Skill: Florist [1/5]

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It seems the woodlands were finally behind her—now with reverberating birdsong growing hushed in place of wind's quiet whistles. Gnarling roots of trees no longer jutted from the ground, and in their place was soft grass, caressed by the wind. Citlali breathed a soft sigh of relief. She returned once again to a familiar expanse of rolling pastures; it wasn't home, but it was a lot closer to it than the forest was.

The field was warm with sunlight, filled with the sweet smell of flowers. Once in a while, a bee whizzed past Citlali's ear; she paid them no mind. They were much like her—wandering about the fields, stopping only to admire the flora which sprouted upwards from the warm earth.

A soft sigh left her lips as she halted her leisurely walk. For once, there was a sense of peace—a peace she hadn't found since her sudden appearance in this strange realm. Citlali lowered herself onto the lush field, pressing her body into the warmth of the sun-kissed ground.

The woman turned to her side, her cheek resting against the earth, her nose twitching towards the flowers' sweet scents. She couldn't get enough of it. Milky blue eyes fell shut. Her face nestled into the ground with a comfortable smile gracing her features.

the stream sang beside her, while her paws carefully pried aside the rivermint and yarrow. each stem was chosen for purpose, not beauty, though she admired the tender curve of leaves and the way water clung to them like silver thread. her teeth were stained bitter. her shoulders smelled of stone and damp bark.
the scent of a stranger lifted her head.
she blinked once, a owlish thing— then again. across the field, bathed in the sun’s hush, was a girl. not of the valley. not of her blood. the soft blond of her coat seemed to glow where it met the grasses, and cloud lash watched her rest there as though she belonged, as though the world had not just cracked itself open.
her ears flicked.
a test? a lanzadoii trap? no— too peaceful for that.
still, cloud lash rose, stalks brushing her legs, and approached with the quiet gait of a river animal. her red eyes did not narrow, but they gleamed with the thought behind them.
who... she said softly, almost disbelieving. her nose twitched. who are you?

Skill: Orator [2/5]

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There was a small rumble against the ground of approaching footfalls—she could feel it before she heard it. Citlali cracked open her eyes, blinking against the brightness of the sun. 'who...who are you?' The voice was soft, hardly over a whisper, raw with a strange emotion that the blind wolf could not understand—it felt akin to shock. Her head canted aside.

Citlali is my name, she returned, raising her upper body. but, I have no business here—if that is what you inquire. She dipped her head respectfully, bracing a paw against the ground in preparation to depart.

Yet... her body didn't want to move. It was the first of such familiarity—the simplicity of a broad field with blooming flowers—that she'd seen in what felt like an eternity. Her tongue curled over her lips, rasping over her pale nose.

not of the sharadoii. the wind told her that.
her ears flicked toward the voice. soft. unsure.
citlali, she repeated, voice gentle and curious, shaped by the vowels of her people. i am cloud lash.
she padded closer, the fur along her spine shifting like the tall grass behind her. there was no threat in her stance, only the strange confidence of one who’d walked these lands all her life. her head tilted once, studying the girl with her mismatched gaze. blind. she’d noticed. and yet, she was here. brave, maybe. or lost.
she did not say more at first. instead, she sat beside her, carefully placing her bundle of herbs down and drawing in a breath of the flower-sweet air. her voice shifted—softened into her mother’s tongue. words spilled like warm river stones: syllables round and meandering, full of breath and rhythm. cloud lash spoke of the valley, of the morning heron who fished at dawn, of the spirit-touched mountain, of the bone-dyed pines where the elders left their prayers.
citlali would not understand the language—but cloud lash didn’t seem to mind.
she laughed once, a quiet, breathy thing, and looked sideways at the stranger.
you do not know words, she said at last, grinning, but i think you know feeling.
and with a nudge of her shoulder, she added in a whisper, citlali stay?

Skill: Florist [3/5]

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Her name was parrotted—an accent she hadn't heard before. Citlali tilted her head with wonder, with curiosity. Cloud Lash... a mimicked action, rolling the name over her tongue as if to accustom herself with each syllable.

There was a soft rustle, just to her side. Her head turned to follow as the footfalls drew near, halted with a soft thump that she assumed was the stranger, the one deemed Cloud Lash, reclining onto the ground. Her pale peach nose began to twitch, drawing her visage nearer, inspecting the scent of the other. It was fresh—fresh with the same scent harbored by these lands. Perhaps she lived here.

Citlali's ears, once held low in neutrality, swiveled forward as the voice spoke again—vowels and consonants in all odd places, words she'd never dreamed of hearing. Brows arched. You speak in runes, Cloud Lash, she remarked. Her voice was reverent, a mixture of awe and amusement. A nudge was placed against her withers, a whisper breathed in tandem with it—Citlali did not need to be told twice. She leaned back down yet again, limbs sprawled out over the grass.

The girl dipped her head further. The grass smelled different on the other's paws—of different plants, not the turf they lounged upon. There was a freshness of mint, and something pungently sweet. Had Cloud Lash gathered these herbs, she wondered—her tongue lapped over her nose. What are these? Her head canted sideways.

cloud lash watched the girl with wide eyes, red and shining. so curious. so soft. she was like the new bloom of skedzay’s feather, all petals and tilt. a girl who listened. cloud lash liked that.
not runes, no, but she did not correct her.
instead, she leaned back into the earth, side-by-side, her back brushing the grass as she let her basket tip. tiny stems spilled into the light, mint, yes, but also rabbit tobacco, yarrow, the blue-shaded ends of soapberry sprigs. and tucked beneath it all, slivers of birch bark, dried but sweet with sap still.
these, she said gently, gesturing with a paw, are for the belly. for cuts. for hurt. she said it slowly, letting each word bloom. her nose turned toward citlali’s, a curious sniff shared. you not valley-born. not a question...just a knowing. but i like your voice.
she pressed her nose into the herbs and took a deep breath. then added, i show you which are for dreams.

Skill: Florist[4/5]

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The pale nose followed each gesture of Cloud Lash's paw, nostrils flaring towards the flowers as she took in each sweet scent. Her explanation drew a small, inquisitive tilt of her head. For the belly, for cuts... hurt...

This wolf was different from her in more ways than Citlali could've first imagined—the language they spoke, the gestures... 'You not valley-born.' a soft hum reverberated in her throat. 'But I like your voice.' What a curious observation... for she had been born in a valley.

One arid, covered in brittle grass and spikey shrubs, which sprouted up from the ground here and there. In such a sense, she was 'valley-born'—but Citlali had a lingering feeling that valley-born, to Cloud Lash, meant more than simply being raised within a valley.

No entiendo (I don't understand), she responded softly, pero... gracias. (but... thank you) Citlali leaned back once again, unfurling her body over the grass with a contented sigh leaving her lips.

not sharadoii, not lanzadoii, not even the crooked plains-speech the mountain traders used. and yet... they were not hostile. they were not cold.
her ear twitched.
the girl didn’t understand her. not fully. but her meaning shimmered like sun in water.
cloud lash smiled. she nodded once, firmly, and bent to pick a sprig of dried sweetgrass from the bundle tied at her side. carefully, she placed it beside citlali’s outstretched paw. a gift. a wordless thank-you in turn.
yes, she whispered, grat-itude. and then, softly again, you are welcome in valley.