Skill: Healer 1/5

It's almost 3 AM, if such words meant anything to Mir. Somehow, moving between the Brim and the Highlands, she didn't think anyone else would be up this late. She's recently slept, but thoughts disturbed her to keep moving. Her experiments keep her busy. A fox's leg she's broken being given bits of cave lichen-- she's noticing it seems to thrive. Perhaps these mushrooms need a higher dosage to be lethal, but the illness it seems to have come down with is passing. Interesting.

But she does need to return home. Being gone on the Brim for days at a time-- she's sure people will start to notice. Let them. Honestly, she's a yearling, she should have more freedom. Childhood is behind her. If her mother wants her to be a good daughter... Well, she was a good daughter for that half a year of torture in Northfall, staying put even while her mother left multiple times and just. Left her there. Expected her to stay put and smile and socialize. And where did that get her? Did anyone ever acknowledge that she was trying her best? She's done trying to impress people for little outcome and praise. No, she's found a genuine interest, and she wants to cultivate it.

Harper should be happy for her.

And as the mists part, the sign of another wolf awake, she almost wonders for a moment if it is Harper, come to finally apologize for making her stay in that awful place and never tell her how strong she is for enduring it. But no. It's a different dark-coated wolf, more svelte in comparison to the large Bacchus woman. One of her cousins.

"Sreda."

She supposes she shouldn't be surprised. Sreda's the type to like the night. Mir gives her a cool gaze, consideration.

"Ночь еще молода. Выходим? (The night is young. Heading out?)"

Skill:

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Sreda had always been a creature of the late hours, but it would seem that more and more of the Elysium wolves were gradually shifting onto a nocturnal schedule. It was enticing, really, that so many of her younger siblings and cousins had begun to weave themselves into the ways of darker magics. Though, of course, Sreda knew very little of everyone's individual ... methods. Amaris seemed set on necromancy and resuscitation while Dimitri grew more confident in talking to the demons that cursed his own mind.

The magic of the world was expanding.

And it only left more questions for those with the minds to explore it.

She'd been out collecting herbs along the edges of the territory, more bits and bobs of poisons and medicines to store in the cool confines of her cavernous garden. And that was when she heard a voice, the calling of her name shifting on the midnight breeze. Sreda would slow, lifting her head and cupping her tufted ears toward the sound. A cousin. One of Harper's youngest brood.

Mir, she'd reply, recalling the name. Мир. Mir. World.

Though younger, the Bacchus woman towered over the more petite Callosum. And Sreda would blink slowly, steadily appraising her younger cousin for a few moments as her inquiry broke the air. Sreda would nod, her own gaze matching Mir's golden lenses with equal parts apathy and curiosity. Да. (Yes.) Her head would tilt. Я не знал, что ты ночной ползун, кузен. (I did not know you were a nightcrawler, cousin.) Her tongue ran over her teeth, wondering if Mir had the same sort of dangerous habits as her mother.

Auntie Dr. Bacchus had helped to raise Sreda, after all.

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