( closed. )

[wolfchild]

CHARACTERS: assorted foolhardy souls
DATE: spanning a few days
WARNINGS: none atm; but arya and nymeria are both terrible
SUMMARY: meetings and follow-ups; pm for a starter

[ every night since she was brought to this dead world, her dreams have been empty. a belly empty of dream meat. ears empty of the songs of her little grey cousins. a heart, empty. as if something that had always been there…abruptly gone.

the kindly man would be pleased if he knew. if she told him. she would not even if she could. she would never be able to lie well enough. if he asked her how it felt, she fears the tears would choke her voice. she goes to bed each night hoping. she wakes each morning disappointed.

she has been so many people. maybe it was only a matter of time before she truly began to lose her hold on arya stark. the kindly man would look on her proudly. a sorrowful nostalgia blooms blackened flowers in a chest left aching and hollow.

until she wakes to a hot puff of air across her face.

her room is dark, the bed warm. she can feel the presence, warmer even than the bed, smelling of pine and soil and air and something older, something deeper. it's the smell of the northern wind rattling her shutters. it's the smell of her favorite red blanket when she wrapped herself in it. it's the smell of the warm grey walls of winterfell. it's the smell of her wolf when she would sneak the pup into her bed and nymeria would sleep curled up at the foot of her bed.

a tear squeezes past eyes still closed, then another. a rough tongue laps at the salt on her cheek. arya sobs, her mouth stretching into a watery grin.

her eyes blink open. nymeria is a shadow darker than those behind her, but her eyes glimmer strangely gold.

arya throws her arms around the wolf's neck. trembling, she clings to nymeria. the wolf makes a noise low in her throat and noses sweetly at her hair and shoulder. arya cries and arya laughs, until, spent, she tangles her fingers through the long thick fur. she breathes a gentle, contented sigh. ]

Comments

smh how dare u

[wolfchild]

[ a direwolf is not a wolf. it once shared a common ancestor with wolves. it was once more common, too. but a direwolf was thought a fell creature, dangerous, and so it was hunted to extinction below the wall. in two hundred years there had never been a sighting of a direwolf south of the wall.

this one once led her own pack through the riverlands. they were many and terrible and they followed her, a great she-wolf. they ran through forests and sang to the moon and feasted on whatever they came across: deer, sheep, men. her little gray cousins were afraid of men, but never her. never her.

the smell of meat drew her close, but it isn't what keeps her interest. the direwolf's body parts bushes and branches, silent as a shadow. head low, ears pricked forward, nymeria approaches slowly. her tail is held stiff and parallel to the ground. the sounds the woman makes are senseless as most are, and only rip a snarl from the wolf.

her girl keeps her well-fed, but a direwolf is a predator. she hunts. and dead meat holds no interest for her. ]

bc u said i could

[tolight]

[ Lucina has been hunted, once — in a different world, a different timeline. For her blood, for the threat she posed, her actions. The fact that she fought back; because of course she did, because that was the only way to protect her home, something she would never give up for the world. Her presence here speaks to her survival, but that doesn't change the past.

She remembers the feeling well — cold, hard eyes on her, the slow approach. So it is hungry, just not for what she expected. It kicks up the instinctive, fight or flight parts of her brain; except she will always choose fight. Her hand moves to her sword, though there's no move to draw it just yet. She is not cruel enough to kill a creature in cold-blood, simply acting on instincts, with no ill-intent behind its actions.

But she is tense. Prepared. Slowly sets the food down as she moves to stay, slowly backing away to recover the lost distance. Grips the sword to pull an inch out of its sheathe, all the while watching the wolf. ] — Peace.

[ Lucina speaks, but she doesn't have high hopes it will work. ]

[wolfchild]

[ it is an action she recognizes. it is one that draws a warning growl. men and their skinny, long claw. she has hunted soldiers before. she has killed soldiers before. ]

Nymeria!

[ the first call goes ignored. the second, more insistent, makes the direwolf twitch. she casts the woman a long, lingering look. then she turns swiftly, nimble and graceful for such a massive animal, and races in the direction of the noise: a young girl's voice whose tone begins to register annoyance.

behind the trees, the calls stop. ]

[tolight]

[ It almost feels suicidal to follow the dire wolf — almost. But while the beast had been poised to strike, it did not. And that's ... significant, to see what she originally believed was a wild animal defy her expectations.

At the same time, it raises more questions.

And it's curiosity that wins out, in the end, as her hand leaves the hilt to reach for her plate of food — in case she wants to try making peace with Nymeria a second time, she figures. Just in case. Trots after it, and the source of the voice, from a safe enough distance.

But she's in view of the dire wolf quickly enough, once again. And a young girl, who she presumes is the source of the voice. But she stops regardless, blinking. ] Er— hello.

[wolfchild]

[ a little girl, her hair shorn, its color evident now that a fizz has grown in around her head, crouched near the lake gathering water to drink. she wears alastair purple because they're good, warm, sturdy clothes and the sigil tells anyone that she belongs.

the direwolf was aware of lumina's presence first. yet it's the little girl who wears the unfriendliest look when she swivels on her toes, still crouched low, keeping her balance with ease. ]

What do you want?

[tolight]

[ She's not expecting a ... little child with the wolf. But then, she's not sure what she expected in the first place. She's seen many ferocious, mythical beasts tamed in her life time, but — not a wolf. Rarely a wolf. There's Brother, certainly, but not—

It's hard not to wonder about the relationship between the girl and the wolf. ] I—

[ ... What does she want? Her curiosity has been satisfied, in theory, but that raises more questions. ] The — Nymeria — had approached me, [ to put it mildly ] before you had called her away.

Is she your companion?

[wolfchild]

[ a wolf is never tame. a wolf can be broken, chained up, kept by force. one day it will bite. a dog will bend easily; a wolf will not.

a direwolf bends to no one.

the girl's eyes narrow. the wolf growls. ]

You must be really fucking stupid to follow a direwolf. [ to put it plainly. ]

Go away.

[tolight]

[ Wow rude as heck, how are we supposed to have a thread if she didn't follow Nymeria?!?!? ]

I cannot recall a time when I saw a — direwolf move at a person's call. [ She answers instead, the dismissal noted but not quite acted upon. Not yet. Her eyebrows furrow, of course it does, because she's been insulted, but — she holds her tongue, for now.

Tries again, almost stubbornly: ] Are you a new recruit?

[wolfchild]

If you didn't know what she was, you've not seen a direwolf, stupid.

[ tl;dr 凸(￣ヘ￣) ]

[tolight]

[ Naga help her soul. She crosses her arms. ]

My point still stands — it is rare to see a beast answer a person's call.

Yet she did. [ You can't blame her for being curious!! ]

[wolfchild]

And it is rare to see someone so old who doesn't understand go away.

[ zokla rises with a huff. not bothering to wait for a reply, she turns away. nymeria lingers. the intelligence in her gaze is matched only by ferocity. silent, she follows the girl. ]