The mists rose and swirled - crowing the tops of hills everywhere Orica turned her head. It was still an hour or so before dawn. The world, if it was lit at all, was lit by the halflight of a setting more and not yet rising run. The predators of the night had bundled away but no bird or mammal stirred to tear at the perfect stillness of the air. It seemed a sacriledge to think anyone ever could. A mistake to ever pray for dawn. The moors were something to be worshiped just as they were. And what there were was majesty. The fae continued paw over paw, up the back of one of the larger hills - drawn by a force she as of yet, did not know. But she had felt the like of it before. In her travels, whether on her own, or with the nomad pack had that become her home, she learned to sense many such places- where forces of the natural and supernatural were heightened -calling to the weary, wandering, and the wise. Sometimes to all three. Orica supposed with a slight smile that she could count as all that. She'd traveled far enough in the past moons. Oh so many miles. But she could never pass up on the calling of a place such as this. She was told long ago that she had a gift. Something like foresense or foresight - an ability to see much more than should always be. It was something she'd fostered and flamed and thanked the gods for. And in her way, these pilgrimages to out of the way places - were a sign of gratitude. Whether there would be some message or something waiting for her  - some herb to collect or just a place to be still in and give respect, she was happy to do it. It was her duty as a healer, not just of the body, but of the spirit.

(( Just for clarifications sake, Glory is trans-male meaning he is physically female but identifies as male. I use male pronouns when writing him but to a casual observer he will appear female and likely be identified as such until told otherwise; which won't happen yet as he's still just figuring out his own sense of self.))

Glory felt the call of adventure in his bones, it had only been a short while since they had finally been allowed to venture beyond the mouth of their den and already he yearned for more. The early morning spilled into the den and found the smallest Ancora awake to watch it. The moon was low on the horizon, the sky turning an early shade of purple, the pup had managed to detangle himself from the puppy pile during his sleep and now he was free to roam the den... but that could only really amuse him for a short while, no now he wanted to see the world outside it. He glanced back at his family; all still soundly asleep and with a spurt of courage he pushed past the lip of the alcove. Well that was one rule broken, no doubt his parents would be furious to find that he had left the den without at least one of them... Since he was on a roll Glory decided to push his luck even further. He plodded along at a steady clip towards the strong smelling border. The understanding of it's meaning was instinctual to the pup but he didn't really grasp what crossing it could mean. He was meant to be on this side of the thick scent line, bathed in it's residual traces, his coat had quickly taken on the communal scent of the pack; mingling with the scent of his mother's milk and another smell he also associated with his mother, it's weight felt uncomfortable and ill fitting, he would one day grow to hate it's association and the fact it was a part of him... None of these things were really known to him yet though, his thoughts were wrapped up in his internal debate over whether to cross the border or not... it didn't last long. He was feeling bold and filled with naive feelings of invisibility he quickly crossed over it, near white paws drawing Glory forwards and away from the pack he had been born into. When he had first found the moor it's fog and strange outcropping had fascinated and filled the child with joy, now however he was lost and cold and very very tired. It had not taken long for the mist to soak through his puppy down and chill him. It felt like a lifetime ago he had left the pack lands and he was completely turned around. Tail tucked between his legs and ears pulled back the pup let loose a chorus of soft whines. A gentle breeze stirred and as an unfamiliar scent caught his attention the chill and confusion was momentarily forgotten. Instead Glory felt a flood of excitement as he raced up the nearest hill to follow the scent, an unfamiliar figure seemed to materialize out of the fog and he summoned his voice, piercing the peace. “Miss! Hey miss!” He called after her as he ascended the hill after her. Speech

Orica broke into a run. The gorse and grass and heath flowers all passed away beneath her paws, churning one after another in a pace as instinctual and endless as the rise and fall of the stars. The heather that swarmed over the hills was purple as the promise of coming dawn. It bent and swayed ever so gently, though the air was too thick to give voice to any wind or breeze. The air was still clean and fresh, with a chill to it that could not be ignored. It sent a shiver through the fur, fluffing it. As if every part of the body were equally aware and alert and alive to whatever resided over the place. The older fae's white paws went faster and faster, but ever gentle on the earth. Her head snaking out, ears pinned back - and tail flying out behind her like a clan's banner. She had been described as a nymph in her past years, but now she appeared more as a ghost - a spirit gracing the lands only for a moment before racing on into deeper mists. But a sound, half heard, brought her to a halt. As quickly as she'd picked up the pace, all sign of it vanished and she stood, tail down, ears up, near the crest of the hill where the mist was yet thick and whirling. She swore she saw something up ahead - strange shapes, unmoving. Stones? Beasts? Mountains in miniature? She couldn't say. But she needed to find out. What ever could be holding her back. She looked behind her. The cry must have been that of an eagle or hawk. It hadn't sounded like an adult wolf. And yet... there had been words. The healer turned well around. Blue eyes with all the potency of day shined and shimmered as they cast themselves over the land. Shreds of fog were still strewn about the moors. For all she could see, her single moor might be the only one in existence. Set amid a grey sea, under a barely lightening sky. The breeze tugged at clumps of her white and black fur - ruffling her neck as she craned for sight or scent. She was upwind but she caught something. Wolf that was not familiar to her... and yet there was something homey about it. Something soft and warm and earthy. ~Mother's milk!~ It was the scent of pup! Either that or her own mother's instincts were toying with her. Certainly she'd grown more fond of such things since having a litter of her own years back. Tender-hearted as she was even to strangers, having a litter of her own was enough to send her soul to overflowing. Sometimes it flooded where no streambeds traces. A mother's feeling soaked into other parts of her day and life. What out here could possibly call to mind her own pups? She wondered, with an ear flicking back to the crown of the hill. Did that have something to do with why she was here? She was about to resume her journey when she saw something - a bit of cream colored fur against the dark foliage and shadows. Orica shifted on her paws. It was a wolf cub! ~Are there others nearby?~ she wondered ~Have I unknowingly tread over someone's home? Or is it a vision? A spirit of this place?~ Orica's blue eyes narrowed into slits as she looked. But then her head was being thrown back. A howl, long and high, gentle and haunting almost to the point of mournful left her muzzle. Orica's voice was naturally high - sweet and clear and singsong like mountain brooks or golden field birds. It no longer had the added charm of youth, but age had not yet come to scratch it up. If there was a pack, she didn't want to be thought sneaking. If there was someone who'd lost a pup, it would alert them too others in the area. And if the babe was lost, the come-forward howl was hardly a threat or a battle cry. It was more a song. One that wolves heard with their very blood. And if a spirit, well, it was welcome to join in with a song of its own.