“We shouldn’t be too far off,” Cato replied, picking up a small, blue bead that had clearly fallen off one of the tribe members. The sun slowly rose over the tops of the great forest, branches rustling in the wind. Her hood flew back onto her shoulders as the pair continued walking South. The two had taken a carriage from Whiterun to Bravil: a five day journey that tired both. Yet, they pressed on.
“Why does your mother live so far out here?”
“She’s part of a tribe that could be the last of it’s kind. They used isolation for protection. Many people believe they’d all vanish after most had been enslaved,” she turned to the wolf and placed the bead in his calloused hand, “but, that wasn’t the case.” Farkas smiled slightly and placed the little bead in the velveteen pouch she had given him nearly three years earlier, surprised he still had it, and used it. They continued to hike up and down hills and rocks, cutting bramble away with daggers. They ventured farther and farther into the woods. She could see smoke in the distance, gasping and skipping ahead, skirt gathered up in her hands, Farkas trailing behind her form. Talking and laughter could be heard. Soon enough, they entered the clearing in the forest.
“They’ve fortified the area,” Cato whispered to herself, walking around the wall of trees, searching for a gate. She was surprised, yet pleased at the added safety.
“When were you here last?” the wolf asked.
“Just four Summers ago—”
“Auran Pellani!” a tall, thin elf called. “Welcome, outsiders.”
She smiled, “Admia. I am here to visit my mother.”
“Ah! Ceya-Tar! I barely recognized you. Come, I’ll open the gate.” The elf turned a large wheel, opening the fortified doors of the village.
Farkas looked at Cato puzzled. He leaned close to the small girl as they walked through the gate and into the bustle of the growing tribe. “Ceya-Tar?”
“Yes. That’s the name I go by here . . . sometimes.”
“So, you’re Elven?”
“Partially,” she giggled, pushing her hair behind her ears, revealing very slightly pointed ears, “I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed.”
“I never would have guessed.”
Despite the time they’d spent together, there was still much he didn’t know about his companion. He’d memorized her gait, the way she elegantly drew the tight string of her bow back when she aimed for a bandit’s throat, the greyish-white fur of her beast form blending in with the snow, blood dripping from her gaping jaw, coagulating in the cold. He even knew what her favorite books were, and yet, he’d only scratched the surface.
The two strolled through the village, squeezing between the Mer, clothed in bright, beautiful fabrics adorned with beads and fine needlework. The village was much bigger than it was the last time Cato visited. The elves had opened up trade with small bands of Khajiit, from what one of the shopkeepers told her. She purchased a bundle of crow feathers and a lavender muffin to share with her companion wolf. She taught him some basic Ayleidoon words, like ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ and explained the current social structure.
“Where’s your mother?” he pondered.
“She’s on somewhat of a schedule. She’s a priestess at their temple,” she shrugged and sat against a tree, seeking shelter from the heat of the sun. Farkas leaned beside her. She pulled down on his belt, forcing him to sit. He grumbled a bit, but didn’t object. Cato produced the lavender muffin from her small bag and split it in half, handing Farkas the larger half before leaning against him. She nuzzled into his bicep despite the stifling heat radiating from him. His brows furrowed at this blatant display of affection. They’d been close like this before, usually sleeping in the same tent. She’d roll around in her sleep, pulling all their furs and linens with her until she rested against his shoulder, one leg thrown over his hips, leaching his heat. But here, she was very conscious in her actions. He thought for a second that maybe she was tired and delirious, but looking down, he observed her quietly nibbling on her muffin half, watching men and women passing by, covering every inch of the tent village in cloth banners and ribbons and vibrant flowers.
F!DB/Farkas - Summer Solstice (1/?)
Are we there yet? No.
Now? No.
“We shouldn’t be too far off,” Cato replied, picking up a small, blue bead that had clearly fallen off one of the tribe members. The sun slowly rose over the tops of the great forest, branches rustling in the wind. Her hood flew back onto her shoulders as the pair continued walking South. The two had taken a carriage from Whiterun to Bravil: a five day journey that tired both. Yet, they pressed on.
“Why does your mother live so far out here?”
“She’s part of a tribe that could be the last of it’s kind. They used isolation for protection. Many people believe they’d all vanish after most had been enslaved,” she turned to the wolf and placed the bead in his calloused hand, “but, that wasn’t the case.” Farkas smiled slightly and placed the little bead in the velveteen pouch she had given him nearly three years earlier, surprised he still had it, and used it. They continued to hike up and down hills and rocks, cutting bramble away with daggers. They ventured farther and farther into the woods. She could see smoke in the distance, gasping and skipping ahead, skirt gathered up in her hands, Farkas trailing behind her form. Talking and laughter could be heard. Soon enough, they entered the clearing in the forest.
“They’ve fortified the area,” Cato whispered to herself, walking around the wall of trees, searching for a gate. She was surprised, yet pleased at the added safety.
“When were you here last?” the wolf asked.
“Just four Summers ago—”
“Auran Pellani!” a tall, thin elf called. “Welcome, outsiders.”
She smiled, “Admia. I am here to visit my mother.”
“Ah! Ceya-Tar! I barely recognized you. Come, I’ll open the gate.” The elf turned a large wheel, opening the fortified doors of the village.
Farkas looked at Cato puzzled. He leaned close to the small girl as they walked through the gate and into the bustle of the growing tribe. “Ceya-Tar?”
“Yes. That’s the name I go by here . . . sometimes.”
“So, you’re Elven?”
“Partially,” she giggled, pushing her hair behind her ears, revealing very slightly pointed ears, “I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed.”
“I never would have guessed.”
Despite the time they’d spent together, there was still much he didn’t know about his companion. He’d memorized her gait, the way she elegantly drew the tight string of her bow back when she aimed for a bandit’s throat, the greyish-white fur of her beast form blending in with the snow, blood dripping from her gaping jaw, coagulating in the cold. He even knew what her favorite books were, and yet, he’d only scratched the surface.
The two strolled through the village, squeezing between the Mer, clothed in bright, beautiful fabrics adorned with beads and fine needlework. The village was much bigger than it was the last time Cato visited. The elves had opened up trade with small bands of Khajiit, from what one of the shopkeepers told her. She purchased a bundle of crow feathers and a lavender muffin to share with her companion wolf. She taught him some basic Ayleidoon words, like ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ and explained the current social structure.
“Where’s your mother?” he pondered.
“She’s on somewhat of a schedule. She’s a priestess at their temple,” she shrugged and sat against a tree, seeking shelter from the heat of the sun. Farkas leaned beside her. She pulled down on his belt, forcing him to sit. He grumbled a bit, but didn’t object. Cato produced the lavender muffin from her small bag and split it in half, handing Farkas the larger half before leaning against him. She nuzzled into his bicep despite the stifling heat radiating from him. His brows furrowed at this blatant display of affection. They’d been close like this before, usually sleeping in the same tent. She’d roll around in her sleep, pulling all their furs and linens with her until she rested against his shoulder, one leg thrown over his hips, leaching his heat. But here, she was very conscious in her actions. He thought for a second that maybe she was tired and delirious, but looking down, he observed her quietly nibbling on her muffin half, watching men and women passing by, covering every inch of the tent village in cloth banners and ribbons and vibrant flowers.