ㅤNoumena

There are many trails hidden in the northernmost high-forest's screening undergrowth. Some are the products of small, nimble mustelidae, others have been worn into paths by countless generations of deer that trap their way through boreal labyrinths. Some taper further still, and splinter into striking fissures that descend deep below the earth, shedding light upon the cold stone beneath. These are all indisputably normal.

Others are different. Snaking coils leading to a vacant zenith, trails that disappear over cliff faces, ones that carry smells unfamiliar to even the most seasoned scouts. And if a wolf were to walk them, the sensation of something being off would slowly begin to dawn with each new pawstep travelled. The trail sheltered by the Strange Mountain in the north-west is one of the latter, ebbing and flowing like water in it's spread, spanning desolate mountain slopes and solemn boreal gullies, before disappearing entirely into the jarring stone geometry that's all too easy to miss if you don't know where to look. Or where to listen.

But below the trail leads, and the further one descends, the quieter the world becomes. The sky dims beneath the earth's mighty carapace, until only the occasional soft breeze persists, and the reflections held by endless puddles below. You could very well go mad over what your reflection may show you if you aren't ready. But if you have truely opened yourself to the land, then the earth will reveal itself to you, too. The earth, and who knows what else...

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Noumena, the left head of the strange mountain's strange twins. She speaks with a voice of lacewing flight and avalanches, and six butterflies flicker upon her fur. She is watchful, precise, and patient. Ever so patient.

Rather than searching beyond for her insights, Noumena casts her gaze downwards to the infinite cycles of the natural world. The same curves of existence, the trials and triumphs and endless tribulation of birth and rebirth. The more she observes, the more she sees the same patterns, spiralling over and over.

She answers to those who seek her in the dreams of afternoon sunlight, with sleepers often rising to find themselves in a warm, temperate oasis- a sanctuary in the unforgivingly bitter taiga. Though Noumena's dialogue is intentional and brusque, she often needn't speak at all-- her light alone has it's own way of revealing truth.

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• conjoined brachycephaly twins (pick a struggle)


• rumoured psychic abilities, they dwell in an abandoned missile storage facility.


• depending on the wolf that seeks them, either one of the twins will advise them with their unique insight.