Amela'dahlen

Muted leaves drift through the air and land gently on the forest floor, swaddled by it's brethren and grass alike. The moss and greenery that blankets the ground is soft on your worn and torn paws, cool to the touch and all too refreshing compared to the rough rock and stone you had just traveled from. Surrounding you are tall trees of every type imaginable - simple pines and oaks to the more extravagant dogwoods, elms, and beeches, the mixture of hues and textures is a sight not only pleasant, but comforting. Dense fog lightly obscures your vision, your head pounding from the lower oxygen levels, but the cooling mist is welcome on your fur, and waterholes are no longer a priority as you lap up the condensation off of low hanging shrubs. The atmosphere carries the chatters of squirrels, but is otherwise rather silent, despite the ever thick stench of other inhabitants - elk being the most exciting, and other wolves threatening. You don't have time to linger on the thought of a wolf pack being in the area, though. Your eyelids are heavy, and your paws drag through the grass as your energy dwindles. It would be best for you to find a place to rest soon.

Lucky for you, it isn't long before a seemingly perfect place for a nap shows itself. A tall, billowing willow stands before you, branches draped around the trunk entirely in a circumference, pale clusters of leaves creating walls that seems to shift in an eternal breeze. It's beautiful, but beauty does nothing for your aching paws, so you forgo the temptation to stand there in awe and press forward, allowing the willow tree to wrap itself around you in an embrace.

Immediately, you know that you are no longer alone. The scent of another wolf bombards you aggressively, choking you out as you almost gasp. Your eyes haven't adjusted yet, but the hair along your spine stands up as you settle your haunches and shoulders, ready to defend yourself from an attack. As your eyes adjust, however, you simply see the figure of a wolf sitting at the base of the tree, tail curled over their paws delicately. Their fur matches the curious hue of the willow leaves, with strands of white and the occasional pale yellow creating patches of pattern. What is most striking about them, however, is their eyes of molten liquid, piercing into your very soul, but holding a kindness in them that takes you by surprise. You lift your nose to sniff, but find that their scent is confusing and mixed, non-betraying of their nature. The wolf stands after a moment of staring at you and approaches, but pauses until you relax before gently pressing their nose into the fur of your cheek, a rumble in their throat that reminds you of your mother.

"Andaran atish'an, da'lin. Welcome," when they speak, their voice trills like the song of birds and tastes like the metal of the weapons a human bears. It's almost hypnotizing, as you find the sound to be quite lulling and pleasant, especially in your exhausted state. "I am Amela'dahlen, the keeper of this forest and the wolves within it. The trees spoke of the arrival of a newcomer, however it was some time before I could arrange to greet you. Ir abelas - my apologies."

"What are you?" You blurt out without thinking, overwhelmed and scatterbrained at the foreign nature in which the wolf behaves and speaks, though your ears burn in embarrassment at such disrespect you displayed. The wolf simply huffs out a gentle laugh, gold of their irises glittering as a sun ray dances across them.

"I am a wolf just like you, da'lin, though that isn't what you are asking, no?" They pause before turning and padding out of the clearing, slowly, so that you can easily catch up to them. Once your paws fall beside them, they give you what you could only identify as a smile. "My people are the Fenell'shivasa - wolves oath-bound in an eternal journey. Our lives are filled with destiny - the duty to wander forever, never staying still. Our paws are guided by our Gods, but we are the ones that walk the paths and brave the sacrifices. We protect what is sacred, as do we record and remember. We are eternal - just like the forest, like the sky and the sea, and like you, too, da'lin."

"Ah, but it is alright if you do not understand. You are an outsider, after all. You have not taken the oaths that we have." Amela'dahlen crosses the river with a grace you thought was only possible from the most slender and able of deer, and you feel ugly and clumsy when you walk next to them, paws damp from slipping on the smooth pebbles.

Quickly, the trees begin to thin, and you find yourself padding into an open clearing with willows and dogwoods circling the edge. What doesn't surprise you is the group of wolves - every size, shape, and color imaginable - tending to their duties as members of their clan, but the complicated infrastructure that you immediately assume is impossible and a trick of the eye. It all is very much real, however - wolves are carrying buckets made of vines and wood filled with water, while some have packs made of beech leaves that hold herbs, tucking them away onto large wooden wagons that pile high with stored material. A fire burns in the center of a cluster what you can only imagine is portable dens made of strange leaves and sturdy logs. Their society is so foreign and strange to you - yet you find yourself wanting to wander deeper within, instead of run away. Your attention is turned back to the keeper when you feel their nose against the outer shell of your ear, and you look at them, wide-eyes meeting curious ones.

"Your paws are weary and worn. Please, take a seat and fill your belly. You are welcome to stay with us for as long as you'd like. Sylaise ma ghilana, da'lin." With that, they leave your side, disappearing into the maw of their camp. The path your paws take next is up to you.