The winds spoke to her, once upon a time, when the lands were barren and her spirit was dwindling. Move, they whispered, move. She resisted. Her pack died out, and the winds persisted, move, they murmured, move. Yet she stood firm, trying to find others, find hints of survival. Once the trees blackened and shrivelled and the grass dried, they called once more, pleaded once again to her. With the emancipated remains of a hare on her teeth, she snarled out her question; why?
The winds sighed, the breeze ruffling through her fur as if nuzzling her muzzle, before they replied.
'Because death can't have you yet, shewolf.'
And for once she listened. She rose and spat the rotten blood from her mouth and chose to follow the winds.
The forest she arrived at reminded her of home, before the dark times, before the fall. Here she could hear the winds whistle through the trees, melody ater melody, giggles from the rustling of the leaves above, here she could feel the life teeming.
When the gold wolf appears it's like smoke out of air, he's there all at once where there was nothing. On instinct she bares her teeth and flicks her tail up, settling into furiosity, ready for the taste of more blood, though this time not as rotten or weak.
Golden Leaf simply bows his head and the show of submission calms her enough for her curiosity to seep back in.
'Who are you?' she asks him. He looks at her with kindness as his coat shimmers in the light through the trees.
"Someone who's been waiting for you for a long time. Welcome home, North Wind."
The winds rise, blowing so hard the trees lean and sway, as if responding to the greeting. The she-wolf moves closer as if the ground from under her would collapse and the promise of a safe haven would vanish if she proved too heavy a burden. It does not give way, the moss even springs back after each cautious step as if encouraging the closeness. It promises so much more than she's used to.
'We are to be the Gods' eyes. Judge where they cannot see, nurture what they have forgotten, and punish those who think themselves greater than us.'
She understands. Feels everything click into place, she knows him; the golden crunch of fall leaves, the setting sun glistening on to lake tops, the cry of newborn prey, it's all him. A God in his own right, just like her.
And this forest is their Pantheon.
When he turns to leave she follows, the wind chasing after her foot falls.
