Wearing a warning sign,

territory discovery!
Surrounded by redwood, oaks, birches, maples, pines and the like, the forest is tucked near the mountain and closely hangs next to the river, as well as home to a massive herd of elk that lay within. There one can spot the King of them all, a large 8-pointed monarch that is said to protect his forest, and truly a grand sight to see. There, is what wolves call King Elk Forest.

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While she was alone, the rage in her heart did not blow out, nor' did the greed that came with. Her brother may be gone, but the legacy that she would give in his honor would not. How she had despised what had taken her, and how much she should've listened to her family members. In her heart, the Déorwine vowed that she would give him what he deserved, to whome touched her brother. The White Elk that may not even be here, but she knew the ways that they always have done; the devils colors. Originally was the one reigning ruler of the forest wanting peace for the purpose of expanding the horizons of Kingslend.. She still wants so. The power that came and the security she would get; yet the peace she wanted between the two were no more. Her hatred for those of that kind had grown.

Célnes couldn't help but laugh, as Calhoun was always right. The model citizen, and someone she scorned with jealousy.. It was a shame she could not give the burial she had desired, but in the end, she was given the heavenly punishment.

Now, she had to rebuild.

Here did she lie, with a forest so similar to her homeland that she nearly thought it was so. In the distance between the trees could she see the mountains, and the plains that peaked far from where she stood. Perhaps it was destiny to awaken in this place, but even then, she could trade it all if it meant getting her brother back. She knew her youngest siblings were alive, even if the whereabouts were unknown.. But Cenric, would never return.

Skulking through the forest, she could clearly smell the inhabitants of the deer that a Déorwine would oh-so worship, and even now, she held firmly held onto the name. She shared it with her brother, and would no longer abandon the name in spite.

Here, would she lay reign.

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I have warned them
          I have warned them
I have spoken the words of the King
                   I have held nothing from them
       nothing from them
this burden lifts from me
         death is the wage of a prophet, Graeme
tears his currency
      they may despise you but you must carry this
His antlers, His warnings, His words...

The haze of sleep unravelled and lifted; the vision fled, and Graeme uncurled from the tight ball he had squeezed himself into through the long watches of the night. Glaedwine had spoken of this place, across a veil he could not cross. But the prophet had walked with him into the mist as far as both could go, until the sound of footfalls sunk to only one, and Graeme had known that he was alone.

He had felt fear before, but never so much as in that moment. He had wished for Melba, prayed that Glaedwine might come with him. But his prayers were met with what seemed like indifference, though he knew such thoughts were blasphemy.

The great tines surrounded him. They felt seemingly out of place. He was so used to seeing them around a figure much larger, much darker than he. Glaedwine had rivalled them in size and majesty. Graeme felt entirely dwarfed and altogether insufficient for the great task the High One had given him.

The Deorwines were here, and judgment had not left them. He knew he was close. Graeme tasted the scent of one of the Monarchs nearby - and he shivered. He did not wish to do this -- he wished to go back -- he was no prophet, no mouthpiece. He was hardly even a Deorwine, hardly even blessed.

'When you cross the veil, you must call for her,' Glaedwine had said.

And he thought about doing that, he really did, as he found solace within the tines, and kept his mouth silent.
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Though, she could not simply less the scent pass by, especially as it was the first to be scented in this land. She was curious on who were the natives, faintly remembering of Whitebark Stream before their demise, and wonder if it was a loner, or someone like the others. How she mourned slightly over Germanicus, a wonderous guard who could not join her so, and even her brother.. May he rest in peace, could not come to her side. Truly, Célnes had to rely upon herself.

Nontheless, a role was to be taken. A smile upon her face with glinted eyes as she put paws forward to cross the barrier between whoever the stranger was. Through the trees, did she note, and the various birds that cawed in her path. Though, Célnes could not help but feel a strain, as it was not one who she expected, and even worse, a witch. Perhaps warlock was a better term, but a white Déorwine, was the worst of it all.

"Graeme.. I'm surprised you are here. A forest so similar to our home, is it a coincidence the High Elk has done this?" A perfect replica. To the plains beyond and the mountain close, and the forest they both stood in. A smaller, perfect version.

And she too, distantly away, with a perfect smile.

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He did not uncurl himself from where he hid within the tines. Footfalls drew nearer. No doubt, she caught his scent.

Eyes of burnt umber flickered upward to meet the approach of the Blessed, in whose eyes he was a stench and reproach. Graeme knew no other life than to be that. Celnes had always been different, with her words of honey and butter. Running along the napes of the Cursed, and bending their spines beneath her beautiful and empty pleasantries.

Or so Glaedwine had described her.

Graeme simply swallowed, and his eyes fluttered away at the pounding of his heart he was sure she could hear. And if not his heart, then the rattle of his body within the tines as he shivered with that all familiar fear.

Surprisingly, he spoke. "There is no coincidence with the High Elk," despite his shaking, his quiet voice came strong, and he felt as though carried by something greater than he. Was Glaedwine right? Was He with him now? He didn't know if the thought soothed him or simply shook him more, and he continued, "Do you believe this is a blessing?"
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"Perhaps not you, but he has blessed this place." With a smile did she reply smoothly, she held no malice in her voice and whether he took it like that was up to him, but internally she knew perfectly what they meant.

Slightly though, was she irked how he refused to move himself. Célnes moved closer as she walked toward him, and there did her fire-lit eyes narrowed upon what was locked around his neck. Oh-so familiar, for a moment she did not realize so until better near.

"Were you blessed, or did you sin?"

To kill to gain, or given by a distant cousin. She wondered where Glaedwine was at this moment. Black always better then white.

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Her words stung him, like they always did, and his ears tipped back. If he had done some wrong, then perhaps for that, he might have atoned, but his only wrong was bearing a coat stripped of the colours of the holy. Celnes did not need an edge to her voice, for him to know that he was not welcome here.

The tines around him felt like a noose when her eyes fell upon them. If only he might shed them. But they were his now, his burden to carry, prophecies of years past, etched in the tongues spoken by angels.

And Glaedwine had passed them to him.

"I have not sinned," he said, quiet again, "Glaedwine has given these to me," he still did not fully understand this land that he had come to, only that it was similar but so very different than the one he had come from. This forest might have been Kingslend - if it had not been so lush, and verdant, so unstained from fire - and yet, so empty.
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"I have not seen him for quite some time." The man in question was seen once before they travelled to their new home, but since she saw his figure walk away, Célnes had not spotted the man since. He was not technically related to her, as being Calhoun and Corliss's cousin, but she thought of him as a cousin, despite the colors he held, "nor' anyone else."

Once upon a time, she thought those of the lighter pelts could be accepted as well. With such thoughts, she had been punished.

"The High Elk would not be pleased to see you without prayers- be wary in this forest." her eyes may be cold, but never would she drop her honey-coated smile. She warned the white Déorwine, for if he did not pray, his children will not be blessed, nor' he, in the next life.

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Glaedwine had told him that he had found their kin within a new land. Graeme assumed that must have been the last time she had seen the Bringer of Omens, because he had not carried the scent of anything but barrenness when he had found him.

He had not seen anyone else, either. But then, he had only just awoken. The fires had scattered them, and somehow, Celnes had ended up here. In a place Graeme could not quite understand, save for the murmurings Glaedwine had passed to him, as to what this place was. And even then, Graeme had not fully understood; he did not grasp what had transpired, only that he had not been near this forest when Glaedwine had left him, nor had the Bringer's tines been around his neck.

"I know the High Elk hears me," his voice was soft, and his head, still lowered in such submission. Yet there was a surety to his words, and a tremor, "and He... He has spoken to me." He was afraid, afraid of Celnes and the coldness in her eyes, afraid of Celnes, and her smile that disarmed him. But be not wary, the High Elk had said, and be not afraid.

For he had found favour with Him.
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"Has he?" Jealousy may of twang inside, for she still remembers how Calhoun, and Rohesia would always hear him so. She never found the right ways to 'connect' to him, or read the signs he brought to them so. In a way, some would think that was a failure of a Déorwine. Célnes could only hone her other skillset.

"Forgiveness? Perhaps a holy light to be seen? The blessing of him so- but none may matter, if another cannot see so." She questioned his hearing, though not too many would do so. The elk woman remembered the lies were sinful, and unheard of, and usually taken with trust and truth. Though at the moment, she could not trust someone of his liking.

Especially if she cannot see the truth as well.

Though she also questioned, why out of all family, he was the first to be seen in this new land. Maybe that itself, was the sign, but Célnes held doubt.

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He tucked his head in a bow-like nod. Unable, at the moment, to eke out the simple, 'he has' another might have found simple to afford. His tongue felt dry and stuck to his throat. When had his voice meant anything, to any of the Deorwines? While many of his oppressors had perished in the flames, honey-sweet Celnes still managed to embody them all.

Did she not believe him? Her words were like a riddle, but he caught the meaning well enough. She did think him a curse, and his heart wilted; why had the High Elk chosen him? What had made Him think that Celnes would listen to someone not like her, to someone like him?

But he had to speak; he was compelled to. With great effort, and head still bowed in deference, he said, "I have." Because for every doubt, he knew what he had heard. For he had not only heard the High Elk, but had seen Him, and had fallen beneath the throes of His light. And here, he trembled. "He has given me words for you."
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In a time, did she hold a soft spot for those deemed cursed. Though not for the best cause, for many knew Célnes with her sweet-words and saving of the unwanted within Kingslend; but all was just for her own selfish desires. Power that her father would never have, and the comfort in numbers as a sanctuary of her wolves to come through fruit. She would throw away all the that she knew about their family, if it was for that very cause. Even if it meant accepting one's like Graeme, and long ago, like the white wolf Elijay.

However, as time went on, and tragedy stuck, she could not help but dive further into the prejudice against them. For it wasn't for the curse that was always brought with them, perhaps her brother, Cenric, would be alive. Her paws dug into the ground, as he continued to speak that the High Elk had words for her.

"Pray tell, what does he say?" Smile felt colder as her face almost crinkled into madness, but she held firm.

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