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Skill: Counselor 1/5

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Unlike Fable, a woman of sunlight and daytime, the golden wraith was waking up just in time for her evening stroll. The sun was lowering, just kissing the edges of the horizon, and Amaranth had begun her "patrols." For those who were unaware, Amaranth's patrols typically consisted of wandering around until she found something of interest to bring back to the den.

Sometimes, she interacted with packmates, but most of the time, she slunk off to do her business at whatever end of the territory seemed to speak to her. Of course, she always checked in with Valeska before slithering off for the night ... and she would always come home to curl right back up next to her wife in early-morning tradition.

This was like clockwork ... and, of course, returning home to her wife was the most anticipated part of Amaranth's evening.

And so the wraith moved onward, trailing the edges of Elysium. She'd not expected to find anyone up toward the edge of the Golden Glade, not at this hour ... but it wasn't a complete surprise. Since the move-in of Archon and the Zombie-Hunter's-Wife, the Eastern edge of their territory had become more heavily scented. Busier. And today was no exception.

Normally, Amaranth would slink her way back into the shadows, ignoring the unfamiliar faces of the new pack. But today, the face on the borders was a face she recognized ... though you would hardly realize it with the mask of sorrow that hung like a cloud over that peachy-rose form. Eyes of forest green were glassed over with poison ... a messy mane draped with old florals and a posture that read of hurt and heavy emotion.

Fable, мой маленький гриб* (my little mushroom), the woman purred, practically apparating from the early evening shadows. Glittering purple eyes would rattle with labyrinthian emotion, seeking to lock with Fable's soft green lenses. Who has troubled you? Her tail flicked lowly behind her, rattling in a way that emanated with a danger akin to a rattlesnake before a strike. There was a depth to her voice that was ... almost possessive. But certainly ominous.

* my little mushroom

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Skill: Counselor 2/5

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The rattle of her tail persisted, watching the weak way that Fable smiled. There was an emptiness, a soft pallor behind the normal warmth that Fable exuded as if something had been ripped from her. Stolen. Amaranth awaited an explanation, deep amethyst gaze consuming in a way that was perhaps borderline uncomfortable as she searched the Cardia for clues of the nature of the distress.

'Our family has unfortunately experienced a loss, I'm afraid.'

The words fell from Fable's lips, and Amaranth would raise a brow softly, taking a few coiling steps closer. A family loss? Amaranth could not recall any of Fable's family outside of ... Archon? Or was it something else? Amaranth's gaze softened, perhaps subtly understanding that a prying set of eyes was not what would improve Fable's mood (though it was hard for her not to stare).

But it was then that Amaranth remembered her own hurt when Narcissa had gone missing. She recalled Valeska's own eyes and demeanor upon hearing the news. Before the anger and displaced emotion, there had been nothing but emptiness and pain. A pain that mirrored Fable's empty, expressionless face.

Amaranth understood.

The woman, though often unintentionally cold, would relax and warm her gaze, remembering and now sharing again in the familiar pain of such a tumultuous loss. I see, she would hum. A breeze would lift around them, rattling through the leaves with a heaviness that caught Amaranth's attention. She had an idea, and whether or not it was a good one would require time to see. Come with me, she would offer, taking her nose and pressing it into Fable's shoulder for a brief and powerful moment before turning her tall, golden form toward her own pack lands.

A golden plume would flick behind her as she took a few prancing steps forward, her head turning so that her eyes could peer back over her shoulder for a brief moment.

The dragon was leading Fable to her cache.

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Skill: Soothsayer 3/5

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The mаленький гриб (little mushroom) would follow, ensnared in Amaranth's gentle web of demands. The two would weave gently through the sunset, dancing between the beams of yellow and red and orange that penetrated beyond the monolithic trees as they danced toward the heart of Elysium. Amaranth's determination was evident in the firmness of her gaze, intent written eerily along her slender, angled features as she brought Fable toward her den.

It was a quiet, peaceful walk ... and Amaranth need not peer back over her shoulder for she felt the presence of the other very strongly.

The sun would just be leaning beneath the peaks of the Respite when they would arrive home. Amaranth's lanky gait would slow, her golden fur blowing in the gentle breeze that picked up, swirling off the surface of the still lake. My home, she would state with a sort of pride, turning her intent gaze toward Fable and smiling gently. Her nostrils flared, testing for Valeska , but it would seem that her mate was not home at the moment. No matter, all of her required materials were inside. Come, she persisted, turning to press onward into her den.

Within lay a trove of treasures, some more neatly displayed than others. On the floor was a juvenile bear pelt, proudly on display near the entrance. Up on some of the farther walls were her more prized possessions ... her purple geode from her wedding, an amethyst stone from Roland, and a few Very Nice sets of antlers and bones. But there was a smattering of everything lingering around the walls of the den in small, purposeful piles ... leaves, flowers, herbs, feathers, bones ... really anything one's heart could imagine.

Amaranth would busy herself gathering some bits and pieces of things, brushing them toward the center of her den with practiced ease.

Before long, there were 6 things that she would lay gently atop the bear pelt: a small chip of bone, a small bundle of pink cosmos, a jet-black raven feather, a piece of opaque quartz, a smooth slate stone from the lake, and a small red and white toadstool.

Carefully, she would begin softly, waving her paw over the items. Which two call to you? The den was alight with the warm colors of the dying sunset, casting an eerie glow upon the pair.

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Skill:

Quartz: The Magician (upright)
Slate stone: The Hermit (reversed)

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Amaranth rolled her tongue over her teeth, her gaze hazy as she watched Fable ponder the choices. Pondering was only part of the ruse, for Amaranth knew the spirits would deliver the message they intended to, regardless of Fable's choice. But it was fun, wasn't it? To scry? To pretend that as living beings, we had a semblance of choice in what happened next in our lives?

Amaranth smiled.

The quartz, she began. Clear, pure, cleansing. The quartz has a certain ... magic about it. She would tilt her head, blinking a few times before lifting her gaze to Fable. You have everything you need to overcome your obstacles ... but only if your vision is as clear as the quartz, hm? Amaranth would lower her gaze, taking a paw to push the small crystal closer to her rosy friend.

But the slate, she would continue, moving her paw toward the jagged gray stone. Not so clear, you see. She would push the slate closer, sliding it on top of the quartz, as if to block it from being seen. Though the darkness can be comfortable, it can cause us to isolate ... and lose sight of the original vision. A slight frown existed on her lips, if only for a moment. It was unclear if it was just her being pensive or her perhaps seeing something deeper.

Amaranth then lifted her head, blinking toward Fable.

Withdrawal and isolation. Darkness. It blurs your vision. It has been comfortable, being blind. She flicked her ears forward. But it is time to bring back the clearer vision. The magic. Her smile returned, as if for emphasis. And then there was silence, a comfortable one that Amaranth drank in.

I think you will overcome this, she settled on, tilting her head as if offering Fable the final piece of advice. And perhaps a bit of friendly caring, as well.

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