[she doesn't know that the world is turning just for her]

skill: [none]

Euphemia gazed at the walls of her subterranean den. She had managed to utilize the roots of the tree that grew above her to support the earth as she carved away the shape of many shelves; and upon those shelves, were plants. It was not a collection of various bobbles and oddities (though she did have her crystals from her birthday on display, front and center) as one might have assumed, but simply plants. Boughs of plants, all dried, all laid together in neat little piles.

Phia, perhaps like most young women, struggled with feeling purposeful. The maiden greatly longed for responsibility, now that she had seen the good it does to a soul. Much of the time she felt adrift, so terrified of the possibility that she might be ripped away from her sisters and family that she dared not do anything that would improve her value to them. Still, it felt so strange to exist in such a limbo. After all, wasn't she the smart one, and weren't "the smart ones" supposed to make something of themselves?

Euphemia felt as though she were a sprig that lay so delicately upon her shelves. There was something within her that was innate, that was god-given, that made her special ~ but without application and intention, she just existed. These plants just existed; they had a reason to be cultivated and stored, and it seemed so silly that Euphemia held such great skill at farming and foraging, but nothing in the way of healing and nourishment.

It wasn't for the lack of not being taught. Oh, why hadn't she listened to mother when she had waxed on about the uses of plants, bestowing them with such magicks as being able to rid of disease or parasite, and to bind wounds and mend chronic ailments! She read it amongst her books in the vast libraries of the consulate, but there was something that simply didn't translate in her mind. It was difficult to understand why it was all the way it was, and Euphemia very much wanted to know exactly how a simple root could poison an entire wolf, or how fermentation so lubricated the mind and tongue. Who, what, when, where, why, how???

Euphemia narrowed her gaze and knitted her brows together. It was the dead of winter, and herbs hadn't been green and growing in many months. Many of these specimens (as they were) had been harvested in the height of summer and carefully dried in the sun to preserve them as long as they could, but even so, her den and its shelves were not airtight and they did not last as long as she would have hoped. Some simply had lost a majority of their effectiveness, while some had grown mold. They wouldn't be replaced until spring or summer, but who would want them in this state?

The silver maiden dashed at the leaves, branches are berries with the sudden strike of her paw, like a poisonous adder exploding out from under a pile of undergrowth, mouth yawning open wide. It felt good, so Euphemia did it again, and then she gathered up as much as she could within her jaws and unearthed herself, popping up beneath her tree. She darted forward a few paces to be free of her den's gravitational pull and then shook her head wildly, feeling the delicate plants shred apart due to the thrashing until she held betwixt her jaws nothing more than bare sticks and the remnants of her careful stores littered the permafrost.

It would be returned to the earth, and restored once more. Just as she was and would be, time and time again. What was once old, now will be new.

and Euphemia smiled.

---

Skill: Scout [1/5]

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Days have been busy. Golde took her new duties with utmost gravity, diligently surveying the lands for any little thing that may be even slightly out of the ordinary.

Today was uneventful. Her ears remained poised sharply, keenly regarding any sounds within earshot—yet all she could hear was occasional birdsong or the rustling of branches, swayed by the trees.

Golde swore that there were the subtle footfalls of rodents or hares who darted past as she moved. On edge, her face was paralyzed with a scowl, lips pursed into a stiff frown.

Alas. There were no scent trails, and she could find no signs of small prey beyond the slightest of sounds.

Perhaps she was hearing things.

The blonde weaved between the tall trees, tail swaying, eyes half-lidded. She didn't want to label such days as boring—a day of peace should never be taken for granted—yet... it was far from compelling, and dull stoicism remained flat over her expression as the wolfdog trekked over the Vale.

There came a violent rustle from beyond the wall of trees—Golde halted. For a second, she felt excitement rise in her mind—was it a piece of prey? Something she could hunt?

The elation was short-lived, as it was quite evident that whatever the culprit was, it was far larger than a hare or a mouse. A deer, perhaps, a coyote? A fox? God forbid anything larger—her heart began to accelerate, blood rushing into her ears.

A modicum of adrenaline was coursing through her veins for the off-chance it was something that would be far beyond her match. Golde marched over the frost-laden ground, ears folded back, eyes narrowed, sinew taut in preparation as she turned the corner—

Oh—

Oh.

There stood a she-wolf. Donning fur of elegant silver, soft eyes of vibrant gold. Pink nostrils flared against the air, and it was immediately evident that this was one of her peers—for not only did she smell of Dawnbreak, but she was also nearly identical to Aurelia.

Golde sighed out. In relief that there would be no reason for a fight, yet in mild disappointment that it wasn't something she could catch for food.

Shaking her head, she stepped out from the forest's dense backdrop. The woman, holding a stack of arid leaves between her maws, began to batter her head—Golde paused. What on earth— ...Am I... interrupting something? She raised a brow, gazing down at the small heap of shredded leaves that now lay at her feet.

[she doesn't know that the world is turning just for her]

skill: [none]

It was thrilling and freeing, to decimate the precious remains of her stores. Of course, Euphemia was bolstered by the consistent realization that she could replenish her stock come the spring, but her reality now was renewal and recycle. Of these, this was the destruction part, in its own puny and inconsequential ways. Euphemia fairly and easily ascertained that this act would have no dire consequences. Her knowledge had no applicable use. These herbs and medicinal plants were nothing more than a colorful, paper-like confetti scattered on the ground.

The only consequence of this miniature decimation might only show itself if the act had been observed – which, of course, it had been.

A yellow-tinted female approached her. Euphemia turned her head to the other and smiled, knowing her to be Golde of Dawnbreak’s own ranks. Perhaps another individual might have felt silly or shameful, but Euphemia was long-past feeling things like shame. She had been born in these lands, in two different universes – and Golde was a stranger, adopted into it like an orphan. In such an ancestral land, it was almost impossible for Euphemia to feel anything less than utterly shameless and somewhat entitled.

No, not really, Euphemia quipped, and that was all she said. And then she upturned an eyebrow towards the woman, wondering what she would say next. Maybe it would be a formal introduction – or maybe not?

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