Tears of red falling from your mothers eyes.

The cub had been awake for a few hours now, confusion now lost to a feeling of frustration. It birthed a simmering of anger and raised a sour taste in her throat as she sat grumpily at the lakes shore; sulking over the carcass of a mangled beaver in true Zula form. Spring was in full force here, the mountains pouring their life into the worth surrounding the large sequoia trees. Wild flowers bloomed everything across the rocky ground and even the toughest of ground could do naught but break under the pressure of such rooting greenery.

It was here she'd awoken, in all her beauty and peace, only to grow into a ball of anger and rage. This was not a home she knew, not a place the bear could navigate easily thanks to years of memory and thoughtless wandering. No, it was a place where she stood no stronger than that of an mouse beneath the gaze of a hawk and such powerless bred fire within the icy, norse woman.

So much so she'd taken the child of a screaming beaver from the shallows of the lake, stolen from it's home like she and guts sprawled across the stone beach. No adult would step in, they cries lost to her ears as she savaged their pride and joy. Happiness, such was something Urszula had once held herself, but had since been ripped from. Peace and serenity, it was something she could not bare.

Such silence on her ears! She could not bare it. 

The humming of bird song as the sun rose and scattered glow that settled across the small valley. A place of beauty and now, with the smell of rancid death lingering, was tainted by red. Zula did not regret, no. Instead she sat, paw lifted as she daintily lapped at her stained toes. No lady would be caught wearing such a shade of crimson. She refused to be! It was vile. Zula didn't even know if she wished to feast upon the steadily stiffening carcass beneath her, such disgust she felt bubbling within her.

Mayhap once cleaned and spruced, the lady would filled herself with the spoils. The heart, liver and maybe a haunch. After all, she cared not for the chewier cuts. 

The rest could rot.

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{Set after this thread, on her journey back}

The next morning, Valeska rose with the sun. She began her descent from Highvalley Hollow slowly, taking the slightly more gradual incline of the neighboring mountains to the northeast. Picking her way down the slopes, weak shafts of early light cast their tendrils through the rocky crags overhead; faint plumes of dust filtered through their gleaming rays, kicked up by her own paws as she progressed. Spring had indeed come, and much of the snow had melted even from the lofty peaks of the soaring mountain range that cut through the landscape.

Birds tittered cheerfully in the distance as she came upon unfamiliar terrain, marveling up at the great sequoia trees which ringed a lake made of glass. It reminded her of home, and for a moment, her heart ached - and so did her limbs. The little wolf thought it prudent to take a short break by the lakeside, and as she crouched at its edge to drink her fill, she heard some rather... gruesome sounds from a ways off. Her ear swiveled curiously, then lifted her head to peer out toward the opposite shore.

A figure moved, partially obscured by the shade of the great trees that stood tall overhead. It had... something... it looked frustrated, judging by its quick, jerking movements.

Valeska licked the remaining moisture from her maw and made to venture closer.

“Is that - er - do you require assistance?” she offered awkwardly, noting the macabre display of organs strewn about. It looked like a murder scene less than a hunt for food. “I am just passing through on my journey home, but I thought something was amiss - did the beaver offend you?”

It was the only logical question.

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Zula was aware of the woman's presence the minute the moment the wind changed direction, even if it was for a split second. It made her aware enough to simply listen in, to open her senses and search for the intruder on her moment of calm as he tongue gently slid up against her dewclaw. Ears flickered on her head, listening to the creatures approach and as words drifted her way, Zula's eyes slid to the side as if peering at the wold despite knowing she would not catch her in her line of sight.

She was saddled with responsibility for her actions the moment she let the words settle, and with a sigh and the gentle placing of her petite paw to the floor, she glanced down at the mess below her. Ugh... She winced, a light, but sharp, inhale casting her disappointment at the mangled beaver baby.

"I suppose I should clean up such a mess, and mayhap it was a little dramatic," such was life, dramatic wherever she went. Some might say it followed her, others that Urszula was cursed. Or it was just as simple as, she created it. Quietly, she rose bowing her head over the small creature with a small utterance of prayer in her mother tongue, the only time she found herself using any of the old language. She was Scandinavian after all, and the dialect only often changed a little between each place.

Like a scolded child, she dug right into the corpse and pulled out the endtrails, all except for the parts be values which she kept nestled deep within the ivory cage before hoisting the small child up by it's hind legs. Zula would almost have called herself a skilled butcher, but the name did not have a nice ring to it nor did it match her womanly nature. With the child hanging from her tight lipped maw, and her eyes once more filled with soul, Urszula turned to her onlooker and smiled a bloody smile. The crimson did not stain her maw so much, but it did tint the tips of the hair on her neck and the odd splatter could be found on her forehead or upper cheek.

She was a mess, but a hot one at that and so she thought it best to introduce herself, laying the beaver back to the floor between her paws.

"Urszula, Urszula Bjørndóttir." she cooed, running her tongue along her maw with a quick swipe. 

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Dramatic was not the word that immediately leapt to Valeska's mind; there was certainly a phrase for it, but not one that she could think of just yet. Something closer to remorseless slaughter, or devastating carnage - she cast another wary look at the pile of ex-beaver and made a silent prayer in her head. Whatever had set the she-wolf off earlier had really upset her, from the looks of things.

She then caught the tail-end of a whispered prayer of the stranger's own, and raised an eyebrow quizzically. So she, too, held a religious inclination - uttered in a tongue she wasn't quite familiar with, though the intent was unmistakable. Valeska felt a little better knowing (read: assuming) she had a moral compass to some degree and offered a genial smile. “It is nice to meet you, Urszula Beeyor... Byur...” An awkward silence lay between the two, and she cleared her throat. “Urszula. I am Valeska Mikaelson, High Priestess of Elysium in the mountains to the northeast.”

Watching her make quick work of tidying up the corpse and surrounding parts, she was struck by how skillfully the woman managed it; she seemed very well-practiced in her art, and Valeska wondered if such finesse extended only to prey items. An intrusive thought, certainly, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.

Urszula noticed her staring and offered a crimson-edged, thin-lipped smile through the carcass in her jaws, eyes twinkling and looking the very picture of a coquettish debutante at her first ball. The faint red splatters that decorated her whiskers and forehead somehow did not detract from the strange, polite-yet-slightly-unsettling carriage of hers, and added a fascinating contrast to the dark silver and onyx of her fur; like a bird flashing its spring plumage.

“You seem to have much experience in the hunt; even I am not that quick to clean a kill,” she said admiringly. “Where did you learn?”

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Her attempt at Zula's surname was comical and it allowed a giggle to bubble up her throat before she ushered the laughter to sleep and returned to watching the creature before her. Her head cocked like a crow's, observing this preacher with curiosity. Perhaps some would call it an unnerving stare because it was as if the life in her eyes had drained in a instant. It was brief but enough, even as her smile lifted faintly at the darkened maw and the sparkle glittered in her eye like a star in the midday sky. 

"A religious woman of high renown, the pleasure is mine." the goblin uttered, bowing her chin with the flutter of her eyes as they closed in a show of respect. It was like a whisper on her lips, her voice soft like silk. Perhaps it would make the perfect picture if the crimson could only have been washed off prior. Rising once more, she teetered on her toes before the subject fell back upon the water coon's child. She sheepishly looked down to the purse of fur before she awkward lifted her lip in a toothy grimace like grin. 

Butchery. A talent she'd collected from her father. She was proud of it but knew it often came across in the wrong light to onlookers. To pull and rip apart an animal like a beast, wildly tearing with acute precision unknown to the beady watchful gaze. It was for purpose, a reason often overlooked when storing meat and as the beast she was raised as, she had standards when it came to food.  The woman's curiosity was strange though, the awe confusing to Zula. 

"Ah, yes a custom. My Farsa taught me, passed on by his own. The sooner it is done, the better quality of meat." 

Was she not repulsed? There were guts splayed out literally just behind Zula. She could already hear the croaking of the birds as they hungered, no doubt settling behind her as they picked at the soiled organs. What a strange feeling from a woman, this recognition. It was something even her mother had often turned her nose up to.

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Such girlish playfulness wrapped in brutality; Urszula was at once two halves of the same whole, yin to her own yang. Rays of light seeped through hazy darkness, obscuring her true nature as she danced from one feminine mannerism to the next, keeping the High Priestess both fascinated and on edge. She was by no means a great judge of character, often being far too trusting for her own good, but there was something intriguing about the stranger that pulled her in and made her want to keep asking questions.

Her Farsa, she said... father? It sounded close, and language often shared similarities.

“Mine was not so useful,” she said ruefully, though any bitterness behind the sentiment had long passed. “My father was anxious hermit at the end of his time. I think the only real skill he had to his name was stubbornness!”

She chuckled, then, picturing him sat in the snow like an angry ox. After he had chased off Harper and their mother (owing to an enormous and unfortunate misunderstanding involving another male prior to their meeting), he had retracted in on himself and spent the remainder of his days in frozen ire at the top of their mountain home. He had ceased hunting altogether; kept alive only by Valeska's dogged and amateur efforts at catching what little prey was left.

She had learned to survive, but she had never learned a skill.

“I find that our supply of carcasses turns bad before we can use them,” she confessed with some embarrassment. “I know we have just met, but - I would not mind some подсказки — pointers - that is to say, guidance?”

Valeska looked suddenly guilty.

“If it is okay, of course.”

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This lady was funny, Urszula thought, a genuine smile pulling delicately at her blue maw with fascination sparkling in her eyes. Her head cocked once more to the side but there was more of a fluid motion to the owl like movement this time around. Not as creepy. She would've looked up the to woman had she been a bit larger, but instead simply watched her with a fluttering stare. A snort passed the goblin at this High Priestess' referral to her own father, it was definitely a grounding comment, one that Urszula found great respect in admitting. Made the woman of high renown come across as if they were one a level playing field. 

"Men are not always known to be good for everything, most suck but each for different reasons." the girl agreed, though jesting, with a light bubble of laughter. She knew she was capable of being better than any man, so she would always try to best them. Years of suppression from her mother as a ornament would cause such vanity. No more would this girl – no, woman! – be sat twiddling her thumbs watching her mother prattle on about propriety and marriages of the arranged sort. She wanted to be alongside her brothers in battle, feel the blood pour down her face and mix with the clay war paint that lay caked amongst her fur and skin. 

She was not born with a sewing needle to fix her husbands ripped clothes, only a battle axe laid upon her chest. 

It did not take long for the topic to return to her butchery at hand, and so she listened eagerly the confusing feelings that were more than likely to stir inside at this moment of recognition. Her head bobbed as she waited, and ears pinned straight up with the sound of something foreign to her ears. Curiosity would have to wait but she'd definitely bring that up in the future if she was hearing the priestess correctly. 

"So it sounds like you suffer with taint, and I admit, it is difficult with larger prey to maintain their bodies." It was easy for her to say, hunt little and often, but it was more common for her to hunt once a day in the spring and summer months until late autumn. But as a pack, she supposed the rules could be different – especially since she didn't know the size of the pack. Another thing was that it was a difficult territory for her to navigate because such freedom as suggestions was not often given to the young woman. She looked unsure but hopeful, her head lowering a mere fraction as if she was huddling into herself like a beaten dog.

Child like, she supposed. Not that she meant to look that way.

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"Men are not always known to be good for everything, most suck but each for different reasons."

In the past, Valeska may have expressed shock over such a blithe statement, but given her current romantic interest and the general population of her pack, she couldn't help the grin that slowly, unwillingly spread across her face. Between her father, a few encounters in this new land, and her unreliable ex-lover Rhelenso, she hardly had any place to disagree. Not that all men were tragic, per se - but perhaps there was a reason there were so many female-led packs around lately.

“It is amusing then that Elysium is mostly made up of our kind! We have but two... and a half men in our ranks to our six women,” she chortled, thinking of young Aulis for the latter and his journey back to the celestial plane. He only sort of counted; he wasn't really a mortal wolf anyway, and gender was likely more of an aesthetic choice for him considering his immeasurable cosmic power.

Urszula's expression lightened at her inquiry - not so severe as excitement, but a genuine interest overtook her dark features. It was true that the smaller she-wolf had never dabbled in any sort of preservation tactics before, ignorant in the thought that simply killing something and leaving it for later would be enough. The professionalism with which Zula spoke was encouraging. “So it is good to start with smaller prey, like hares and squirrels?” she ventured. “I think it would be easier to watch, or to hunt together and be guided - but I do not want to impose.”

She did.

Valeska was always delighted to learn a new skill; far better to be useful on your own than have all of your comforts stripped away one day with nothing left but your paws.

“Do you live nearby?”

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Elysium, where women reigned supreme. 

Though it did happen to make the blue girl wonder where there were any women of the physical skill tree and whether she could best them. Ever the competitive woman, wasn't she? It was probably best she kept that under wraps for now. Urszula may be irrationally and impulsive but she was not about to jump into a pit of vipers with her teeth gnashing wildly with the aim to maim. These were her new friends, she thought with a bitter taste in her mouth, it wasn't the time to sabotage whatever this mutual respect thing was. So the goblin smiled, a small bubble of a giggle expressed in reaction to the Priestess' light jest. Two and a half men, was interesting to her but she kept that under wraps too. She'd heard of such things within the grape wine, but never actually seen a half man. It was exciting, such a new thing was here too! 

She didn't realise that it was just her society that considered it a new idea. 

"Squirrels are fiddly things," the blue, bloody head shook with a tut, "It's best to hunt for ya own sustenance instead of building a cache that requires the snow and ice to stop the spoiling but in this case the larger the game, the easier it is to practice on." useless facts she rattled off, common knowledge for her that she thought wouldn't interest the woman all that much, just nudges in the right direction she supposed. For a moment she looked deep in thought, her head hanging momentarily before she sprung to life once more with a scrunch of her nose and a pretty smile that almost made the girl look sane. She had more to say but it could wait, she'd been asked another question. One that didn't require her to mull over. 

"Odin brought me here, the gods have gifted me with another life and I am required to be greatful," It was second nature to spout her beliefs, but she did not feel at all happy with the gods decision. Her brother was no where in sight and for the love of the gods, she was no where near anything she knew. Killing the beaver and creating her blood bag of organs was enough to bring her back down to reality, that this was no dream. So, there she was just staring at Valeska with a smile, acting as if this was normal despite it feeling like the world was on fire around her. Despite being the woman of dramatics that she was, Zula still maintained calm like a brain surgeon in theatre. 

She looked totally fine, as far as her insane standards went.

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The brief flash of bloodlust that sparked to life behind Zula's eyes was mercifully lost on Valeska, who glimpsed only the tail-end of its pleasing effect on her expression and merely smiled warmly in return. She assumed the stranger to be pleased at the idea of a predominantly female pack; never did the thought cross her mind that she would want to come in like a wrecking ball and engage in mortal combat for the thrill of it.

Most of her life had been a pleasant misunderstanding thus far, and she was lucky not to have suffered many consequences (yet).

“I see,” she said thoughtfully, ruminating over the information. They, like many other packs, had adopted the stockpiling strategy to keep their bellies full, but she had a point - it really only served in winter. As summer approached, they might consider breaking off from the weekly mass hunt to forage more regularly for fresher prey. It made sense, as much as she didn't crave the extra work.

“Odin?” What a peculiar name - powerful, though. Valeska would always consider her beliefs the correct ones, but she had learned to accept and even ask questions about other wolves' religion over time. Just as one could not fight the sea, why should she fight an equally insurmountable obstacle? If nothing else, she thought the diversity of gods fascinating.

Wrong, but fascinating.

“I, too, have been gifted another life by the Five - I believe I perished in a quaking earth... er, an earth-quake? - and fell into a great chasm, and woke here,” she continued. Yes - awakened in that horrible field, in the middle of summer, sweating like a pig and covered in dirt. It was not her fondest memory. “It has taken a while to become comfortable again, but we have made a home for ourselves farther east. I would be happy to show you, if you like; perhaps we could travel back together, and we might hunt so that I can show you how poor I am at following directions.”

The little wolf cackled mischievously, knowing full well it took at least thirteen times to be shown a task to master it. Urszula remained perfectly collected throughout this speech, the picture of social grace despite whatever turmoil lurked within the confines of that mysterious mind. She was of average height, not a great hulking beast like some wolves she'd seen, yet the lay of her fur suggested a strength greater than most would suspect.

“Have you hunted very large game before?”

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So she too found herself abandoned in a strange land by her own gods. What were the odds, to be thrust into this new world without the knowledge of where or how. 

Perhaps if it were the same for the pair of them, it would be similar for others too. 

Never the less, the topic did not stay on the topic long, and Urszula stored the information shared with her at the farthest recesses of her mind. It could come in use later, but she wasn't about to ask a strange every single little detail about their life when she herself would be strained to explain her own. This new topic though, it was of a lot more interest so much so that the blue woman lifted her head high and her small nub of a tail fluttered behind her. Excitement at the mention of a hunt alone, was enough, but to be shown the territory of such a worthy believer. 

All thoughts of trying to find her mistake of a brother were long lost (even though they'd never begun before).

"Absolutely, I'd love to hunt with you, and to see your territory in the east..." she breathed a dreamy sigh, her jaw lightly parted and eyes closed, "would be an honour."

It was in no way because she wished to sink her teeth into something else, for she had her fur pouch to consume. Her eyes cast down to the forgotten carcass and she almost dribbled at the sight. What a poor forgotten snack! As the woman asked another question, Zula gently nudged the gucci pouch to her new acquaintance, offering a share in the tiny beaver. She almost regretted to kill something so small since now there was two mouths to feed, but the gluttony in her was smothered quickly. Greed was never a good look on her. 

"Indeed I have, though never alone. My brother and I, we had a particular craving for Caribou more often than not. Though there was this one time I managed to take on a moose! What a day that was, such a beastly creature far taller than you or I. It took 6 - no, 7! - of us to take it down. It fed the entire village for Yol. And not only that but it was so dark we could barely see! Where I come from, the sun often leaves for many months." a shit-eating grin split the girls mouth, the enthusiasm clear as day for the world to see. She may have gone on a tangent because she too was also breathless, a slight flare to her nostrils present and a light pant to her breath.

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What a charming lady, Valeska thought. Surely the goodness and mercy of the gods flowed through the dark she-wolf before her like water, with purity and light guiding every step she took. Thinking back to the initial beaver-slaughter scare from earlier, the Priestess rationalized it easily away by remembering that holiness was often demonstrated through the sanctity of blood - and so the red that stained her lips only made her appear ever more worthy.

Even the little wagging nub-tail was cherubic.

What an angel!*

The rapturous joy with which Urszula took up her offer reaffirmed her decision. They could learn so much from a woman of such talents, between increasing their food supply potential and honing techniques that would otherwise never reach their ears; to possess more skills they might offer both to those who merely passed by and joined their ranks alike! @Harper was one of the only wolves with an applicable trade within their pack at the moment, holding significant knowledge of herbs and the healing arts - @Mordecai was the other, whose expertise lay in defending those who could not protect themselves.

Well, allegedly. So far he had barely been able to defend himself against two hallucinating she-wolves, but Valeska had faith.

As the gucci pouch slid gently toward her, the High Priestess gave a grateful smile and took several modest bites from the gift. It was delicious - she couldn't remember the last time she'd had beaver, if at all - and licked her lips thoughtfully before nudging it back to Zula for a sample.
After all, it had been her kill.

“Caribou,” she began, eyes sparkling, “Is my favorite. My sister and a very large friend of hers brought me one not long ago, and it was - oh, there is not a word for it in this tongue that I have found. Divine?”

Just as divine as the coincidence of their shared taste in meat.

“A moose - I have never tried one myself, but we have always secretly shared the phrase of вонючий лось — smelly moose - that is, smelly moose - as term of endearment to insult each other. Unfortunately, she has decided to teach everyone the words, but not the meaning; and now I sit in dreadful knowledge without the will to correct them,” she said, glancing ruefully back out toward the lake. Not even Amaranth had been spared this lesson, and the childlike glee with which she repeated it to Valeska was something the latter could not bear to rob her of.

It was her burden to bear.

“Well, my new friend,” Valeska said, rising to her paws. “Let us depart for the hunt, and I will show you my home!”

(*it has also been stated that Lucifer was beautiful.)

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