Lingering on the outskirts of his sister's pack was a recurring theme lately, and this time he'd opted to venture into the estuary and examine the area. He was still curious about what had prompted his littermate to choose each of these territories, whether it was a subconscious connection to the divine, or merely strategic advantages? Long limbs carried him with ethereal ease along the marshy shorelines, body jewelry tinkling softly with each motion of his stride.

Teaching the little ones had been quite rewarding thus far, and he was quite eager to start organizing his next lesson. Perhaps he should consult with Modesty, and ask if she had considered allowing some of them to learn directly under him at the shrine, to ensure that there would be at least one or two more devout followers of the faith when he passed. With each year that he did not produce his own heirs, he worried that he would never fulfill his sacred duties and make God proud.

Silky pelage damp with humidity, long tail fur dragging through the moss laden terrain, the godling found himself drawn towards the cluster of small willows near the water. This melancholic line of thinking was somewhat troubling, and he wondered if the gloom of winter was prompting this continued state of mind. He sighed softly, and slipped through the overhanging branches of the willow. Perhaps it was time to meditate for a little while.. the midmorning sun was beginning to break through the mist that hung over the landscape, the crunch of frost laden grasses beneath his paws would soon soften. By the time the sun was overhead, he hoped his mood would improve.

(WC: 286/1500)

"Pontifex" || "Hallux" || "Pollux"

Pythia had to decide if being blind was a positive or a negative. Had she been cursed by genetics? By the gods? Her mother only briefly mentioned Abraxas here and there, but with the instruction of her uncle, she was beginning to have a better grasp on her familial ties to the entities that controlled their lives. Because perhaps they had blessed her. Though she could not see with the two fleshy orbitals that hung uselessly in her skull, she could see with the other senses her body had been provided. Every swish of grass, every flutter of wing, call of a bird, the step of a paw, her ears would swivel, listening to the coming and goings of those around her. Even her paws, every time they would touch the ground or reach out for something, she could feel what they looked like, feel the ground tremble with each step. And when her nose would move with her muzzle, scenting the air, scenting the wolfs, the plants, the animals, they would nearly come to life before her. She too would soon find out that her mouth did not belong on everything for not everything tasted pleasant, but it was a quick and easy way to figure out what was food and what wasn't.

It was these things that Pythia used to navigate through the world. Through the marshy estuary that she wanders, not exactly a target destination in mind, but life did seem to surprise her now and then. A surprise indeed she would have as her head pokes above the reeds and grass, the wind shifting in just the right direction that she could be presented with her uncle's scent. Ah, now that was a wolf she would be interested in conversating with again!

Keeping her nose tilted upward so that she could continue to scent the air for him, Pythia follows as best as she can. Each step is calculated, testing the dirt beneath her for rocks, sticks, and anything else that may lie in her path. She does well minus a few trips and stumbles, but otherwise reaches Pontifex unscathed. It of course, tires her and her mind having to work so meticulously so that she doesn't receive any injuries, but that's was her life.

Approaching him even closer, taking note of how the frost also crunched beneath his much larger paws, Pythia lets out a sharp bark to alert him to her presence. Of course, he's probably noticed her by now, her movements are rather loud and clumsy, there is hardly any grace behind her steps as she learns her way in the world. "Uncle," Pythia greets, trying to stay with his movements, hoping that he stops so that she doesn't have to try so hard. She would smile, but when her nose wiggles to inhale his scent, she can practically taste the sour mood that clings to his fur. While some may not be as keen to emotions as Pythia is, she notices. Something about the hormones and pheromones, all that biological business, she's more aware, more sensitive to it all.

"Does something plague you?" She questions, head canting, pale blue eyes unblinking and staring not quite at him.

Pythia Abraxas

word count: 821/1500

It's the squeaky little bark that alerts the godling to his nieces presence, in all truth. So wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn't heard the commotion of awkward stumbling paws trailing behind. Otherwise he may have slowed, even stopped, to allow her to catch up. Willowy limb extends, parts the overhanging curtain of willow boughs to allow the sightless child to step within the safe embrace of the ancient tree. She greets him oh so formally, reminding him very little of her mother and very much of himself, always with the pleasantries and formalities. It brings a soft smile to his features, visible in the subtle upward curve of dark lips and crinkling around the corner of one eye. Not that Pythia can see it, but that hardly stops such a reflexive expression. He sighs quietly, more to himself than anything, when she asks if there is something plaguing him. Poor girl, so insightful despite her age. Like him, and that is a burden he wouldn't wish on another so readily.

He makes a point to emphasize the motion of patting the ground at his side with one pale paw, letting the rough pads brush against the frost-laden grasses to create crisp susurrations that would help her find that spot. The violet dappled priest tries to cast his thoughts to happier things, to lighten his mood for the sake of the little one. And yet.. there's that urge to use this as a teaching moment. He truly is his mother's son. "You needn't concern yourself with such adult matters, dear Thia." he croons gently, folding his forelimbs closer to his chest as he settles more comfortably in the shade of the willow tree. It's true, children shouldn't have to face the troubles of adults- it's how he and Modesty wound up so troubled as they grew, no doubt. Politics and religion and family drama. "In truth, I am quite troubled this morning. Many mornings before it, as well, but most notably on these dreary and cold days." he begins to explain, and if the pale child is comfortably situated he would seek to nuzzle the top of her head. "It is quite common, but it is especially common among those of us who God has deemed to be seers and planners. When the months grow cold and the sun is often hidden, our minds often seek to mirror the gloom. To make trouble with the possibilities of the future, or simply to leave a lingering malaise- that is, a sensation of sadness or anxiety that persists for a long period." though the concepts might be overly complex for such a small child, Pontifex sought to simplify what he could for his niece.

"If you find yourself feeling this way, inexplicably gripped by an ever-present gloom or perhaps despair, do not fret." he said, and the words were more to reassure himself than they might have been for Pythia's sake. Yes, he needed to speak these words aloud and thusly speak them into existence. Long, silken tresses of fur slipped smoothly over the ground as he tucked his elongated tail close to his thigh. The chains that decorated his body made a gentle tinkling sound as they slid across his fur, the tiny interconnected links of silver colliding and separating as they sought a new arrangement against the svelte musculature of his form. "I have found that it is best to seek out some company in these dark hours. No matter how silly it may feel to ask for someone to sit by the fireside and drink some tea, or to go for a walk through a territory you have not visited in a little while and soak up the sunshine. Sometimes you need only feel the sensations of warm sunlight on your coat, and hear the laughter of loved ones, to banish these feelings of sadness that often find us in the winter." his tone was gentle, whisper soft. That was how Pontifex spoke, like a ghost of a wolf who carried few qualms over whether or not he would be heard. Again, he found himself smiling just a little, the tension in his shoulders easing somewhat. The company worked wonders, just as he had told her.

"I apologise for letting this turn into a lecture, sweet one. Did you come here with questions of another sort?" there was a flicker of embarrassment in his chest, earrings jingling as one aud tipped back for a moment. There he was, realizing that he had rambled quite extensively, when little Pythia certainly did not need to hear of his seasonal mood swings. Ah, but it was too late now. He may as well move forwards, and answer whatever queries his niece had brought with her on this surprise visit.

"Pontifex" || "Hallux" || "Pollux"

WC: 823 // 1644/1500 !