"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
A pale predator slinks beneath the shadows on silent paws.
Sometimes the wolf (though a separate part of her; a piece that is wholly herself yet works in partnership) and the instincts that come with it are much too strong for the equine part of her and she will find herself in this form of a dusty rose wolf more often than not. She is not lost within the shape, not at all; only giving in to the impeccable senses that come with the canine, satisfying both tooth and claw by taking to the cold mist of the forests and shying away from the pebbly shoreline of the Cove. But the warmer air seems to have called to her back; wrapping around the thick scruff of the rose-gray of her neck, pants of breath leaving blackened lips as she makes her way further in to this new country, investigating and exploring every part of what she hoped she could soon call home.
Padded feet carry the large yet slender wolf through damp undergrowth and bitterly still trees that border the Cove. The sun is golden as it filters through the dark canopy, shedding light on the mist that lingers on the forest floor; not yet burned away by the sun. Dirt and debris cling to the underside of her belly and darken the once-ivory of her powerful legs - a disheveled appearance for such a majestic creature, though her fluidity and poise throughout the winding forest made up for that fact.
Blood has dried to a dark rust on the bottom of her chin and around her snout, nearly as brown as the dark coffee of her inquisitive and intelligent irises that scour the landscape with each bound over fallen tree, smooth boulder, or large root. A sound - one that is minute and insignificant - catches the sensitivity of her ears and the wolf slows her quiet lope to a trot, lifting her head quizzically to sample the stillness of the air around her. Her nose twitches, the midday sun pooling across her back and haunches, painting the cream canine a near pale gold. Finally she halts, her brow furrowing slightly as the scents around her give no hint as to what may lie in the darkness around her.
She huffs, the sound muffled in her closed lips but strong enough to break through her teeth and travel through the quiet and still air to whatever may lay within the shadows.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
@[Mazikeen]
<3
also i'm pretending that the cove has some outcroppings of trees and things, cause wolves like that
Although Mazikeen had been exploring the Cove as her self, milling about and both frustrated and trying to force herself to enjoy the idleness, as soon as she spots Daye, she shifts. It’s not even so much as spotting the rose-grey wolf entirely as catching a familiar scent, seeing a rosy form off further into the trees.
Now, as a white wolf with black paws and a small black snip that leads into her dark nose, Mazikeen slinks into the shadows of the copse of trees. She’s been practicing her wolf-movements, practicing listening to the instincts of this form, and she is little more than a ghost as she moves. Her large paws making next to no noise as she circles around, keeping low, watching Daye’s movement.
A normal greeting just would not do.
Her movements slip up once, and through the shrubs she can see her mentor, her idol, pause and Mazikeen curses herself for being careless. Still, she does not abandon the plan - and once the older wolf is standing and at attention - Mazikeen leaps from the shrubs to Daye’s left. Her paws are extended but her tongue lolls out of her mouth, creating a playful expression, and there’s a grin in her orange eyes as she aims to leap right into her friend and knock her over.
Part of her fully expects to be flipped on her back as soon as she makes contact with the other wolf, but at the crest of the leap she enjoys the blissful moment of triumph. However brief it will be.
when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
There is only a moment’s pause - where still silence engulfs Dayé and the world around her - and the cream-colored wolf feels apprehension and wariness overcome her. Her head lowers, tension spreading through her shoulder blades as her muscles prepare for an attack. Just as the hair on her neck begins to stand and thicken, unsure of what was to come next, is when Mazikeen breaks through the sparse foliage and rock. Dayé barks in surprise, her lowered body now lifting in an attempt to brace herself for the impact of the younger wolf.
Dayé snarls playfully as Mazikeen collides with her ribcage, large ears flipping back against her neck as she rolls with the white wolf, her nutmeg eyes sparkling deviously. There is a solid thud and an escape of air through Dayé’s snarling mouth as she lands on the mixture of dirt and pebble, using her hind paws to peel Mazikeen from her. There is a howl of laughter in her throat as she comes to lay on her side, forelegs sprawled outwards and her hind end tucked. She breathes deeply, her shoulder and side a bit sore already from falling. “Well, that is an entrance,” the wolf huffs with a grin. Had it been anyone else to catch her off her guard, Dayé would perhaps find her pride wounded, but because it was Mazikeen, there is a gleam of self-satisfaction on the elder’s slender face.
“Nicely done, little wolf.” she commends with a toss of her head, shaking loose dirt from her scruff. “Had the wind not shifted, I don’t think I would have even known.” Her brows rise in silent praise, dark-lined lips wrinkling into a carnivorous grin.
She bends her head so that she can nose and nibble at a few pebbles that had caught beneath her large paws, digging them out with her sharp, yellowed teeth. Once she spits them loose, she glances to Mazikeen once again. “Have you been staying out of trouble?” The question is light with humor that causes the deep brown of her eyes to glimmer mischievously, almost as if Dayé was really asking: what trouble are you causing?
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
There’s no shortage of pride that blossoms in Maze’s heart when she is successful at knocking over her teacher and idol to the ground. Perhaps not the most conventional display of affection, but in this case it was absolutely a tackle filled with love. She laughs as Dayé’s back paws push her off - her voice joining that of the older wolf. She tugs gently at an ear as she moves off, standing nearby.
The joy spreads throughout her entire body at the compliment and she dips her head in acknowledgement - not finding a single verbal response that felt appropriate or adequate enough to express the emotions that stir within her.
At least, she is speechless for a short while - until Dayé asks her if she’s been keeping out of trouble, and then a sly grin lights up her orange eyes. “Of course.” Her voice drips with exaggerated sweetness, black-tipped tail flicking behind her. “I can’t help it if occasionally trouble finds me, as very hard as I try to stay out of it.” She thinks of Firion and his secrets, of Breach and their games, and of the falcon family she had joined briefly only to turn into a kitten while they were all resting and give them all a fright upon waking.
Instead of returning the question, though, Maze asks something else - her ears flopping a little as she tilts her head curiously.
“Do you ever hunt, Dayé?” It had been something Maze had been thinking about lately - with her tendency to shift into predatory animals. Agetta favoured a snow leopard, but as far as Maze knew never used it to hunt down a deer or rabbit. So she wondered whether this was something shifters did - whether there was a line to cross with what instincts you allowed and which ones you ignored.
when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
There had been a time in her life that Dayé could have easily turned cruel; could have come lost within the wolf and the ferocity within it, finding her life steered by instinct and instinct alone. Despite this, the feral life - at least, one that required her to ignore the placidity of her equine spirit - did not grip the golden-blue mare tight enough for her to relinquish control to it, but to merely live within it, not as two separate entity but as one soul.
That warmth - the gentleness of a maturing mare - shines in the deep nutmeg of her irises as laughter spills from the white wolf’s lips to join her own. Dayé is beginning to notice that Mazikeen is slowly leaving behind the ways of a pup, her legs becoming slender and taller, while muscle begins to thicken the ivory and onyx of her easy to recognize patterned coat. The older wolf cannot help but return Mazikeen’s cunning smile, her own tail slowly wagging to and fro behind her. Soon she will be a pup no longer and, though there is no blood that is shared between them, Dayé feels a certain protectiveness over the young girl, displayed affectionately as she attempts to nip at her growing snout, her teeth flashing and then disappearing as her dark lips cover them so that her pink tongue only lightly licks her instead. “As long as it’s occasionally,” Dayé replies with a wrinkle of her nose, huffing gently as she presses her chin to the creamy rose of her chest.
Mazikeen’s question causes the dusty wolf’s ears to prick forward, her smile fading as her brows prick curiously. “Of course,” she says without hesitation, shaking out the thick fur around her neck with a quick toss of her head. Dayé watches the younger with a soft, mischievous glint in her eyes, pondering as she taps her tail nonchalantly behind her.
“Are you hungry?” Dayé grins, not waiting for an answer. The wolf pulls her paws beneath her to stand, shaking out her fur once, twice, before bounding into the copse of trees that border the cove where a snack would be easier to find.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
The feeling of comradery that Mazikeen feels with the shifter pack has outgrown her affection for her parents. They did well by her, but there is something extra here - the joy of finding those that are similar to her in more ways than the chance of blood.
As she had hoped and expected, her question about hunting invites action. The white wolf forgets to answer the question about whether she was hungry (she was!) in her delight that Dayé is so willing to teach and explore with her.
There’s trepidation in Mazikeen’s heart at the idea of eating another animal but it is not enough to cause her to even hesitate. She trusts Dayé - and if eating a rabbit or a deer or whatever they were going to find was good enough for the older shifter, then it absolutely was for Mazikeen. There are some fears - what if she hates the taste? What if she retches and makes a fool of herself - but they are easily clamped down as she stretches her legs and bounds after the other wolf and into the trees.
Here, a multitude of smells surrounds her - some that she recognizes and some that she doesn’t. Squirrel, rabbit, deer, horse, and wolf too. Not her own scent or that of Dayé’s, but someone else. She doesn’t think too much on it though - the Cove is attracting more shifters and she is sure that there must be some that she has not yet met.
Not knowing where to start, she falls just behind Dayé and focuses her entire attention on her friend. What is the first step? Do they pick a particular trail to follow or do they move until they cross paths with some unfortunate prey? She doesn’t ask any questions - not yet, preferring instead to just watch and wait to see what Dayé does next.
when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
Mazikeen falls easily into step just a few paces behind the elder wolf and Dayé smiles, a smug grin on her black-lined lips. She wonders briefly - faintly - if this is what having a daughter would be like; it had never occurred to her that she would ever become a mother (time is a fickle thing and passes far more quickly than she would like, and she is not one for random couplings or heat of the moment passion), but now the idea does not seem so distant, settling in the recesses of her mind comfortably.
Dayé remembers her first hunt. She had been trained by the lioness that was her mother and thus learned to hunt on in solidarity. However, her wolf skin feels at ease with another at her side, loping purposefully through the pines that border the cove with the ivory and onyx girl beside her. Soon the instinct would sink in for Mazikeen, Dayé muses - the moment the scent of their prey meets the sensitivity of her nostrils, the girl will find it hard to resist as each part of her wolf (down to the very cells) begin to lead her onward. But the elder is there to guide and to ensure a successful catch, so when the scent of a hare first begins to tickle at her nose, the coffee brown of Dayé’s eyes flick to her partner. She begins to slow her pace, scouring the ever-darkening forest for the path that would lead them to their prey.
Knowing that Mazikeen would follow her lead, the dusty rose-colored wolf remains silent. Her padded paws keep her stealthy as she trods carefully across the debris of the forest floor, her sharp eyes trying to fixate on the hare that she could smell so distinctly on the air. A few more minutes pass and the wolf freezes, watching as the hare picks through sticks and broken leaves with its nose, completely unaware of who awaits in the shadows. “We will surround it and attack at the same time.” Her voice is even and does not break as it rushes through soft lips, trying to remain as quiet as possible. “Do not forget to bite.” There is humor in her voice here and she turns her head gently behind her to offer Mazikeen a delightful smile that appears almost sinister on her wolf’s mouth.
With that, Dayé leaps into the darkness without a sound, disappearing into the brush.
Moments pass and when Dayé has positioned herself opposite of Mazikeen, she takes the lead by breaking through the trees first, jaws snapping and forelegs outstretched to grasp at the hare if it dared to dart away from her shining teeth and snarling mouth.
Startled, the hare leaps up and away from Dayé, bounding straight for the young wolf that waits in the shadows.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
