Familiar as a Stranger
Orica resisted the temptation to lick the flakes off her nose - knowing that doing such would risk a chapped muzzle and cracked nose, - and wow wasn't it strange to be careful of such things again. All the little ticks and quirks of northern weather that had all been her default growing up. She made a sort of trilling sound to herself, letting her head sink into the fluff and cushion of her own neck fur. A sound of pure pleasure and bliss. Eyes like frozen pools gazed up at the stripes on the walls until she could almost begin to see them move - see them shimmer and dance and run like real rivers. Her eyes glazed as she stared. She had a premonition of something. Some sixth sense that she'd always had - alerting to her things beyond any knowledge she ought to have. It had been something she'd nurtured and worked with, since it was discovered for her by a strange wolf from distant lands who had called himself only "the shaman". He'd helped her hone this-this gift, teaching her to sense its coming and just be still. Just listen. Just watch.
And she watched the rivulets of gold and silver - grey and white all fold together and over one another. They seemed to churn like waves - or like legs. Strange markings on a pale white wolf. Gold in the eyes. Gold in the heart. Streaks of dusk over the countures of stone fur.
A sound from behind her, had Orica blinking back to herself. The crunch of snow from a paw that was not her own. She turned and looked about - to see what appeared to be a flame, in the form of a young wolf, making its way towards her. This could not be more of her Sight, could it? No. If she questioned it, then it was the waking world. Orica stood, and gave a lazy wag of the tail. "Hail, traveler," the old fae called, in a voice still sweet and high, despite the count of years levied upon it. "Where away do your paws take you?" She was a wolf more than experienced in new faces and new places. No sheltered pack wolf, she. She could converse with a cat twice her size. Or greet a warlord as a common rogue. In fact, in her time, she'd done both. Her ease was a natural, unassuming one, and her interest in a strange, fellow wolf was genuine. If she didn't like her kind, she wouldn't have been a healer - as the strange hide knapsack that slung over her shoulder testified. The scent of herbs rose up from it - a strange sensation in this world of snow. |