war. All was silent from the islanders. Time and time before they tread the Brim but with no consequence. Ragnar wondered if they finally realized the greed they held and considered it open land. After all, none of his own had hunted there. Still, he knew every once of Ynness death demanded justice. One day, one day...

For now Ragnar's attention isn't to war. It is to exploration of which pulled his most interest. It was how he had come to these lands after all. He wondered of Frostchant. After being dismissed help during the first scuffles they had with the islanders, the alliance which he held with the pack was shaky. Even if Frostchant had just shown up to run them off... maybe Ynness would still be alive. Maybe @Elentari wouldn't have shattered bones and @Asgeir gone missing.

Ragnar sighs deeply, the scent of his allies on the breeze...

Ragnar sees her there, poised, nose directing his attention to the mountain goats in the distance and then back to her. He moves in- slowly, quietly and then, “In need of a hunting partner?” He was far from as swift as Sindri and likely not more then the woman in front of him either, but he could try.
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She became swiftly entranced with the tiny forms of the mountain goats as they picked across the crevasses and heights, far more nimble and sure-footed than she could ever be, though nimble she certainly was. A small symphony played in the back of her mind as she watched them dance around each other, with their pick-axe hooves cleaving at the stone, and she hummed with it internally.  At some point in her reverie, her curled forelimb loosened and stamped back down against the snow, providing a solid foundation and conduit for her flow. Truly, hunting was the farthest thing from her mind.

She was no longer alone — and from the heaviness of the footsteps that fell nearby, this wasn't the lithe build of Benry or youthful Archon. Drawn from the kaleidoscopic recesses of her mind, she loosened from her attentive position and uncoiled towards him. The waif spent a moment taking in his scent, his pelt, his stature, his words, his inquiry. A quick look at the goats, her black nostrils flared, and she nodded distinctly. Their art was beautiful, but it was only beautiful because she got to be an integral part of it; and Olive wanted to become deeply entwined in their dance.

"In these mountains, two mouths can be far more strategic than one." she chuffed, feeling the snow beneath her paws, and the gravel and dirt beneath that. A tumultuous land, and a welcome challenge. "Are you offering?" the woman inquired, though she suspected it was his reason for approaching her in the first place.

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She opened herself to him. Her olive eyes looking him over and nodding with an agreement. “Still by far an easy catch. Look how flawless they move over the rocks...!” He speaks out with excitement and a grin, a golden blonde muzzle pointing into the direction of the mountain goats as they bounded effortlessly from rock to rock.

“I am.” Ragnar did then confirm, turning back to the little ashen and cream woman out before him. Another of many petite and elegant women of the northern mountains he has met. He wondered if they too bound so effortlessly among the foothills.

“I am Ragnar Stormborn of Northfall. It's a pleasure...” Pale eyes were deep upon her, seeking, hungry for more as always. But he tears his gaze from her after a moment and takes a few steps forward, beginning the pace to the hunt.
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The nameless man seemed equally as taken by the goats' choreography as she, which gave her silent permission to follow the point of his muzzle back to their elevated stage, though they now danced to a song that she couldn't hear. In this lull (one of those that inevitably came before a crescendo), the woman dared add in her own melody.

"The pleasure is mine," she chimed, turning back to the man and letting the gravel of his name settle into her memory. Ragnar sounded powerful, just as the name Tiberius sounded powerful. They sounded like kings, or warriors, and acutely piqued her curiosity about the wolves these monikers represented. However, the story of Ragnar and his kingdom would have to wait, as there was only time for Olive to offer her own in return, "Olive Shakti-Seabreeze-Singing-Sunlight, of Frostchant" before he initiated their hunt and moved silently into their process.

The lack of song and tune was now deafening, and Olive knew that the goats' crescendo was closer than any of them probably expected. Her heart rate steadily climbed as it calculated & measured itself in anticipation. The sylph quickened her featherlight stride to travel abreast of he, and she offered her thoughts. "I'm a climber," she spoke sotto voce. "I'll go high, and bring one down to you?" at this her gilded-green gaze peeked upwards, her nose following, alight with the desire to text some new ~*kitty cat tricks*~ that she had learned from hunting and living alongside Benry.

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And warrior so much was right, that the Northfall wolves had come from a land of such war. That their travels had been followed by it and now found themselves among another by the death of their child and challenge over territory. So many women enjoyed the idea of a warrior, so long as they were knightly and noble. What would this one think to know Ragnar did not fight for honor, but that it was vengeance and the pure thrill of teeth in flesh that drove him? A selfish hunger for more?

More. Give me more...

“Ayeee, Seabreeze!” He laughs. “And here I thought I'd the long name!” Of course, he'd a longer one truly before he'd adopted his middle name as his own family founding. A man carrying his mother's banner of 'Archer' could hand him on a silver platter much and two fathers gave him more places he could settle easily. But it was the challenge of his own namesake and empire which ambition drove now.

The Frostchant did not recognize the Northfall as an ally. Maybe Olive was new or maybe Riannon's interest in them had waivered when she thought she might get her dainty paws dirty in a fight with the Dragonford.

The new hunting pair moved quietly then. Ragnar thought of the time his own and this pack could have been hunting together in the Moors which stretched between their mountains. He held back the sigh. He hears her words then, grasping focus on her rushed tones.

“Go.” He agrees with one word and a sharp nod. Breaking from her side, he seeks out a place of settlement. At the base of the mountain was flat ground of heavy snow and rubble. Ragnar rolls around the snows, to cover himself as well he could and crouch there low by some rocks. With any luck he would just become a part of the northern scenery.
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She appreciated the gaiety of his nature, and found herself laughing alongside him. "Seabreeze and Stormborn; they're not too dissimilar..." the woman reasoned with herself; one a simple zephyr and the other a blustery whirlwind. Two vast extremes, but certainly within the same spectrum. As for long and wordy names, Olive fully believed she had him well-and-beat. Then they padded along, two light-colored wolves easily obscured by the large swathes of snow that persisted in the crags and the crevasses of the earth.

For a rather verbose wolf, Olive always held an appreciation for tasks that took such significant focus that it rendered speech not only superfluous, but useless. The realm where intuition and body-speak ruled was where the woman thrived, and she found here what she found in her other crafts of herbalism and astrology — a channel, a container, for her energy. A curt nod acknowledged his agreement and she watched, the simmering in her belly rising, as he settled into his position. She committed to memory his hidden location, as they were still at the summit of the elevated cliffside. There was a long way to climb.

So began her upward journey, and it brought lightness to her heart to meld with her rocky milieu and truly take on the qualities of her environment; her movements were solid and calculated, every footfall placed in her mind's eye before it fell in the tangible world. She kept shrouded amongst the shrubbery and when that became too sparse in the elevation, she concealed her movements behind large rock faces, or slabs of snow. Finally, after some long moments, the lithe woman had surpassed that of the wooly mountain goats and all mental chatter, all at once, ceased.

Now looking down upon her prey, she turned upon her heels to look upon them and plan her descent as meticulously as she had climbed; lest the twisting of her ankle loose a pebble, which would then tumble downward at the behest of gravity, creating the most minuscule and puny of landslides — but it was enough to attract the lazy attention of the goats, who bleated in alarm and began to scatter. Had Olive a moment, she might have cursed the pebble that gave away her clandestine position, but instead she was coerced to leap into action, zeroing in on the small handful of goats that happened to scatter down the mountain's ledge.

With a certain level of leonine grace, the white woman followed suit, noting their cloven footholds in one moment and making use of it herself in the next. She wished she had been able to secure a larger selection of prey for the Stormborn warrior, but she was sure he could make do with this. They only needed one, after all.

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It would take her some time to move up the mountain and to watch her movements carefully so, should she not slip, should she not mistakeningly shift rock against rock and alert those they were after. Ragnar's icy attention watched her wholly, if not in order to be ready should she falter on the rocks but to watch the woman at work in her element. She said she was a climber, after all. Could he not steal her away to climb upon Northfall's mountains instead, with the view of both the forests, Frozen Ground and ocean to behold?

There was a quiet 'hrmmm...' on his lips as the time drew on further.

Then, a bleating out- a cried alarm. Ragnar's eyes shot away from his partner and onto the goats who began to scatter and a cluster meant to flea downward, cascading down the mountain side away from the little huntress who came from above.

As Seabreeze followed the group downhill, Ragnar began to assess those of his choosing. Four of them, all equipped with horns, two of which were smaller and their size smaller too, hinting at a juvenile stage of life. The other two looked to be full grown, one a bit larger then the other but was also slower, keeping at the back of the young. Ragnar didn't know if this was due to aging or a willingness to protect the younger herd members but it was this one which Ragnar sought out.

They came and passed, the two youngest not noticing Ragnar though the first adult knowing so and screamed out I'm warning, sharply turning the other way. The last in the group slowed, to try and turn away instead of running past Ragnar in his position. Ragnar lunges, seizing the beast swiftly so along the side of it's neck, just behind the jawline. The strength of the animal was incredible and it began to go buck wild on Ragnar to free itself. Ragnar kept to the side of it to avoid its hooves, though felt his grip slipping...
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The speed at which they covered ground was incredible, for both wolf and mountain goat alike. Goaded on by gravity, it was more like falling with style, and Olive's only concern was making sure that she stayed balanced and every footstep was well-placed — she needn't attack or get close enough that she need beware a flailing hoof, simply maintain her distance and steer the small group, which fled directly into the waiting jaws of Ranger below.

It was difficult to pay attention to exactly which earthen barrier the stormborn hunter hid behind, but she knew it soon enough with the honking cry from the forefront goat. Instantaneously her gaze lifted and searched for him, finding a blonde blur upon a bucking adult, and her legs moved her quickly and instinctively beside him. He hung onto their prey's jaw but their body remained wildly free. There was a flurry of sharp hooves, which told Olive that her best chance to not be gored was to go upwards. She leapt, attached herself to the beast on its upper shoulder, and then jerked her entire mass & weight towards the earth.

Once they fell the creature, then they could pin it, and begin their sacred slaughter.

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It would not take long for his swift partner to come to his aid. She met with him on the beast's side, to join their efforts together.

She lept higher, nimble she was and latched to the upper shoulder. She was light but the weight of a wolf attached to you by teeth was no joke. Added with Ragnar's more grounded approach and final jerks, the goat faltered to the ground.  In these moments while the goat tried to scramble himself back up, Ragnar released his hold and sought a better one, for the windpipe of the animal. It is here he stayed latched until the animal would finally let go of life.

“We did great...” He said finally through panting as he sat down and caught his breath, his blonde neck and chest now painted in red. Many hunts ended in failure. Some in injury. They had accomplished neither. “Your a good climber.” He commented.
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The goat fell, but it did not stop its struggle. Survival was strong in all things, and it was no easy feat to kill something that did not want to die. It was a predator's biggest burden, to carry such a heavy role in the food chain — but this relationship was essential to the survival of all things on the earth; even that of the mountain goat, though they would never realize it.

Her jaws were like a vice grip as she grit into skin and muscle and held onto its shoulder, which gave her significant control over how the cloven fury moved. She held it as still as she could as Ragnar repositioned to deal a deadly blow; this was never a part she relished, and was grateful to the Stormborn warrior for taking the brunt force of the killing. Instead, she focused on the energy and the soul of the wriggling thing as life slipped away from it, asking it not to hold her in contempt for the things she must do. Holding onto the body for a moment longer than it was alive, she eventually released it and whispered sweetly to it words taught to her by her grandfather, a small prayer of forgiveness.

"Eekala mai iaʻu, e kala mai iaʻu, aloha wau iā 'oe, mahalo."

and afterwards, without much fanfare, the sylph rose and licked the small amount of blood from the teeth, and smiled as she received Ragnar's compliment. It was a job well done — hunting was always done more gracefully when more than a singular mind was at work. "Thank you," she breathed, somewhat winded from the exertion of the hunt but smiling nonetheless. "I live with a mountain lion. He rubs off on me," she explained, hoping he would find this more interesting than strange. Just in case he did, she segued.

"—and you, I can always appreciate a clean kill." she bowed her head in a slight show on deference, offering him the carcass first.

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Ragnar was silent, listening to the prayer offered to the fallen beast. Ragnar was accustom to such things, for although he did not speak in such a manner to his food, Ragnar had watched and taken part in traditional sacrifice as well. Something which those of Norse often did for their Gods.

And then, strange indeed! “A cougar?? How very strange!” His eyes are wide, expression filled with question and curiosity of this. As he had come to grow up, cougars were an enemy of the wolf. Just like the tiger. Then again, in this world, he had come to know a woman in a relationship with a tiger. So, maybe not strange at all in this life.

“Thank you...” He then dips his muzzle to the pale little woman. He lifts from his sit and comes closer to the goat, to lay before it and begin to make a clean opening large enough for the both of them to feast together side-by-side. When he is finished, before he eats, “Frostchant and Northfall have called themselves ally long before our roots had settled...” He muses, side glancing to her to gage her expression. “It is due time that we act as it.”
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Space was made for her at the Stormborn's side, and it was quickly assumed by the pale, ashen woman, made hungry by the rush of adrenaline as much as she was the exertion of the hunt. Though, she didn't indulge yet — instead, she leant down her head to sniff at the steaming carcass as she listened keenly to Ragnar as he, quite intentionally, transitioned their conversation to one of diplomacy.

Northfall and Frostchant, allies? Olive could not say this was intimate knowledge that she knew of the northern pack, but it didn't sounds truly farfetched, either. @Riannon was increasingly a silent creature, especially when it came to communications with her Palantír. Their communication was largely nonverbal, which gave her many freedoms within the pack — but it did not afford her detailed knowledge of the goings-on of Riannon's mind. Olive found it likely that Riannon might have created an ally with another strong, northern pack; so the woman would not show the cards in her hard so easily.

"Aye," she commended, nodding her head with eyes half-lidded as if this, too, had been on her mind the entire time. Her tailed lifting, the woman looked up at Ragnar and regarded him with interest, enjoying the role she played in forging strong relationships between the two packs; one that existed outside of the confines of her Alpha's realm. "May this goat be the beginning of a closer allyship between Frostchant and Northfall," the woman chirped with a smile, placing her paw on the soft-firmness of the goat's musculature. "...for life amongst the mountains is made far easier when we can rely on those around us." she finished, perhaps too forlornly for the moment, but she felt she understood the gravity of what they all risked, here.

Withdrawing her pointed paw from the fallen frame, Olive canted her head and shivered as a cold wind blew through her fur. "Have you anything specific in mind?" she wondered aloud, all-too-willing to let Ragnar lead this caucus, lest she overstep Riannon's comfort and clear boundaries (more than she already was, mayhaps). "I am happy to propose a new doctrine to my Sotaherra," she suggested, shuffling & opening to face the viking ambassadorship.

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The little woman came to rest at the side of Ragnar, pressing her paw to the goat's side and pledging a deeper kinship between the two mountain pack's which straddled the edges of the great north.

“Aye!” He added his own happy decree and too stomped a large blonde paw to the side of the fallen beast. “May we run together, feast together and fight together as one!” He did not know if these things would come to fruition. Did not know what position she might hold in the ranks or sway she had over the ice queen. Not either would he predict the great effort that would be taken to save the woman which lay at his side now.

Only time would see its truth or falsehoods.

She then digs further, a shiver through her delicate figure as she questions and turns herself to fully hold his attention. “Only that we so share our livelihoods equally- our skills, our wealth, our burdens and our griefs.” He pauses, his icy eyes turning from her and out to the mountains which he had watched Olive hunt upon. “There was a time ago when both our packs were very frail. Only but protective parents of their children, struggling to become something great in this new world...”

There falls a seriousness to his expression as his brows knot and a sigh eases from parted jaws. “I can't hope but feel that if we had been more united then, things might have turned out very differently so between us all.” Maybe his son would not have gone, maybe his daughter not killed. Maybe even their children could have grown together, even been betrothed together if the cards played right.

Shaking his head and returning a small smile to his features, he looks back to Olive again. “Now- let's eat before the north freezes our meal stiff!” He says with a laugh as he then digs greedily in.
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Olive made sure to modulate the expression on her face, to keep it tame and controlled, as to not unintentionally agree to conditions that the great Frostchant might not find suitable. Ragnar did have a clear vision for this alliance, and seemed to have clear expectations of them as a partner; and though Olive readily & easily saw the value of sharing their livelihoods with a pack certainly more fierce, the same could not be said of the woman Riannon.

Olive listened as her prolific hunting partner as he joyfully extolled the potential that came when two entities with parallel missions conspired together. Olive let her eyes slide shut, imbibing his hopeful words, and as much she wished to acquiesce right there and personally grant the man all his wishes, it was a promise she couldn't make. With a brief nod of her bloodied chin, the woman responded mindfully.

"Riannon remains closed and protective of what is hers," she explained, pursing her lips as punctuate, to give a moment so that the correct words could slip into place, "but she is not without good sense, and I will entreat her rightly." Olive then beamed, excited to indulge in their ceremonial sacrifice, but Olive had one more addendum to their conference before she delicately tugged apart the steaming carnage. "Outside of diplomacy, do know that we have a personal liaison of friendship and support,"

A wag of the tail and a touch of the paw were her outward expression of this sentiment. "You & yours can call upon me whenever is needed."

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