Lore

She would look to Fern for a moment, then back to her brother and sister. She swung her tail and would clear her throat just a little before offering. “I have a little story to share. One from Mama.”

Her light hues would fall between the wolves who where gathered as she would stand up between them. She’d begin by simply stating. “Imagine big silver birds in the air!” she would seat herself then gather some snow and toss a few bits here and there. “Their wings so strong that it could push all the snow out of the way and reveal the brown earth below.” she’d make more “Whooshing” motions with her paws as she did her best to mimic her mother when she first recounted the tale.

“Such a bird had come to the original territory, long ago, when my great grandmother was Alpha.” she turned to the others as she would sweep their gazes. “A quiet afternoon befell the wolves of the pack long ago. A wolf would not find anything unusual about this day. Each going about their own, until suddenly in the great distance a speck in the sky. It grew closer… and closer…. ” she wiggled her toes into the snow.

“and it became clear it was a flying silver bird, with noise and sounds never heard by our kind. It’s metallic body glistened in the sun, so much so it could blind a wolf!”

She kept her toes in the snow and would wait for the right moment. “The noise was droning, loud, and hard on the wolves ears. Awe… and excitement would befall those who witnessed it. But that joy would be short lived for when they looked up, and the big silver bird was overhead, it kicked up the very earth! Whirling and blinding both sight and sound!” she would then kick up some snow in a volley towards each wolf present.

She bark and yapped like the wolves who where excited, but then ducked downwards to avoid the snow flakes now falling. “Mama said that one day they came back and took many wolves. That -they- took them. To always be alert of things not just from the ground, but the sky, to.” she huffed and reclined on her haunches, peering to Fianna and Rook. “The rest of the story was not given to me while mama was here.”

would close his eyes as if to see a painting laid bare only on the canvass upon the back of his lids. There, he’d see darkness outstretched and shown in hues of black before a sightless sight like ink upon ichor. With eyes still closed, Rook would draw to all four paws and whisper in a voice still audible to those around him “Darkness, my kin, not too unlike the space before a dream. It’s cold here, friends, but such depth and void holds promise of something…more.”

“ALIGHT and AWAKE!!” Rook roared in such stark contrast that not only was his voice the dichotomy but also the stillness of his frame gave way to a twisting, spinning motion that flung as much snow from his paws as possible; this snow born aloft was not a wave but a glitter of a thousand million points of brilliant white light…and Rook’s eyes would open–one gold and one amber. “Awake and be seen…awake and be heard.” Rook’s voice quelled to a narrative tone, and his body completed just one spin before he stepped out and beside the spiral design such a motion made in the snow.

“Memory is a fickle thing. The hues and tones of its recall are a veil through which we view things that happened afterwards, a filtered lens through which the past is relived…and yet, we see it in our eyes, we feel it in hearts, and we hear it in our minds. See the lights as they race and fall beside you, hear the wind of a breathless void, and feel the thrum of your passage as you race into the arm of spiraling light.” Rook would say this as he looked for a wayward and manageable stone next to the Alpha’s rock. He’d take hold of it and begin to clear the snow canvas, smoothing over where a once spiral was drawn. He’d begin making a circle of sorts and within it such an odd design that even he and this story could tell nothing of. Once the design was complete, Rook placed the stone beside it.

*”In the time of their youth and pride the Mean Oíche, the sons of the northern midnight, suffered no sky above them. They were the voice of the Earth, unchained by the limits of the horizon and of the great circle above. The sons of the Mean Oíche were born of the stones of the earth in a time where the great fires were absent from the eastern and western horizon. Such was a time before the great wolven stars lit the night sky, where the legends unfurled its tapestry and there secured a place for the migration of the seasons.”

Rook began to inch closer to the stone he had placed beside the circle and began to speak with great anticipation in his voice, drawing upon a tension that he built with the mirror of tension in his frame. “Until, that is upon one night a twinned golden light began to shine in the distant cool ponds of Loch Oíche…until the thrum of a song coursed through sightless sight and fell and fell…and…” Here, Rook took hold of the stone into his mouth and with a whip-like motion throw the stone down into the circle, destroying what image he made. “CRASHED down upon the lands of the Mean Oíche and upon lands to the east. ” Rook would look to his drawing destroyed and a rock that had cleaved in two upon impact with hardened earth beneath snow.

“I have told this story from the perspective of a wolf…from the perspective of the son’s of the Mean Oíche who raced after one of the golden, fallen twins only to find faes of argent beauty in a valley now long lost to furthered story and tale. I have spoken before of how this union forged the creation of my…of our kin in the union of starfall and earth, but now you know it from the veiled perspective of a fallen song; for some distance eastward the golden vale began to grow from a song fallen from ink upon ichor.”

Calder to the tale told, he’d give a sure nod of his head and a stomp of his paw. How intricate and woven the stories where here. It would cause him to even think on any he could recall growing up.

When Fianna shifted, he would nose her lightly before looking back too the gathered. Fine stories shared thus far, and he’d be eager to see anymore.

Rook would dip his nose to his court and sisters. Again, the Lore Master only told part of the story; he hadn’t told of the felled golden tree in the observatory’s atrium that induced such a dream for the trio…nor did he tell of the disembodied voices of those scientists speaking in such earnest about their cosmic discovery…such things were even outside his perspective. For now, he’d wait and see if any other wanted to speak and carry them along different waters.

Kova  she would brush her nose along her courts shoulder as she had seated herself beside him. She took note of the others who gathered and smiled in kind to their presence. Welcoming them to the group before turning to see if any others desired to share.

Fianna would stamp her paw to her brother’s tale, and glance around her to the other’s. If Lou looked their way at all, her eyes would be warm and inviting, her tail beckoning should the fae find any courage. She’d spot Tide too, and if she could reach the fae, she’d give her noggin a nuzzle and lick

Loumacy lay across the blanket of snow, amber eyes looking far and distant, not looking at anyone in paticular but her ears still perked and twitched and rotated like radars to sounds both near and far, real and seemingly unreal, occasionally settling on the lore to be told. She seemed a bit out of it, but was trying to be present atleast physically. Some days were better than others, today seemed one for the worse in regards to her psychosis.

Ophaelos  .ೃ࿐ The brute would tilt his head as he listens to Rook’s tale, adding further to the layers of the story. When Fianna would stamp her paw, he would too—mostly out of habit, perhaps. There was a large amount of thoughtfulness in his gaze as he looked over everyone, curious of what they, too, felt about the tale. If he were honest, he was sort of jealous of the trio. A seasoned traveler such as himself has seen plenty of sights, some of them being unbelievable and bizarre, and others simply breathtaking. From the way they describe their journey, Ophaelos can’t help but feel a mixture of all of the above. But, considering his explorative nature, one couldn’t help but be envious of their travel. What a sight to behold, and what a burden to bear, being a verse-haver and all… his eyes would find Saskia’s dark frame, his gaze thoughtful and curious all the same. What weight did these three carry, and what does it mean to bare their verses? Questions o’plenty, all to be reserved until he can get some time with her . *ೃ༄

Rook The extended silence would be as much a sign as any that the time to share story, Lore, and song had ended at least for now. “Well, I think that concludes tonight’s Lore Night then. We may have a few added tales here and there as the night progresses, but I will not keep you” Rook would stamp his paw to the snowy ground below and make to depart from the gathered few and find a spot nearer the river to the north.