somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

When it came down to it, Olive had never been a passive woman. She had always worked tirelessly in pursuit of the things she wanted — the things the gods wanted — calculating, thinking, assessing what might be the most effective, and where her efforts were best placed. Since her communion with Tiberius, and their decision to bring this vision of a pack, a lawful family, to life — she had been thinking of how she might best serve their mission.

She had asked the Gods, but they only spoke in whispers and riddles. Olive largely attributed to the fact that she now permanently resided in her holy place, which had been previously reserved for those sacrosanct moments that now eluded her. The forward momentum that Tiberius experienced and executed upon was stymied within Olive by this, and the slight sprain to her foot, and the unending nausea that ravaged her every morning, as well as every time she looked upon the carcass animal that was meant for food. If she could barely eat, then how could she expected herself to find their perfect eden; the safest haven for their family?

Still, the idea that there was a limited number of days before their pups were born was a great motivating factor. If there was one thing Olive had learned as a midwife, it was that pregnancy went quickly; and that new motherhood was all-consuming. With this thought lighting a fire beneath her paws, Olive went north on a short excursion to the parts of the tundra that brushed against the northern edge of the Elsewhen and the Everfrost. She knew that Tiberius's nature would have him ranging far and wide; leave it to her to carefully scour the nearby lands and see what lay right beneath their noses.

Nose to the horizon and chewing a bit of ginger root to stave off the flipping of her stomach, Olive traveled the perpetually frozen landscape, making mental notes of all things of interest.

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A boy, a yearling fresh from the grasp of his parental pack, lay unconscious in the grass of the tundra. His body was frozen, shivering, hypothermia slowly settling into every vein of his being. How did he get there? His eyes fluttered shut and his jaw clenched in frustration. He sniffled as his nose ran but could do little more as he was past the point of wanting to move.

Such was life he supposed, ready to give into the icy grip of death.

It grew warmer the closer he got to the frosted gates.

It felt... Comforting.

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Honestly, there wasn't much here that Olive hadn't already seen. Her last six months had been in Cloudrest and every-so-often absconding to the frosts, and she found that she had already assessed every nook and cranny of the southern tundra in the previous week, albeit only in mind alone. The woman huffed as her eyes, admittedly lazily, swept the landscape and she internally bemoaned the fact that the perfect oasis hadn't somehow magically presented itself to her, right then and there.

Slowly, the ashen woman's trot came to a jolty stop, as she was suddenly overcome with exhaustion; the likes of which she had honestly never felt before. Olive's higher mind knew this was a common symptom of new pregnancy, knew this fact well even — but it was still all-consuming, and Olive's breath came fast and her body felt utterly expended. Resigned to stalling her search for the night (but not bemoaning it in the least), Olive put her nose to the air to see if there was any fresh, running water nearby. Instead, she scented a wolf.

The woman, attention piqued, glanced about her surroundings, not immediately seeing another wolf — but, actually, there he was, lying upon the alpine grasses looking somehow more tired than she. Enticed to action, curiosity trumping exhaustion, Olive meandered over and let out a low and slow "Hellooo?" to test whether this yearling was in any mood for visitors. He seemed to be shivering, and Olive rolled her tongue against her top palate, uncertainty rising in her throat. The more she looked at him, the more he looked akin to death.

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A voice hummed in the abyss behind his eyes, but all Romeo could muster in response was a low groan. He was so tired as he lay on the floor, his breathing slow and somewhat laboured. He lifted his head, taking his time as if it weighed a tonne before peeling open his muddled gaze.

Who had spoken to him? Romeo couldn't see them, his vision disorientated. 

"Heh-lo?" he slurred, searching for the source of the melody.

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The young man barely moved, uttering a hushed syllable into the grasses, and Olive's concern was immediately piqued. She stepped closer, jutting her black-button nose forward, giving a few cursory sniffs to assess the patient for disease. He smelled no worse for wear, although his scent was distinctly different than anything she had smelt before, or anything around these whereabouts — her ultra-sensitive pregnancy nose could have easily sniffed out anything off, but there was none. Not even blood.

But his energy was weak — she stepped closer again, watching the rise-fall of his scalloped ribs, and listening to the fair whisper of his breath. "My name is Olive," she introduce with a voice that was solid, to attempt to rouse him, and give him some sort of sensation to grasp onto. "Are you alright?" she questioned, still uncertain about what circumstances had sapped this creature of his inner fire in such a way. "I am a healer," the woman suggested kindly, hopefully giving the wolf the comfort he needed, and knowledge that he was now safe.

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