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Skill: Soothsayer
OOC: Takala // backdated before the NF tournament

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Amaris ventured forward and out into the whispering night with eyes cast to the rising moon. Its glow was kind and soft, a gentle touch along his spine as he strode further into its embracing light. His world was calmer within its beams, far unlike the tumultuous waves that waged war inside his mind—battering his bruised and broken soul to and fro as he tried to pry his way for a moment of reprieve.

Things were different since he had raised the dead. Or, well, tried to, at the very least. Viscaria’s soul had not returned to her corporeal form, and her silhouette had remained a voiceless husk. A failure. That was what it had been, what he had become, as he had turned those away from the grave he had undug.

A sigh sealed his lips.

His eyes followed the moon, a steady glow of citrine hues, as his paws ambled him further. Away from the Five’s knowing sight and the safety that lingered within Elysium’s walls.

He thought of the shadows, the terror they often wrought on his soul, and their purpose—with him, the Five, and his life. They existed still, even as he wandered through the dark, eyes skittering like fireflies toward the shadows that hunted him down. But they did not come close, unlike before, and certainly not since his excavation.

No, instead, they remained on the horizon, held back in his peripherals as they waited like the urchins they were. Would they wait until Amaris was weak? Or would they feast upon his dreams as they frequently had done so before? They followed him but remained too far for Amaris to spy their cunning teeth, greedy eyes, and tendril-like forms.

Whether that was a blessing or a curse, the Callosum boy did not know.

He followed the moon until his paws, so torn from his own ravenous exhaustion, left him fading into a silent seat beneath the stars. His head rose with a grunt, an ode to his own sleepless night, as he searched the dollops of light as if they held the answers he sought.

Did they know where Viscaria had gone?

Did they know why she had not lived?

…Did they know where the Five had gone?

Even with the coat of a Northerner, she couldn't ignore the bitterness of the biting frost. Nor could she ignore any other pestering sensations.

Grief. Such a strange and unwelcome old friend. The last time it had graced her with its presence was many moons ago when she was but a whelp. She longed for something she couldn't verbalize or imagine, yet the unsatiated instinct befouled many a night with her yearning cries.

The snow stretched in all directions, a vast, untouched expanse, and for a moment, she allowed herself the indulgence of pretending. Pretending she was home. Pretending her father’s distant call would rise over the wind, summoning her back. Pretending that, if she turned her head just right, she would find Rowen’s paw prints pressed into the frost beside her own.

The snow had piled so high from the recent blizzard that what were once hills and crevasses became smooth, laden with white, flickering like stars under the moon's enchanting glow.

Takala exhaled, watching her breath rise and vanish into the night.

This place—Mythris—was nothing like home. The scents were wrong. The air felt thin and hollow, lacking the richness of the forests she once knew. But she had adapted, because adaptation was survival, and she had no intention of faltering. Whatever this land demanded of her, she would not only meet it, but exceed it. After all, she always had.

And yet…

The ache in her chest was not so easily dismissed. It settled there like a mountain, deep and unmoving, an immovable thing she refused to name. She had not lost anything. No, that was too final, too weak. She had stepped forward, as all wolves must, and there was no use glancing back. This was a new path, and she would carve it with the same resolve she had wielded time and time again.

Still, as the wind howled through the valley, she closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Just long enough to let herself believe that when she opened them again, she would wake to the scent of pine and frost-covered stone, the warmth of familiar bodies curled beside her, and the sky lined with the constellations that once cradled her.

But when her icy gaze fluttered open, the snow stared back. Silent. Unyielding.

Takala huffed, shaking the frost from her coat. Enough of this. There was work to be done.

She stirred abruptly and pressed forward, leaving nothing behind but fading tracks in the snow.

With Hanska gone, there was no warm body for Cvetka to use at night. No ears to listen to her stupid words, no broad muzzle to exuberantly snap at.

But, after the fall, the mountain of blonde fur was little more than a faded memory. So were the late-night conversations and the escapades through nature; merely reduced to things that she pondered—'did that truly happen?' Was the big bear-man a mere fragment of her imagination that, perhaps, got too vivid?

Cvetka stuck to believing in his existence, somewhere out there. A figure of golden fur, thoughtless, charming grins—far beyond her grasp, yet still present, as though he were a star in a pitch night sky.

The girl resorted to sticking with the next best thing by this point, closely following Amaris with wide, absentminded eyes. Countenance stagnant with an expression devoid of anything, besides perhaps a sense of naïve adoration for this man who'd saved her. That's the extent of her memory, by this point; she'd fallen, hurt her limb, and he'd saved her from a certainly untimely demise...risking his own life to do it. Though her mien remained vacant, there was a small wag of her tail and a subtle fold of her ears against her skull when she caught sight of Amaris and his silvery coat.

He seemed lost in thought, and Cvetka would not interrupt his musing. Her arm was still cradled to the curve of her bosom, unable to support the weight of her small body. She could feel the remaining forelimb burning with overuse as it hauled twice the mass it was accustomed to—and eventually, she let herself give in. Soft gaze still fixed on Amaris, she turned and shuffled awkwardly into the thicket nearby with hobbled steps, curling up at the base of a tree and nestling into the curvature of a gnarling root.

Settling her chin against the ground, her sights lingered on Amaris, with the usual languid expression unwavering from her sorrowful visage.

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skippable until acknowledged.

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Skill: soothsayer

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He lost himself to thought, a gaze of sunlight coaxing the stars that glittered brightly among the sky as he thought of their names, purpose, and stories. Had the Five placed them there for a reason? To offer their children guidance when their voices were hushed and silenced by the beating minds of their twisting mundane thoughts?

Did Viscaria’s soul reach the sky? Did she find a place among the glistening light where the pain of her existence could be transformed into warmth and love? Perhaps he would just have to look further into the dark horizon to find the star that enveloped her.

However, the sound of crunching snow, of dead leaves that littered the ground, pulled the man out of his reverie. A single ear twitched, curving gently amongst the quiet wind as he turned a citrine gaze toward the side.

Hello? He asked through a hushed and hesitant voice.

The shadows he knew existed still remained in the outskirts of his awareness. Their darkened and incorporeal bodies pressed flushed against the veil of trees that lingered in the distance. It couldn’t be them, he hoped, as he rose himself to a stand.

Unknowing of the presence that followed him, Amaris turned toward where he had heard the sound and offered another invitation toward whatever might’ve laid in that thick, inky gloom.

I don’t bite, He offered, Though are you of flesh and blood or the shadows that wish to taunt me?

'Hello?'

An unfamiliar voice drifted through the dark, threading into the silence with a hush. Her ears twitched, her gaze lifting as she scanned the void frantically. Was it the spirit of her beloved? Had it come to free her from this desolate prison?

Movement. A figure stirred within the inky blackness, its edges uncertain, shifting like a ghost. Yet there, against the dark, stood an unmistakable white silhouette. Her breath hitched. For a fleeting second, hope clawed its way into her chest. Then—scent. Familiar in all the wrong ways. It rushed into her lungs, washing over her like cold water. Not Rowen.

"I don’t bite... "Though are you of flesh and blood or the shadows that wish to taunt me?"

"I wish I could say we are both merely apparitions," Takala called back, her voice dipping with incredulity. A sigh vacated her chest, soft and unbidden, dissipating her frustrations into the empty air. She stepped forward cautiously, the dim light tracing her lavender-touched fur.

"My name is Takala..." She paused. "Who are you?"

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Skill: Soothsayer

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He waited in what felt like a slow descent between the darkness that sought to engulf him and the sands of time that wished to bury him. The shadows that peppered his sides were greedy, still, as they wavered between his peripherals. Dancing, as they so often did, between trunks of trees and veiled foliage. Amaris ignored them, as deftly as he could, as he pried his gaze toward where he had initially heard the sound of crunching earth.

The voice that called back to him sounded…real. Feminine by nature. A silhouette of moon-kissed fur and softened lavender broke out beneath a dollop of the moon’s illuminating glow, and Amaris’ breath stalled. Real, he reminded himself as the breeze that drifted toward him smelled of honey and…flowers?

He blinked that citrine gaze once more. This time, however, his brows had knitted across his features as his head swung to a place behind him. He knew that smell, did he not? Flowers..sweet, floral…he racked his memory for the source.

And then—Cvetka.

That was her scent, was it not?

He blinked along the darkened edges of the forest, spying carefully into the shadowed limbs of trees as he murmured her name in quiet confusion. Cvetka…? Perhaps he was going crazy after all.

The woman—not ghost or ghoul—spoke first, drawing the Moon out from his uncertainty and back toward the harsh reminder of reality. Is your soul also touched with loss? He questioned in the space that lingered between them.

My name is Amaris, he introduced, Amaris Callosum, it is a pleasure to meet you, Takala. At least, even with his hesitancy and uncertainty of the world around him, the Moon had been raised with the proper manners. An ode to his mothers, he was sure.

Are you lost?

'Is your soul also touched with loss?'

She could almost laugh. Loss. That was one way to put it. Loss of one thing, yet abruptly and unapologetically replaced by another. She allowed his question to drift into the night air, unbidden.

A hushed murmur emerged from his direction, though it was too soft, too indistinct for her to ascertain.

'My name is Amaris ... Amaris Callosum, it is a pleasure to meet you, Takala.'

Amaris. The name settled uneasily on her tongue, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. The she-wolf tested it once, quietly, as though committing it to memory would anchor her to something solid, something real. For recollection later, perhaps.

The she-wolf stepped forward, closing the distance by half a breath. And then she saw him.

A sharp inhale, then stillness.

He was gray, like her. Tall.

Like the Albans.

For a moment, she forgot herself. A forgotten warmth stirred in her chest, sudden and unwieldy. Her mind raced, trying to stitch familiarity into a name she did not recognize. Callosum? She had never heard of it. But—

'Are you lost?'

"Are you... like me?" Her voice was steady, but the breath behind it wavered. Caution abandoned her as the lavender-hued female stepped closer, searching his face, his pelt, drinking in every detail with a hunger she could not restrain. She was never careless, never reckless—but her discipline cracked at the seams beneath the weight of possibility. Social etiquette be damned, she just had to get a better look.

"Forgive me," she murmured, but she did not stop. Her eyes darted across his features, cataloging each shade, each contour. "I'm looking for my family. The Albans. You look like us,"

The lilt in her voice became hopeful and warm, and her moon-hued eyes sparkled in merriment.
"Is that where you're from, too?"

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Skill: —

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Silence crept along his mind like an old, comforting friend as he stood beneath the withering night. His eyes, though narrowed and hidden beneath a tightening brow, softened some at the echo of her words. ‘Are you…like me…?’ He blinked, unable to hold back the sliver of confusion and shock that weaseled itself along his expression.

Was she…like him?

His expression eased, as did the tension that lined his shoulders, as the stranger took a step forward. Her eyes were like morning snow, iced and yet soft as they searched his own complexion.

I— he mumbled his words, unable to find his mental footing as he continued to blink once, then twice, and then three times at the stranger.

She spoke of her family—a name he did not recognize, but one that Amaris would easily commit to memory. The Albans.

An empathetic frown softened his features as the man lightly shook his head, No… he started, his voice low and delicate, I’m sorry, I have not heard that name before. Not that he knew many familial names other than his own.

Have you just arrived? He asked with a gentle tilt of his head.