The Songs of Thunder Gorge [Lore/WIP/Read Only]

This story references Little Creek from the Fester Pack.
While this pack seems to have gone inactive, I did promise Doctor a ghost story.
~Happy Halloween~

The Specter  - How Verdandi decided to retire from Scout duty - Mid Autumn, Year 1

Fog clung to the waterlogged trunks of cypress trees and poplars, and hung low over the mucky, squishy, reedy ground. Verdandi took each step carefully, lips pulled back in both disgust and to catch any scent on the breeze. She was half glad for the cool cover of night - her thick black fur would be too much of a hinderance in the full sun of mid-autumn, she figured - but the muggy darkness made her uneasy.

Her paw settled in a muddy patch with a squelch, and something wriggled underneath it. She backed up a pace, wary of the potential for a snake to lash out. Whatever it was squirmed away through the swamp grass.

Verdandi shook herself. This place gave her the creeps, but she owed it to Saga and Gandr to figure out what was out here. The herbalist could make good use of the various medicinal plants hidden among the scraggly shrubs and stands of reeds. Already she'd spotted patches of turmeric and an odd blue flower that Gandr had told her to look for. She didn't dare try to take them back herself, though; only Gandr and Saga knew how to properly gather healing herbs without making a complete mess of things. No, instead her job was to find the dry paths, make mental notes of the terrain, and try her best not to get eaten. 

A log sank under the water out in deeper waters. Verdandi's hackles went up. That was no log.

She continued on away from the water, keeping her ears and eyes peeled for any movement, and her nose keen to any scent. She had figured, given the general dryness of mid-autumn, that it would have been easier to find places to stand without being up to her dewclaws in water. No such luck. The driest places seemed to be the exposed roots of trees that sometimes jutted up over the grass. She found herself grumbling quietly. Not like anyone would be able to hear her over the incessant chirping and croaking of frogs and toads and whatever else was out there.

Verdandi found a lone solid rock and scrambled up on top of it. She shook herself off again. It was like the fog clung to her fur even though there was little real moisture on her pelt. When she settled again, she made note of her surroundings, scenting and watching. The faintest hint of wolf-smell came to her, along with fox, deer, and something else she couldn't quite identify yet, all of it undercut by the familiar smell of peat bog and a less-familiar brackish tang.

A shape caught her eye in a patch of exposed mud. Wolf tracks. They seemed recent, too, though the scent was faint. She hopped down from the rock to get a better whiff, and sank her own paw next to one of the prints. Comparing the two, it looked like whoever had left the mystery tracks was smaller, or lighter. Lighter-footed anyway, and probably more adept at traversing through sludge than Verdandi - or anyone else from Thunder Gorge, for that matter. All of the wolves she'd met in the north were thick-furred and stocky, powerful hunters and naturally braced against the cold seasons in the mountains. This wolf was not one of theirs.

She continued on, slinking as best she could while keeping her nose down and her eyes up. The trail wound through the muck, seemingly without care for how much the slop stuck between one's claws. Verdandi shuddered, but suppressed the urge to shake off her coat again. It was just the fog.

A chill made her hackles raise, as movement nearby caught her attention. She stopped in her tracks and stared off into the mist, between obscured trees and tall weeds. For a brief moment she wished Angrboda was the one out here, instead. The big brown wolf seemed unshaken by everything the world could throw at her, and seemed like she could scare off a grizzly if pressed. Verdandi, by contrast, knew she was smaller, probably weaker, and in spite of trying to act tough around the rest of the pack, truly didn't do well on her own. She knew Draugr could see that lie in her posture whenever she walked back to the cave, and could almost feel his judgment from all the way out here.

Movement again. Verdandi's heart leapt, then calmed when she realized it was just a heron poking through the reeds looking for fish. Seeing it, she figured it must be nearly dawn, but with the fog it was hard to tell.

Something darted between the trees farther out, and she froze. It might have been a fox, or a cat. They tended to be awake at this hour. And all hours. She couldn't help but think of the wolf tracks under her feet, though when she looked down to confirm what direction they'd gone in, she found them gone. Covered by her own, no doubt, but it still made her fur bristle and her paws itch to run. She turned her ears toward where she'd seen the movement, but couldn't pick out anything but frogs. Must have been a cat, then. Quiet little beasts.

Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to look. Her guts turned to ice.

Two pale dots shone out of the foggy shade by a tree, set in a dark and smoky face. Fog curled around the figure, blurring its outline and making it seem as though it too was roiling with the mist. The wolf was tall, gaunt-looking, and lean, and stood with its head bowed and pale ears turned threateningly toward her. It watched her, unmoving, unblinking. No scent of it lingered on the breeze, as though it was more a swamp spirit than a wolf.

Verdandi heard a splash to her left and yipped as terror zapped down her spine. It was just the heron catching a small frog. When she turned back, the wolf was gone, but she could still feel its eyes on her, somewhere. She started to back away, tail tucked between her legs. Something bounded through the swamp in front of her, swift as though it was running on hard soil, not mush. And it made no sound that she could find.

She turned and bolted as fast as she could, panting against the humidity and not stopping until she'd returned to the safety of dry land, and the river that would lead her home. When she finally got out of the trees, she shook herself and paced, though her legs trembled with fright and exertion.

When it became clear that nothing had followed her, Verdandi headed home. No amount of medicine was worth dealing with ghost wolves.