he has to have us put to death & we have to bury our brother;

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tags for awareness!

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How strange it was that Olive was feeling similarly, and yet, how perfectly it made sense; the two women who called Cloudrest home, each the head of their small family units, the two who exerted influence between the mountains, the two who now ached and craved for another to complete the sacred dynamic of masculine and feminine; perhaps less so thinly veiled in their similar preference to those who dwarf them, and cloak their pale hides in a sidereal darkness.

Though for Olive, this was a near-constant thing, and she was unaware that she might be exerting an effect on the only other adult female presence here, or they upon she. An ancestral midwife, the call to bear and steward new generations was writ deep in her soul; she practiced it with an adept hand, honed not only through practice but through experimentation upon oneself. She had been a mother in other lives, but in this one, she had yet to bore children. This glaring erasure in her knowledge of birthwork perturbed her, but she was not one to force things. All things came in time, and if she actually never bore children in this life, then that was her sentence, purpose, and karma to bear.

When this subject came to mind, often Olive's next thought was that of @Tiberius — but these were fanciful musings that she allowed herself to indulge in, knowing his genes and demeanor to be of the utmost, superior quality. Parenthood, however, was a far more complex subject, and not one easily broached by two partners not tied through matehood. She wondered what he thought, what she meant to him, what he meant to her, what he would make of her polyamorous inclinations... Far less fluid than matehood, was packhood. A pack and support she had in droves, which perhaps made these musings not-so-faraway as the gamine sylph might have assumed.

However, these thoughts were intermingled with many other concerns, such as the welfare of @benry, and general curiosity about the ghostly woman Riannon. She did not encounter the latter often, so when she found her resting upon soft furs, Olive did not immediately turn away as she might had with others in repose. Instead, the waif drifted closer wordlessly, attempting to read the woman's aura and mood, determining if her company was welcome.

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Olive never knew what she expected from her alphess. It was supremely uncomfortable, whatever it was; there was a draw and a tie that seemed, most time, to have otherworldly origins. It was pulled taut and frayed whenever the two were apart, but together, somehow such fraying was not soothed — instead, it was enlightening in an entirely different way. This not only kept the woman tied to Riannon, both energetically and spiritually, but kept her questioning about the quiet, pale leader and what she meant to her.

No words were offered. After all, what was there to say? Some inane greeting or platitude — there simply was no need for it. Nothing that could be explored between them needed to be actively probed now; and, quite honestly, would happen on a metaphysical level even if they didn't actively see after it. Despite the carnal wants and needs that threatened to pull her elsewhere, for however short a time, the sylph would glide forward on ghost-like feet to circle 'round and lay abreast the woman who look so much like her mirror; in face, not in scars, but in melancholy.

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Olive is almost surprised, when the woman offers her a touch. She froze — but only for a moment, before she acquiesces and thaws somewhat underneath her nose. She is then receptive and accepts what is offered; for Olive knew that the plight of happiness was comparison and expectation, neither of which she would engage with here. She allowed herself to be strummed like a harp, and very much felt the music that resulted.

The other woman's chin came to rest in the crook of her shoulder blades, and Olive's eyes fluttered open and her chin dipped down as she looked behind at Riannon, her tail giving a single twitch and then lying still. "Thank you," she whispered, in a somewhat hushed awkwardness, because she oh-so-very-much wanted to hear a word, even if it was her very own. The midwife was eager to reciprocate, but did not want to assume. Instead, she sat in the silence that always came after the utterance of a statement for which she sought no true response.

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Something flashed across the other's face, though Olive couldn't conceive of what it is. A woman so layered, she had conquered Cloudrest on a mother's whim that went unexplained, and harbored stories she never spoke. Olive saw so much of herself in Riannon, but perhaps that was in visage and mien alone; for Olive had not the bravery to claim a mountain and fend off others, and she had not yet been made a mother and felt such a protective longing.

Perhaps Riannon was such a mystery not because there was anything veiled (although there were lifetimes and timelines that went latent and unrealized), but because she was everything that Olive longed to be — and so much more.

This led her to utter her next question. "How do you see me best serving Frostchant?" she murmured in a muted hush, so quiet that she wasn't sure if it was a thought of her voice. Olive wasn't necessarily the best 'pack wolf' one could ask for; she wandered and caused mischief, and longed to know other peoples and other cultures. She pressed her lips together and allowed her tail to twitch virilely on the earth, starkly opposing the softness of her voice.

"I want to be..." she breathed. "an asset."

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