nobody, not even the rain

The injury she had incurred to her back foot was more of a nuisance, than anything. It had been painful and feeling as if consumed by fire for a day or two, but at this point, it had settled into a type of ambivalent ache that only really came to life if she put too much pressure on it. So Olive stayed in the Elsewhen for about close to a week, laying still, mulling over the happenings in her life —

and my, there were many things to mull over.

For the most part, Tiberius had departed on yet another mission in the Tundra, to find and secure an aegis for them to raise them family within. Though she was more than happy to see her shining knight off on such a holy pursuit, she still felt restless that she did not know where he was, or what he was doing. Thus was the nature of a wild partnership such as theirs, Olive supposed. She would never truly know what occupied his days; she could only trust that he had the best interest of their future family in mind and heart. She tried not to think about Riannon, and the family she had left behind.

Tiberius's absence was made easier by the knowledge that his progeny grew within her, which enervated her and gave unto her the drive & desire to stay in high spirits, not only for her sake, but for the small souls that found a cosmic shelter within her. Once she could manage it, the grayscale waif shuffled and limped out of the forest that consumed the Elsewhen, following the winding valleys between mountains to make the travel easier on her tense, tight musculature.

The shewolf eventually came to a land of flowers and Olive, knowing a good thing when she saw it, promptly pirouetted and laid down amongst the moss and the clover, indulging in a well-sought rest.

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It had been quite some time since Ragnar had come into these mountains along the great range. Last he had known, Windmere was here, though Ragnar had found out fron his feathered friend that a wolf traveling in this land had heard of no Windmere. Ragnar with curiosity of the former pack, came to find his thoughts had been truthful- Windmere and those which called themselves such, were gone.

The hollow was a lovely place, encircled by mountains and as he traveled more inward he would be met with an open and flat valley littered in wildflowers. The scent was overwhelming, the number of types far beyond Ragnar's knowledge in medicines. It would be a healers paradise, he thought.

The viking lacked the delicacy, patience or care for the trade though could appreciate it as he strolled on. Maybe some few members remained somewhere. Maybe he could offer then home within Northfall. Instead, he found Olive, slumbering in the flowing grasses. He firstly cleared his throat as his announcement of his arrival. He didn't wish to give her a fright.
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Olive was resting, but she wasn't sleeping. She heard the man in his approach, at which she peeled open the corner of her eye, wondering if this might be another passing through and not worth rousing for — only when a far-more intentional clearing of the throat came to summon her attention, did she lift her head and settle a sleepy gaze upon the other.

She recognized him as Ragnar from scent before sight (didn't flowery fields make everyone feel this drowsy...?) and when she did, her eyes widened to accommodate the full sight of him, and she smiled a toothy smile at him. "Ragnar," she greeted with a fondness reserved for few; only the few that she held personally responsible for her preservation. The pale sylph rose to stand, unfurling herself like a white dove preparing to take flight, giving her spine a brief stretch that waved down to the tip of her tail.

Olive came closer, limping even as she was; and she bumped a shoulder against his in friendly greeting, having seen him at the wedding but not having the time to talk much more than business. But the stormborn warrior was here and he was here now; and Olive knew she could not control when the universe gave her gifts, she could only receive them graciously whenever they did come. Perhaps Tiberius would find land closer to Northfall to settle Duskguard — perhaps wandering into one another would no longer be an occasional happening.

"Elysium's wedding softened me too much," she confessed to him wryly, circling back around to face him. "I am a full-blown romantic now; I can't even pass by a field of flowers without being overtaken by its beauty..."

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Lazily she would rouse herself, turning her head to him only to offer a widened gaze and greeting. His tail waves behind him to the warmth of her voice and his front paws give a happy canine stomp as she lifted up and shook a stretch out from her spine to the tip of her tail.

He would watch her come to him, taking note of her limp though speaking not of it, not yet at least. He prods at her nape when she draws near and bumps her shoulder to his own and chuckles at her words with a shaking of his head. “Are you now?” He asks rhetorically through the laugh. “Okay I admit, it was very nicely put together. Can't say I've ever been to one before.” He admitted as he lifted his head, scanning the mountains around the Hollow.

He sat and gave a 'humphh'. “Do you know what happened to the Windmere?”
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He answered in a good-natured manner, commenting about how adept the Elysium guild had been at hosting such a lavish affair. Truly, even for a woman who considered herself quite cultured and well-traveled, it had been something to behold — the events that happened afterwards, including the conversation about Northfall & Dragonford, and Valeska’s near-traumatic birth, had been decidedly less glamorous (and made her appreciate the light-hearted memories made at the wedding that much more). He asked about Windmere, a pack that had also saved her from the walrus. Olive fell quiet for a moment, a thousand thoughts flitting through her mind, each one demanding attention.
 
But there was nothing to share with Ragnar but her honest truth.
 
Olive drew a breath, perhaps a little too seriously for the moments prior. “Indeed, I do not.” she answered, honestly half-surprised that she was in Windmere’s territory to begin with. She hadn’t been overly familiar with them, though she had greatly desired to thank the healer who was present to treat her, post-rescue. She simply hadn’t known where to look. This, in essence, was another stalk stemming from the same root system that had been causing her issue for some time now.
 
The woman glanced towards Ragnar, a terse brow denoted how deeply her ignorance pained her. “Ragnar, I have strong values which I have not heeded for some time…” she admitted, quickly realizing how ominous that must sound to one who couldn’t hear her internal monologue. “When I first came to these lands, I too easily bought into the visions of others. I allowed them to decide my priorities, and did — or didn't do — whatever they bade. She was certain that Ragnar was all-too-aware of the incident she alluded to: when Northfall’s cry for help fell upon deaf ears in Cloudrest, the information being choked off from everyone below the highest seat. Riannon’s decisions had made Olive’s bed for her, and now she was lying in it mess of it, trying to make sense of conflicting ideals that were not her own.
 
Olive sought to never be in such a situation again. The green-eyed waif sighed, rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck. “I have such a deep desire to be aware of all that I am connected to; the good and the bad; to play my part in its intricate web.” At this, she laughed a soft, minute sound. She figured Ragnar would know this desire well, as he was clearly born to helm a pack. He, of all people, knew what role he was meant to play, and he did so with gusto.
 
Slowly, Olive’s own path was uncovering itself. “It’s why Tiberius and I intend to found Duskguard together, in the Tundra.” Maybe Ragnar had already known this, maybe he didn’t; the topic wasn’t discussed in the haze of post-wedding politics. If anything, at least he now knew where she stood, making her intentions and desires known.

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They were gone, but to where, Olive nor Ragnar knew. In fact, it seemed as though the wolves who called Cloudrest home were growing more dormant all the same, their scents fading... Those had been here when Ragnar arrived were already moving on.

Ragnar said nothing about the Windmere any more, though had thought this open valley, surrounded by mountains, was quite the beautiful spot to call home. Ragnar too wouldn't mind to call it his own, had he not become too attached to life near the coast (and Sindri unwilling to live anywhere but).

Olive and Ragnar were both playful and happy with one another in these moments and moments past, though would be left to wonder if their alliance would be as one-sided and empty-pawed as the last. Northfall would defend their allies, their friends, to the death. Would they sacfrice the same for them? It was too easy to use someone's strengths for their own benefit when chivalry no longer worked. Ragnar still ever patiently waited for the moments when vengeance was beneficial for them. Maybe Northfall should not be so openly helpful...a bitterness hissed at him from the mouth of Sindri.

Olive recalled these things now. She had spoken before, too, that she had no idea... but would it have mattered? If Olive refused to support Northfall now if it meant getting bloodied paws, what would have made a difference then? He had thought to ask her this, wanted to ask her this... where a blooming friendship once lie, where he felt he could be open with her, was now filled with doubt and regection. He could not help to think if he did not appease those within Elysium and this newly establishing Duskguard, they would see Northfall as the monsters and instead turn tooth and claw to them in favor of their enemy, which had grasped itself onto them like a leech.

“The wolves of Cloudrest are loosing a good wolf...” The words murmured from his lips, almost mechanical. It was true to see the Ragnar was trying to play the role of a 'good boy' and the fake smile which he wore was beginning to crack. Though Ragnar had hopes to find some good in their idea for a court hearing, Ragnar's faith (and patience) was slipping.
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Olive gazed at her friend, and across his visage crossed nothing and everything, at the same time. Both of the two wolves were skilled in their politics and hiding their true feelings behind a visage; both wolves doubting the other, but not wishing to say so or make any assumption. It was often mystifying to Olive, how this new calling — this rising up — in her life encouraged her to experience all things on multiple levels. There was Olive the lover, Olive the leader, Olive the mother, the priestess, the visionary, the wounded, the conflicted. They all must co-exist, though not placidly, at times. Which ever lay closest to her surface and exposed upon her exterior, must be carefully chosen.
 
Either way, the past couldn’t be changed. Evenrise’s inaction to Northfall’s (perceived) overreaction — this did not dictate their futures, or how the relationship between Ragnar and Olive would progress personally, or as Northfall and Duskguard professionally. It was the beauty of free will, and this idea that the northern wolves had conspired to create — this court, which might allow for the worst of both Ragnar and Olive’s natures to be stymied. This was a way forward that might possibly bridge the rifts that had formed amongst these many packs, named Northfall, Dragonford, Evenrise, and Duskguard.
 
Or this is what Olive’s positive nature wanted to believe.
 
It was impossible to ignore the succinct words that he chose to speak, and the lack of warmth in his voice. Perhaps once she might have been saddened that her friendship with Ragnar was strained in the name of the greater good, but now Olive saw it as a necessary sacrifice to ensure that she stood for something — anything. The priestess sat down, momentarily relieving the pressure on her aching heel, looking out beyond the expanse of vivid blooms.
 
“What dreams do you long for, Ragnar?”

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It seemed as of now, while time and more time passed, the idea of a court to dictate the actions of the packs had only brought the budding friendship and alliances into a rift, instead of bringing the North together as it intended. If Northfall lost their allies in this war, what truly had they lost from allies who had done nothing for them? Ragnar had given them death and had given them life, all with a want for these gifts to be returned. Still, nothing.

Ragnar had given them a time frame, a year since his daughter's murder. It was more then enough that he could offer.

Sindri would have called him a fool, but he knew her better not to even if she felt it so. Much of Ragnar's attention had been upon the horizon, always with itchy paws, always wide eyed and his sights to beyond. To know everyone. Know everything. Be known. Maybe, he should have been placing his trust efforts more so unto his pack then to those outside of it.

A damned fool.

“I want to be remembered. I want my family's name, Stormborn, to be remembered.” He breathes out heavily, his pale eyes cast to Olive and then outward- behind her, around her, at it all. “I want the family large and loved, admired, even feared. I want our stories told through the generations of our deeds- victories over great and evil beasts, our blood shed for our allies, beautiful and enriching lands we have founded through our explorations.” Already the process had begun. They had found Northfall, a land of both forest, mountains and beaches. They had fought walrus and boar and did so along allies like tiger, cougar and polar bear. Things never heard of in other realms.

He smiles then, ever softly, and it is genuine as it is sent Olive's way. As it was the day they met. “I feel I should return home...” A murmur and he lifts, taking a few steps before pausing, awaiting her last words before he returned to the coastal mountains of home.
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His desires were not unlike most people's. Live a long life, that was full of happiness, and left a strong legacy in its wake — no one could ever blame him for wanting such a thing. It was at this moment that Olive felt a sort of strange gratitude that she had not been born Viking, or of whatever harsh north Riannon hailed from. It seemed such a brutal way to live and survive, that capitalized upon the worst the corporeal world had to offer.

At least Ragnar listened to reason — not all would, the Priestess easily recognized. 

She returned the warmth of his smiled, acknowledging his departure. It was nice to know that, at the very least, there were these cordialities between them. This she could live with, though it wasn't her ideal. Olive had always been particularly partial to close, familial types of relationships — now that she had a pack of her own to care for, she saw the necessary container that boundaries provided. The shakti-woman gave her head a nod. "The future feels bright, Ragnar Stormborn.” she said, meaning every word of it.

Bidding Ragnar adieu with a touch of her nose to his shoulder, she added "Have a wonderful summer. Certainly, we will be seeing each other soon.” and watched the man leave. The sylph would not leave the fields at this moment, as she would choose to rest her ankle a moment longer before limping back towards the Elsewhen; but this afforded her much to to thing about the nature of diplomacy, and how priorities were ever-shifting.

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