Birth of a wish

She wasn't certain why they were going all the way out here. The small raven-child her mate had decided to foster had suddenly bounced into Valeska's den in a tizzy, wings fluttering like a startled chicken as she breathlessly sputtered out a long string of incomprehensible words. She couldn't seem to pick a language, noisily falling in and out of both Common and Ravenspeech, before Amaranth entered silently behind her and was able to better articulate the request.

Even then, it was unclear. Something about a pack led by a raven, living within mountains that overlooked the sea - Valeska grimaced. She remembered the ocean well enough. Too salty, too briny; and seagulls were demons of the sky. Still, it meant something to Sylvie, and because it meant so much to the child, Amaranth felt compelled to satisfy the keening demands of her charge. They had left Mordecai and Harper to keep watch over Fate's Respite in their absence, rightly guessing the journey would take several days, and left at dawn earlier in the week. Krakarak led the way - he spoke incessantly during the journey, mostly filling Sylvie's head with grandiose promises and stories of questionable credibility, but at least it kept the little bird entertained.

Sylvie sat nestled at the nape of Amaranth's neck, curiously still, but no less excited than she was upon first rolling into the den. Valeska sighed. What could they possibly gain from this trip other than sore paws and discovering yet another one of Krakarak's empty claims?

In short order they had arrived, and the pale wolf found herself more pleased than she had initially thought. It was cold, here - almost bitterly so - and snow covered the landscape all around, falling in big, soft flakes that melted on the tip of her nose. A great valley yawned before them, chunks of ice floating haphazardly down the river that divided it against the soft glow of sunset.

“Well,” she began, turning to her companions. “We are here, and it certainly smells of Krakarak, if there is nothing else.”

@Amaranth @Krakarak @Ragnar

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 Gods, wolves were so sloooowwww! It had taken them forever to trek behind him. In fact, if it wasn't for the inquisitive young child, he felt like he might have gone insane! Instead, he happily indulged the child. Telling wild tales and embellished stories about his life and what he'd learned from Ragnar and the pack. He spoke in the Corvid Tongue, finding it easier to spin elaborate tales in this fashion. He spoke liberally and happily, answering any question and volunteering up any information that was requested (with his own spin, of course). He was quite the chatterbox, especially to what he thought was a promising young chick. In this way, she learned more and he was able to stroke his own ample ego. Everyone won!

 Except maybe the wolves who had to listen to his raucous raven speech...

 Finally, they made it back to Northfall and Krakarak flew up high. "Pfft! Ya! Krakaw! 'Cause it Krakarak home!" What a dumb piece of useless information to volunteer up! He rolled his eyes as he began to circle above them all, providing a beacon for Ragnar to follow as he called out, "RAAGNAAAARR!" In his loud, croaking tone. Halfway between the Corvid Tongue and the Common. It echoed all around and he called again for good measure, "RAAAGGGNAAARR!" He glided in his lazy circles, waiting for his favorite wolf to show.

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@Ragnar @Krakarak @Valeska

---

It was so cold. The icy wind kissed her, lacing through her golden fur in breathy tendrils as her skin crawled and prickled. Thankfully, she held close the only two sources of heat that could warm her: Valeska, the light and the beacon, with that bushy silver tail flipping with expertise through the silver labyrinth around them... and Sylvie, the small avian child nestled in the crest of her neck, guiding her like a wolven puppet and dictating her very thoughts before she could even start to think them herself.

The disheveled crew trod through the frozen valley, trudging through the squalling winds (of course, perhaps this was all a bit exaggerated in Amaranth's mind). Amaranth, of course, would have been the one slowing them down, her yellow fur sticking out against the monochrome world like a misguided desert fairy. A lost sunbeam.

She paid no attention to the smells, only to keep her sedated purple gaze upon Valeska as her numbed paws marched in solemn rhythm. The only thing that seemed to jolt her was the harsh screech of the bird — Krakarak. The father raven, and apparently the second half of Sylvie's parental unit at this point. She couldn't be too bitter, the raven had taught her child to fly. If anything, he was a blessing ... despite his natural habitat being so incredibly uninviting.

As the group slowed and Krakarak screamed, Amaranth pulled her slender frame to stand beside her mate, her shoulder sliding against Valeska and greedily seeping some of her warmth. Golden ears flicked, her nape rustling as if to feel for Sylvie's reaction to everything that was going on while they waited for the infamous Raven-Wolf-Leader to greet them in this silhouetted valley.

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Ragnar had since descended from the higher elevations of his home after a brisk morning hike. Testing and pushing his abilities was a must living in a land of much rock and snow and to know his home, even its high peaks, was something which he planned on knowing well over time spent here. Surely there was more hidden gems much like the hot springs he and Krakarak had once founded.

Now he was down within the evergreen forestry around the foothills of the mountains. Here there was far less snow on the ground and yet even as winter began to pass it did its most to cling here. Winds from the northern tundra and salty spray from the coast south did well to make sure of it. The breeze brought a pleasurable quiver through his spine as he made way.

Then a call sounded, one Ragnar knew well. A loud and guttural sound half spoken in comment and raven tongue. Ragnar couldn't help and smirk and chuckle, following after his friend's direction. He was out there, high in skies to lead the wolf's path.

Soon then Ragnar would see the couple standing in wait- one of silvers and one of gold. It was not until he was much closer did he see the little bird nestled into the nape of the paler one. Their scents were unfamiliar to Ragnar, from a part of land not yet ventured and it peaked Ragnar's interest of why they had come. Just knowing that they now knew of Northfall themselves brought Ragnar into good spirit.

“Welcome to Northfall.” He dips his muzzle down and to the side, an icy eye curious on them. “I am Ragnar Stormborn. To whom do I owe the pleasure?” His head lifts back up as he looks between the two of them.
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Valeska winced and closed her eyes as Krakarak announced the arriving party with a loud screech, the harsh edge of his voice bouncing eerily and emptily off the tall rocks that surrounded them. She envisioned multiple bears stirring from their hibernation, furious and bloodthirsty at having been woken prematurely. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all, but it was too late now - they had already alerted every creature within a fifteen mile radius, and they couldn't be rude and turn back now.

They had left Aulis behind, tended to by Harper and Mordecai (gods help them all), assuring the star-child that they would return within the week. Valeska found that she enjoyed his company more than she realized - the thrill of imparting wisdom and knowledge to the next generation, of having someone to play with and care for in the quiet hours of the day. Motherhood suited her, though it also brought great pain. She and Amaranth could never make such a union fruitful... for their love, no matter how deep, would never bear children.

A figure approached from the distance, tall and lean. Hardened muscles twitched beneath his golden-pale coat, a testament to his experience and lifestyle; he was thin for his height, but he was not weak. Valeska tilted her head to the side involuntarily as a strange feeling took her - and an image appeared in her mind.

He, she, and Amaranth gathered beneath a pale moon, dancing as blood dripped from their maws while ravens chanted from beyond the surrounding veil of darkness. It was a macabre scene, almost tribal, but it somehow felt... right.

She shook her head, returning to the present. Ragnar introduced himself, and so did she in turn - “It is good to meet you, Ragnar,” she said with a smile; and, noticing her mate was shivering, leaned in affectionately to the golden woman's shoulder. “I am Valeska, High Priestess of Elysium to the mountains in the south-east of here. I know it is strange, but we have come here at the request of my mate's - child.”

Something stirred at the name of Amaranth's neck.

She cleared her throat.

“Krakarak has spoken much of his home here, and said we might pay a visit. I pray we are not of inconvenience - the gods did not try to turn us back, at least, on the journey here,” she continued hesitantly. “Now it seems foolish, but Houtu seems to have planted this desire in the little raven, and she would not stop until we went.”

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At last!

It had been a long, boring, bumpy journey, despite Amaranth's best efforts, but they had finally arrived. Sylvie could hardly contain herself, every fiber of her little body humming with anticipation - would they be a pack of great warriors, a whole army marching in line at Krakarak's summons? The thought filled her with excitement, but she wouldn't risk a peek yet; it was cold, anyway, and her mother's ruff was warm and soft. She would wait until she heard the approach of many calloused paws gathering at his command.

An army! She shivered.

Finally, the wolves came. She popped her head up to witness the majesty and -

Just one?

A single, skinny soldier?!

“Where is everybody?” she demanded, her voice cracking with indignation. Her feathers ruffled, appearing every bit the slighted fledgling that she was, and bounced further up Amaranth's neck to stand on her head and squawk with more projection. “Kwakawak said he led a whole pack! Everywone else too wazy to show up? Insubowdination! Just wait till he speaks to your comwades!”

She puffed out her chest and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Well. At weast YOU came. Does Kwakawak have twaining schedules for you? How often do you hunt for him? Is he a fair and just ruler?”

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 There he was! The pale shape of Ragnar stepped out of the woodlands and there before his guests. Krakarak waited until he was settled before swooping down and then landed gently on the man's shoulders, carefully not to graps too tightly with his talons. He looked over at the wolves and the little raven proudly... and then in horror, as Sylvie raved about his broken promises.

 Oop... oooo... that was... that was a problem.

 With every word he seemed sink further and further down, as if trying to hide behind Ragnar's head and neck. He even tucked in his wings in his bid to "disappear" while he tried to think of what to say. "Uh, hehe, kids, eh? Have good imaginations, ya? Ya? Hahaha! Krak!" He tried to whisper in the alpha's ear, while still trying to hide. He didn't dare look at the others yet, maybe he could still salvage this. Maybe Ragnar would play along and not be upset that he had streeeetcchhhed the truth just a liiiittllee bit. "Krakarak may have exaggerated. Teeny tiny bit to little raven hatchling." He was speaking the quietest he ever had in his life.

 In his defense! It had made him feel awesome to be believed so thoroughly! How could such a bird not get carried away with his vivid descriptions of completely false exaggerated statements.

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Snow sprinkled from above, glittering and gliding through the dense foggy air as the eerie and elegant monoliths breathed all around them. They seemed to hover over the group, watching with ominous anticipation and heavy judgment. Amaranth's purple gaze wandered, golden ears falling backward atop her crown as her head angled to peer at the sheer edges of the winter wasteland. The peaks twisted and sighed, angling their sharp fangs down toward her ... threatening to engulf her in an icy tomb. Hungry.

The pull of Valeska's warmth was what drew her back, drawing her out of the twisted and back to reality. If only barely.

That and the sudden appearance of a new participant in their charade.

He was draped in pale gold and held an icy gaze. There was a firmness there, but a crack in that exterior that manifested as the most gentle bit of curiosity as those frosted visages looked toward them. Amaranth eyed him in return, curiosity lighting her own purple eyes in a similar fashion. She did not know what to expect of the Raven King — perhaps she'd expected more flair, more decoration. Where were the feathers that he should have borne in his fur like her own?

Her nose tested the air, head lifting to taste the musty earth smell that pooled on his skin. Ragnar Stormborn, he said, and Amaranth wondered from what storm he had been thrown from to earn such a name. There were subtle scars around his ears and face that alluded to some sort of mystery that would need to be gently unraveled. After Valeska finished speaking, Amaranth gently added her own name to the mixture of words — "I am Amaranth," she noted plainly, pale tongue rolling over her pearly fangs inside of her mouth.

Before she could say more, Sylvie bounded forward, unfurling with the ferocity of a thousand storms. Feathers seemed to explode from around, her trilling voice scree-ing into the universe (and beyond) about the promises of Krakarak. Of course, it was completely illogical to fathom a raven leading a pack ... wasn't it?

And after Sylvie's loud squabbling rant was over, the golden woman gently added: "And this is Sylvie." Lips coiled into a soft grin as she rolled a soft trill of laughter from her dark lips. "We have come on word of your companion ..." As the wind picked up gently, the dark feathers in her fur fluttered. Sylvie's squat little body remained perched, her talons ever-so-gently squeezing Amaranth's skull. "Do you all have familiars, then?" Eyes turned to Krak with a toothy smirk. The woman's tail flicked, the urge to step forward and more closely investigate Ragnar surging higher and higher. And yet she remained gripped by Valeska's warmth, at least for the moment.

She would be polite for now.
But perhaps Valeksa would have realized the soft electricity as it spiked across her skin.

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The first to speak is the shorter pale female. She is draped in white, gray and silvery tones that resembled a woman of the north. Her words were thickly accented, too, but the dialect was different. She introduced herself as High Priestess of Elysium, a pack he had not yet heard of within a land yet not known. He knew the pack to the far east almost directly from here and wondered how far off this pack lied from it.

As Krakarak swoops down to settle on the shoulder of Ragnar, Ragnar dips his head to Valeska, a silent gesture as she and her partner (however delicately added her tones were) introduced themselves and continued on. Her mate's...child? What about it? His eyes swept to the golden woman then, who was tall and lean, just the opposite of the others short and stocky. The way the priestess pressed to her and the eye of affection given, it suggested that she was the mate. “I am grateful the gods had given safe passage...” But Houtu? And who was the child? Ragnar didn't know who that was and the bit of confusion shown on his features.

When the little bird pitched, a bit more explanation came to light. She comes hopping up to the top of the golden woman's head, squaking insults and questions. Ragnar blinks hard, head tilting to the side as a cut brow rose. “Well uhh...” His attention turns then, slowly and near comically toward Krakarak and there his icy eyes narrowed on his feathered friend perched on him, who was doing his most to melt himself into Ragnar to not be seen. Unfortunately, he was black on blonde and quite large.

Ragnar not had heard Krakarak be so quite from the moment he met him. It appeared the little bird they had adopted as their own, their child, had wanted to come all this way based on tales and falsehoods of this little trickster here. Ragnar snorts loudly at Krakarak and turns his attention back to the puffed up little one and the woman she was perched upon. She wore black features into her fur, something which Ragnar had done a time or two with Krakarak's own. He would need his friend to weave them in himself, unable to figure out how to go about it himself. It looked neat, but often fell out through his travels or traversing the waves of the coast.

“Well Sylvie, Krakarak might rule the roosts here,” He said with a smile then to the little one, in knowing that it was only Krakarak which claimed himself a member among them as far as bird went and so a leader of none. “But I lead the wolves... how ever unsubordinante they may be.” Another small smile, the northern king directs his attention to Amaranth, though all the while would glance between the three of them both in respect and to gage their own interest.

“We do not. Apparently I was the only one blessed with raven attraction.” He would chuckle, shaking his shoulder with an uplift of his foreleg as he messed around with his feathered friend. “We do however respect them so, as they are revered creatures of the Norse Gods. Even if we do not always agree with them.” And then, back to little Sylvie. If these two wolves came all this way just because the little bird wanted to visit, Ragnar had a means to gain her favor. “As for you, yes, we do hunt for Krakarak and he is welcome to his fair share more then just our scraps. In turn, he gives us his eyes. He is our Watcher.” It was easier to spot a great many things with a winged one as an ally and gain much more advanced warning. This included herds on the territory, activity for food on the coast, enemies or trespassers lurking about and in this case, visitors on their borders.
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Well, that had done it; from the look on his face alone, it was plain to see how deep Krakarak had just buried himself. Valeska snorted pointedly in his direction, feeling just a little indignation over the dashed hopes of the fledgling. A child was a child, after all, however noisy and distasteful; and to crush the starry-eyed aspirations of a babe may not have been a formal sin of the Five, but it sure felt like it.

Amaranth gradually ventured to introduce herself, her voice as airy as ever despite her clenched teeth gritting against the cold. It may once have bothered the silver woman how quickly strangers became enamored with her lover, but as their months together passed, she began to accept it simply as how the way things were. Valeska was short, stocky, abominably fluffy; built for harsh winds and lofty mountain peaks buried beneath ice and snow. Her companion, by comparison, was long, lithe, and willowy, with golden hair that shone like summer - as if some fine lady had sighed languidly one sun-dappled afternoon, and somehow brought the sound to life.

The little wolf gave a light shrug, and returned to the present. At Ragnar's expression of the gods having given them safe travel, her ears swiveled forward immediately.

“You, too, are a man of worship?” she breathed excitedly, eyes wide. “Ah - you call them Norse. What is that?”

It was true that Valeska devoted herself to the Pentacle with great fervor, yet she knew other cultures lay beyond her narrow scope. She had heard that other packs and other creatures may well call the gods by a different name (even if they also sometimes they fuddled the details) - of course, she still knew her truth to be the Correct Truth, but should the Five be called by other names to suit foreign tongues, who was she to chastise their believers?

A man of faith was to be respected.

“Oh, yes, Amara does like to collect. Feathers, trinkets, odds and ends; they litter the den, but I think that the small raven is her most unique... acqui...” she hesitated, searching for the English word. “Acquin... acquisin... shit. Excuse me. I mean, possession.”

So much for manners.

“A watcher? Such prestige! Sylvie, maybe you can be useful yet,” she teased the little bird, who shrank back with a withering stare. Chuckling, she returned her gaze to Ragnar. “We do not really know why we are here, except that she was most insistent to see proof of Krakarak's stories. I am sorry for her, but I think you are better not to be under raven-rule after all. I suppose since we are here now - this is the farthest I have traveled besides to the Ichor-wood. What, who else lay near here?”

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The outrage! She craned her neck to catch a better look at Krakarak, who had managed to artfully conceal himself at just the right angle upon Ragnar's person - she may not be able to see him, but she knew he was there. Sylvie was so mad she could spit, though she wouldn't dare commit such an atrocity against her mother's glorious plumage.

Instead, she chose to hurl insults.

“Kwakawak! You WIED!” she cawed, feathers shedding in a violent storm around her as she quaked her rage. “I am a young and impwessionable child and you have compwetely wuined my dweams. All of them.”

Hm - it sounded awfully self-aware. She paused, thinking maybe she should tone it down to make her woes more believable.

“Mama, I'm so - hic - sowwy we came all - hup - this way just for no-nothing!” she exclaimed dramatically, as a series of terribly put-upon sobs hiccuped their way into her speech. Great, fat tears rolled down her feathered cheeks, and she knew herself to be the picture of a child therapist's dream.

Until she caught the tail-end of something about Krakarak being a Watcher for his pack, and Valeska took it a step too far.

Sylvie shot her a nasty look and silently mouthed the phrase:
'If you think I will ever work a day in my life, you have another thing coming, you stupid hairy bitch.'

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 Well, one part of the disaster averted! It didn't appear that Ragnar was in any way upset by his bold lies claims. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet from his not-so-hidden spot on Ragnar's shoulders. He would, uh, let the king deal with all of the falsehoods that needed to be debunked. He felt hot embarrassment wash through him as he listened behind his "shield". His only input was an indignant squawk when Ragnar rattled him a bit with his shoulder lift. Hmph! Dumb wolves, having to make him come to terms with reality.

 It wasn't until Sylvie's tears and disappointment washed over him did, he feel the need to add something else. For some reason, he cared about what she thought and how her feelings had been hurt. He finally popped up from behind Ragnar, leaning over the side of his shoulder so he could look at Sylvie.

 To him, those great sobbing tears were one-hundred percent believable and hurt his tiny, little heart. "Is not nothing! Krakaw! You no hear? Krakarak rule the roosts here!" Yes, all of the roosts. All of none of them. But he could work with that. It was something. "Krakarak have very important job. Watcher is good thing! And he gets the good food with the wolfs! Krak Krak! You come here for good reason! And--and--" And what? "Krakarak can still teach how to fly! He help lots, ya? No cry! Please no cry! Krakawa!" Right? Right?! The flying counted for something! She had learned something! He could even further her lessons here if she wanted to visit. Plus, all the food she could want!

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tarot draw: eight of cups (upsidedown), knight of wands (upsidedown), ten of cups (right side up)

---

Amaranth's amethyst eyes remained fixated upon the pale northern man, listening to the way in which he spoke of ravens and gods. So he was a whisperer of both the visible and the spiritual, hmm? Perhaps he was more similar to the women of Elysium than Amaranth had first given him credit for. Deep purple eyes glittered with a soft storm of curiosity as her brows twitched. A soft hum of understanding was the only sound that escaped her lips, wondering why these northern wolves held such attraction for birds. She thought briefly of the albino raven. And now Krakarak.

Flashes of purple crossed her vision as Ragnar's words floated around in the empty space of her mind. There was a mystical pull toward him, but a soft hesitation. The cold air touched her skin, and she pressed herself ever-so-slightly closer to Valeska, trying to gather a sense of how the silver woman felt. Valeska spoke up to ask questions about the Norse — these gods that Ragnar believed in. Amaranth wondered, quietly and to herself, if these gods that everyone seemed to praise were all but the same beings under different guises. Perhaps Valeska and Ragnar praised the same divine beings without even realizing it.

Her mind drifted for a while, the purple haze lingering and fogging her mind.

But she was woken by divine cacophony. Conversations unfurled as raven caws cracked at the air like licks of thunder. It was turmoil and rukus, between Sylvie's caws of betrayal and Krakarak's squawks about his worth — but to be quite honest, Amaranth was rather touched by how badly the older bird wanted to impress her child. And it was certainly true that this feathered co-parent would be of value in training her little Sylvie in the ways of the raven. A soft glimmer of a smile flicked at the edges of her lips as her gaze turned toward Krakarak. There were no words there, but perhaps a glimmer of subtle appreciation.

"Sylvie, my dear," Amaranth cooed, her voice taking on a delicate softness that mirrored the feathers she wore. The fur along her back and shoulders ruffled slightly as if to tuck Sylvie closer to the warmth of her golden body in a gesture of comfort. "Everything has a purpose, be it apparent or hidden. You need not apologize for following what you feel. Besides, Krakarak seems a noble bird for you to learn from, hmm? All is not lost." Amaranth's voice flowed easily from her lips, an eerie smile lighting her features. Golden ears swiveled as her gaze pivoted back toward Ragnar ... and then Valeska. Her gaze teetered between the two, an uncertain sensation rising in the pit of her chest. What was it? Anticipation? Expectation?

Perhaps there was something more here.

Something. Hidden purpose.

But she couldn't put her nose on it. And she hoped perhaps Valeska would understand and have the words where Amaranth could only have the sensation and feeling.

"Perhaps there was reason yet for coming here. We are not so different, after all..." The golden plume of her tail flicked and swayed gently behind her as energy burned across her skin. Heat flushed her, combating the bitter cold as her eyes churned with energy. "I think there is more we could learn from The Northern King of the Ravens," she purred gently, jaws clacking softly. Perhaps there was more Ragnar could learn from the quicky women of Elysium as well ... but it would probably take a quite bit of thought to even begin to understand them.

Quite a bit of thought. Or perhaps quite a bit of drugs.
What better way to bond with new friends?

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If only Valeska had known that Ragnar saw things a bit differently. Of course, Ragnar had courted many a sleek and delicate thing and the golden woman with exotic eyes before him was rather lovely... still, it was Valeska herself which mostly caught the man's attention and only half of it had to do with the fact that it was she which pulled the weight of their end of the conversation.

Ragnar was quite attracted to a thickly built and strong woman. He had a thing for redheads, too. Valeska was not but her appearance led him to believe her a woman fit for his home and love for the north. Her accent carried heavily and already their religious interests pulled them into further knowing of one another...

“They are a Gods of high North. Worshipped by many within the region and are my Regent and her former mate's beliefs which I have come to accept.” He had grown up to worship and believe The Gods of Old. Seeing how the Norse Gods and his own gods did not much conflict, he was open to the idea of both. He was open to a great many things. “High Priestess, you said?” Ragnar then adds to this subject, “In our ranks, this is the wolf most in tune with the Gods and harbors healing power, whether spiritually or by Mother Earth's givings. Is this the same meaning for your ranks?”  He was not yet aware of her position as Leader but this did not sway him to know them both as wolves of importance to their pack.

A chuckle then, at her tumbling of words as she tried her best to be polite. Failed. “I see...” A side glance then given to the little bird (who cursed and fluttered with anger) and back. Meanwhile, Krakarak now did all he could to sooth the little one after the Manu falsehoods he had given. It would be damage which Kra would have to correct himself now thar Ragnar brought all the truth to light. To Ragnar, truly, Krakarak being their Watcher was very important to the pack, especially a small one with such a vast mountain to keep said watch over. It was unfortunate Sylvie held no such interest. “There are quite a number of packs near... Across the Alpine Moors to the east where you've come, we call ally and to the south of them, friend. To our south on the islands...” A toothy laugh, “Not so much friends.”

The golden woman spoke then again, her words smoothing to comfort the babe at her nape. Their original intention for coming here had been all a ruse but their true purpose for being put on this path had yet to be revealed to them all. Though Ragnar and Valeska spoke openly about the Gods, it was Amaranth which magic flowed through now and she could feel it- could they too?

He dips his head lower to the woman, his nose flaring, breathing her in. “Come,” He says then as he lifts his head back up high, “Join me within my home and we will drink and feast and learn all we can of one another...!” He speaks out happily, a grin on his features and wave of his tail. He noses his feathered friend, who despite it all his lies had brought two beautiful women that they all may call ally and friend.
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Her mate seemed to be... somewhere else. This was not unusual in itself, for the golden woman often caught her fleeting glimpses and fragments of the gods in such a way. Her angular features melted into a sanguine state of repose, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of dark lips as amethyst eyes turned to limpid pools of inner thought, seeing nothing and everything all at once - perfect stillness. One might think her an exquisite carving if not for the steady rhythmic rise and fall of her sides, exhaling plumes of steam from her snout that hung in the chill air.

What was she seeing?

Perhaps there was reason yet for coming here. We are not so different, after all... I think there is more we could learn from The Northern King of the Ravens," came the soothing lullaby of Amaranth's voice at last (her small lecture toward Sylvie aside).

Whatever she had witnessed in her soul's eye, it was clear that Ragnar was somehow involved.

Valeska remained so thoroughly interested in what her mate was trying to convey that she failed to note the Northfall king's generous surveyance of her figure, but if she had, she might have turned red-hot beneath her pale downy coat. She was deeply devoted to Amaranth, though few were immune to the charms of handsome strangers in passing - yet the moment was lost, and in her obliviousness she finally shifted her gaze back to Ragnar as he spoke of their gods and what, exactly, denoted a High Priestess.

Fascinating. She felt a pang of self-consciousness as he described their function within his pack, realizing that for her, it was more of a vague title for the head of their little band in the northeast. What real skills did she possess? She could heal only a little, with what limited knowledge she had gleaned from her more masterful sister, and occasionally if she ate enough questionable roots she could hold the chance at communicating with the gods. Houtu had appeared once in the sky before her - that much was true, and gifted them Aulis - but it still somehow felt empty by comparison.

“I think in traditional terms I am the... Alpha,” she said, growing visibly uncomfortable at the word, “but because we are less rigid in form, I prefer to be known as High Priestess. We believe in the gods, and I like to think that the Five speak to me in their quiet ways; I host rituals and gatherings for the pack to partake in and enjoy on their journeys with the Pentacle.”

She was reluctant to point out that the only true believers were likely she and Amaranth, and the rest were just there to have a good time and a warm place to call home - but it hardly mattered. Family was family, new and old alike, whatever their reasons for staying.

Her ears pricked forward when he began talk of neighboring packs. Valeska had encountered surprisingly few in her travels, perhaps three or four at most, though she should have known there would be far more beyond the small scope of their region of the map.

“Allies?” she said wistfully. “We thought to be allies with a neighboring pack at the start; they live in the high mountains above our territory, but they are very... what is the word... aloof? Not unkind, just distant. We tried once, but their queen will only accept inter-pack-marriages as proof, and I think it is cruel to sign away a child simply for the shared will to live in harmony.”

Not that they had any offspring to punt off like that anyhow.

Before she could inquire as to Northfall's distinct Not-Friends to the south, Ragnar suddenly offered to host them in celebration.

“You are so very generous to offer,” Valeska grinned, rarely able to turn down the idea of a party. “We would be honored! First, I think, Amara and I shall take a walk to clear our heads - we will also find something to bring back for this feast of yours. We shall return before the moon rises high.”

With that, the pale wolf turned and cocked her head toward her mate, motioning her to follow. She had many questions...

 

 

{Exit Valeska; dialogue between her and Amaranth proceeds directly into this thread}

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she's the best listener

---

The gentle talk of politics washed over Amaranth like an ocean wave as her amethyst eyes glittered deeply from another realm. Ragnar and Valeska seemed to fade gently behind a veil of black as her unblinking eyes looked through them. Her mind danced, a delicate and slow sway that mutated the shadows before her mind's eye. Had they looked toward her, perhaps they would have assumed she was paying attention ... but Valeska would have known very well by now that Amaranth was lost — staring at things that only she could see. Shadows and visions and trinkets that only appeared to her.

   I can hear your voice
     Echoing around me, followed by the noise

 (What was she seeing?)

---

The shadows danced, two distinct figures, courting one another. Silver and gold. Yin and yang. Flirtatiously weaving and mixing, sparking as those ghostly tendrils threatened touch. And behind them, a third shadow emerged, a misted, blue-black figure that seemed to open its ill-formed arms wide. Pulling them in, pulling them together, and merging them. A swirling mass of gold and silver and blue. Static and a blinding flash of light.

---

“We would be honored! First, I think, Amara and I shall take a walk to clear our heads - we will also find something to bring back for this feast of yours. We shall return before the moon rises high.”

Amaranth's eyes refocused suddenly, the mass of shadows dispelling quickly form her mind as the cold air and snow slapped her once-numbed senses. A soft hum escaped her lips as she shook her head to gently clear it — to recenter herself as her searching eyes found Valeska. Her mate was nodding to her, drawing her forward like a marionette and pulling her forward.

Amaranth turned herself toward Ragnar once more, and Krakarak; a pleasant grin found itself back on the edges of her lips. Golden crown tilted in a soft 'goodbye-for-now.' "Thank you, Ragnar ... Krakarak." The mystic had no other words — for her mate certainly had enough for the both of them most times.

---

Exit Amaranth

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