Bard's wandering feet had carried him away once more, to where his bright eyes could take in the sight of an orchard, fruit trees filled to bursting with their fall bounty. Prey animals were plentiful here, feasting upon the windfall, though Bard made no attempt to chase any. He'd eaten his fill already on his way in, making short work of an unwary rabbit. Now he was here just to enjoy the wandering. Soft words dripped from his jaws, part of an old poem he'd learned long ago, the lilting cadence of his Irish voice turning it near to song.
"Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun."
He fell silent once more, allowing the wind rustling through the autumn-doomed leaves to make it's own music, the soft descant of bird-song it's harmony. What a beautiful place this Alacratia was. He wished his mentor could be here to see this, but his old bones would never have made the journey. Far better for him to have remained in the bosom of their order, cared for by the younger druids until he finally passed to the Summerland. But oh, he would have loved the music of this land.
Speech
OOC: the poem he recites is part of a W.B. Yeat's poem called The Song of Wandering Aengus and it's really beautiful so yeah. :)
Shilah was only half focused on his gathering this bright autumn afternoon. His mind was a cup overflowing with thoughts to the point that the young brute was feeling truly overwhelmed. For one thing there'd been that incident with Loki at Fenrir's Maw and his incompetence right in front of his superior. On top of that he wasn't sure how the Valhallans felt about his far and wide roaming as he went about the duty of gathering herbs but he was getting the impression that it was a bit unusual. Shilah sighed again, laying down a gathering of Motherwort.
It was customary for nomads to find a pack and serve it but? didn't that cancel out the name nomad? To stay in one place so? And what of the loners and rogues that had none to care for them? Shilah pawed at the plants he'd gathered as he debated softy to himself. He like Valhalla a lot and Erani was wise and wonderful and he was learning quite a bit but his spirit had been feeling somewhat dampened since joining and he wasn't sure he was really suited for pack life. Shilah also badly missed his homeland and his mother. What to do, what to do?
It was then singing caught his attention. Now who was this? Snatching up his herbs he trotted in the direction of the sound to come upon a black and white brute, a handsome and unusually pelted fellow. Shilah smiled.
"You have a lovely singing voice. What brings you to the Orchard, sir?"
The voice of a young male broke Bard from his dreamy reverie. He focused his eyes, seeing a male around his age sporting a dark coat with silver markings much like his own black and white. And much like his own, the male sported a scar that had a remarkably deliberate nature to it, though on his forehead rather than his hip. Bard's interest was piqued. "Go raibh maith agat. Thank you, friend. As for what brought me here, 'twas simply my wandering feet finding me a beautiful place tae rest my weary bones and listen tae the song of the land before I get back tae the trail." Purple eyes trailed over the other male, noting the motherwort, clipped from the plant with an efficiency that spoke of a healer rather than simply someone collecting plants. "And you, friend? What brings ye to this abundant place?"
Shilah's head titled just slightly at the foreign language the other had started to speak but it was a comfort to him more than off putting. He knew all too well what it was like to be a foreigner in a strange new land. His accent was curious but pleasant to listen to. Shilah listened attentively as the other spoke and felt a sudden longing in his heart. Was this other wolf a nomad of sorts? He did not bear the mark like Shilah did but he wondered all the same.
"I'm gathering herbs for pack and getting some fresh air. I'm Shilah of the Nomads by the way, what might your name be?"
A nomad, hm? Bard's gaze brightened. "A fellow wanderer, then? 'Tis pleased I am tae meet ye, Shilah. I am Bard Ciaran, called Bard. Is it the whole pack is nomadic, then?" It wasn't unheard of, even in lands where most packs had set territories. There were a few in his homeland, mostly smaller family packs, who would follow the herds as they migrated rather than chose a territory to defend. "Is that what the marking on your brow is meaning then? Your pack's symbol? Or the symbol of your caste?" he continued on to ask, not wanting to seem rude but curious. There were some caste-based packs in the homeland in it's past, with rigid structures and such, but they'd for the most part faded away with time. He did catch himself, though, and sent Shilah a chagrined grin. "An' listen tae me here, chattering on and all. 'Tis not often I meet another who loves the wandering life as I do, and I'm the curious sort."
The male introduced himself as Bard Ciaran and Shilah resisted the urge to flinch as he realized his mistake. He was of Valhalla now but he'd been so used to introducing himself as one of the Nomads that he'd fallen right into the old habit. But then it was also a means of explaining his credentials in healing to anyone that knew what the Nomads were.
Shilah shook his head and smiled softly. "No. Valhalla is a stationary pack but I am at my heart a wanderer. The Nomads are healers, trained from first breath. When we come of age we consign ourselves to the service of a pack. I guess I haven't quite gotten used to it." His startling blue eyes tilted upwards as if he could see the two terracotta lines that marked his forhead. "It means I am half-trained in the ways of my people. I still have several years before I have the wisdom and experience of life to become full-fledged." He still had so much to learn?
"OH it's fine. I don't mind. What of you? What stirs you to wander so? And that mark on your hip, that is a most curious marking as well."
"Your nomads sound much like my own order," Bard observed. "Though we keep ourselves as neutral rather than joining packs, it is much the same. 'Tis what the mark I bear symbolizes, that I am a Druid and therefore sworn tae protect and heal and keep the peace of the land." He went quiet a moment, purple eyes studying Shilah curiously. "It must be hard, tae give up the trail and the journeyin' tae settle for one spot, after so long wandering. I could not bear it, I'm thinking. I live too much for all the land and all it's wolves tae limit my experience and my assistance tae one pack alone. Not," he hastened to say, "that I would be criticizing the way your nomads choose tae serve. Jus' that I could not bring meself tae do the same." He hoped he hadn't offended the wolf with his commentary; some wolves could be touchy about such things. He'd need to learn to filter his words more carefully, now that he was alone in this new land.
Shilah nodded quietly as Bard spoke. What the other brute spoke of sounded far more like what he imagined the nomads should be. It did seem odd to him the tradition of settlement but it was how he was raised and so he had never thought to question it until he'd settled and discovered his heart was still off wandering.
Shilah signed softly. "I admit it hasn't been easy. In fact I'm not sure I can go through with. All my life I have wandered and I do wonder about the loners and rogues that could also need my help. Why call myself a nomad if I am settled?" He shook his head, gaze drifting out over the orchid. He was so conflicted. He was expected to stay and learn and Erani was one of the best healers he'd ever met. But living in one spot? it was stifling him it really was. "I"m not certain what to do. The healer who leads my pack is one of the most skilled I've ever met and I wish to continue my training but?. I am not meant to be a pack wolf I can see it already. I apologize, I don't mean to unburden myself on you Bard. I've just been carrying this for awhile." Shilah had not spoken so much in ages. He didn't mean to get so carried away but he was in need of some direction. Any advice at the moment would be welcomed.
