when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
Dayé had been raised in silence.
There had been no soothing words to spill from her mother’s soft lips; only croonings and the soft purr of the lioness’ throat against the wolf pup’s bristling neck, or the warning click of a growl when the young girl grown too independent too quickly. There are few words shared between her and the other equines she has met as she has grown into a young woman - her voice is soft yet sturdy, using it only when absolutely necessary. The horses of Beqanna were not too keen on using body language to interpret inner thoughts and Dayé had quickly adjusted when her solitary life with her mother became one of numerous others in a small kingdom.
It is why she runs from Loess now - trekking into the autumn-glazed forests that are alive with cold mists and bitter wind; the bustle of a kingdom sometimes proves too much for the young woman, and she finds herself searching for the silence of the great woods to soothe her aching mind.
The dusty-rose wolf is large (nearly full grown, and much like her father) but slender - lithe, nimble. There is no heaviness in the way her padded paws gracefully find their way through thicket and bramble, leaping over strewn roots and scattered logs, the smell of damp forest air already permeating into her skin. She can breathe easier here when she is alone and Dayé is thankful that Wolfbane seems to understand that part of her. Her half-brother knows that her disappearances are short-lived and always purposeful - the Ranger of Loess sneaks through shadow and tree, catching whispers of conversations or sight of things meant to stay a secret. She never found her information to be truly interesting, but it always seems to help with the politics of her kingdom and she enjoyed the smile it brought to her brother.
Today, however, Dayé comes across a sight she finds interesting. The wolf’s dark nutmeg eyes catch a flash of sunset orange - a brilliant shade amongst the green and black of the forest. She lifts her snout, shining black nostrils widening. The scent is somehow familiar (it reminded her of mother, in some distant way) and that is all that is needed to propel the canine forward, giving chase to the larger animal that had only just brushed past her. Dayé settles into a speed that keeps her far enough away from the large cat (it was not a hunt, after all) but close enough to keep a curious eye on her. She did not attempt to hide herself as she trails quickly behind the feline, because part of her instinct begged to be found out. A certain kinship keeps the wolf close, despite the difference in species.
Dayé can always recognize a shifter.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
@[Sochi]
I couldn't resist
