take me up, throw me down again;

[Dianex]

A mar on land she seemed, outright un-belonging in all the lush and green flourishing over tree and rock burying history beneath its roots and vines, pushing it deep undersoil but no further from the hearts of the living, and the minds of the deceased. Dianex's sloppy pawsteps, leaden by the deadweight of her exhausted carcass carried her carelessly on, further into the Northlands entirely unawares of their able hostility with no penchant for the dull red glow cast by the orange marks that encircled bits of herself.

Common knowledge made clear, the wolves of the Southlands were as barren and as treacherous as the landscape they inhabited, that, which, unlike no other, she had dared flee. Unlike those she regarded as companions of war and relative enslavement, no insatiable bloodlust left her thirsty, and no ambition left her cruel. No individual on speaking terms with their sanity would find glory within reach of the Southlands. There, she would only find death and pain.

But what would she find here? A fell heat radiated off her imposing black self as she wandered aimlessly lost through the tangled maze of living trees, gray eyes wild and muscles twitching with the effort of going on. She'd cross the bridge in one relative piece by some luck or by will of her sheer desperation. A snarl overcame her and she lurched forward, slashing at the trunk of the nearest tree leaving deep, slightly burned marks in the bark. How the hell do I get out of this damned place!

[A S A R]

IVE BEEN SO HOLLOW INSIDE!

Saga generally tried her hardest to avoid ‘spirit hotspots’, seeing their shadowy figures and hearing their desperate cries for revival drove her crazy. When she was first born, the voices of every single soul that had perished on Palmyra screamed in her head, but now that she’s had a few years of experience the noise has calmed down, but they always get louder when she’s around a ground of old violence like a graveyard or land with a particularly bloody past.

Then why was she in Arcova’s forest?

It was most certainly not by her own choice, but more so she had happened to stumble upon it while trying to get to the herd lands. She had just crossed the Eran river and was unaware that the haunted forest lay on the other side. Shuddering as she stepped into the dark, screaming forest she quickly regretted her decision as she began to wander around aimlessly. Though she could have easily asked the dead how to get out, she was not inclined to ask the bloody apparitions where to go. The grey mare instead relied on her mixed up senses.

To her, it did not matter, she was probably alone and in no danger.

However, she soon found out she was wrong as frustrated words reverberated through the trees. Picking up the pace she pushed past a crowd of shadowy ghosts and quickly wished she could turn back. She hated wolves, even though the White alliance wolves were tame, childhood experiences would never be washed away no matter the amount of time used. Standing a good hundred yards away she raised her head and said,
I can probably help you…
So if she hated wolves, why was she helping this one?