[ AW ] freedom & whiskey

through the looking glass The midday sun ran it’s prying fingers through the thick canopy of the twittering weald, trying desperately so to seep through the tangles of needles and branches to reach to delicate loam of the forest floor. There was a certain sublime serenity to be found lively chitter of flitting crested tits and braun crossbills or the searching hammer of spotted woodpeckers — their daily verses joining the trills of hidden insects and adding to the drowning din of the wood. But despite the vivid evidence of life thrumming in every aspect of such a place, there still thrived a sensation of mysticism and magick drifting in the delicate breeze. Such a fact would have deterred one of its residents if she had not been borne of a resilient constitution and in possession of one mighty hardhead. Warned of this place since the blissful throes of infancy, back then it only incited a nagging sense of curiosity that had often swept the gilded girl and whichever of her beloved siblings brave enough into it’s famed labyrinths and haunting hollows on too many an occasion. And now, It was familiarity that kept Saoirse captive the past months there — desperate enough to throttle her fears of being cursed in light of her own precious neck. For with empty paws in the search of what remained of the clan and her family, her sentimental heart clung to what she missed most while her clever mind reasoned it to be not just familiar in landscape but a potential treasure trove of resources.

The flaxen lass had, at least, reasoned in the right when she had stumbled upon a gaggle of apple and pear trees somewhere in the heart of it all. Fine specimens for fermenting and even just to fill the belly, the advance of autumn with it’s chilled touch and gift of the harvest had dropped a fair many of the fruit down to the cool ground below. Ruby red apples strewn between tender slivers of grass as they joined the golden-skinned pears that had tumbled when ready from the outstretched branches of its creator. Thoroughly scouting the thick bramble and overgrown paths with a careful prowl in the undergrowth, the moonlit highlander discerned no other recent visitors despite the decadent perfume wafting in the crowded clearing. Hastily casting a prayer in the back of her mind hoping by the moon that she’d avoid the wrath of the fae, just as her father had taught in the low purr of their native tongue, Saoirse broke free from her restraint to investigate.

A smile, rare these days, alighted along her slender muzzle as a flicker of delight pooled into her warm stare at the sight of such luck. Guarded as she is as of late, it’s a youthful mirth that quickens her languid step and she pieces impishly through the crowds of fallen fruit. The bronze lined tips of her ears stood tall even as she quickly leaned to grab a sweet apple with a low crunch, savouring both the succulent taste and the last remnants of her smile hung like the faint crescent of the moon in daytime. But as she enjoys the crisp taste of the saccharine juice against her famished tongue, she can’t help but think of just how she’d transport some of the crop to her own neck of the woods. Or even, stars forbid, of setting up a cache in this eerie swath of fae weald. Shrewd like the amber pools of a hawk, she cast a surveying glance to the clustered trees with interest. A simple hollow in the wizened trunk of one of these towering sentries could be exactly what she needed to start the process. Once fermented, it was easily transported in one of her many hollowed gourds hung from the network of her rooted ceiling in her underground den or even in a turtle or clam shell. With a quizzical brow smoothed now in the light of her idea, she wondered if it truly would be better to not keep all of her eggs in one proverbial basket?

Deciding at the very least to resort to crafting the beginnings of a small stockpile, a light stretch unfurled her limber legs and swiftly she weaved through the slanted sunlight to amass her quaint fortune. Keeping her wits about her, the golden thief kept a velvety ear bent and a mahogany eye peeled for the first glimpse of trouble.
  

  

  

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The sun was warm on his back as he walked, autumn air breezing past along his muzzle, bringing with it the scents of many fruits and leaves. He paused, lifting his snout to take a deeper breath, closing his icy-blue eyes to focus on the smell. It seemed like fermented, fallen fruit, different from the berries in the tavern but fruit all the same. He smiled slightly as he shifted direction to follow the direction of the smell.

Monarch had a day off and chose to leave his stomping ground around the tavern in Sussex and ventured to wander further afield to see what he would see. This land was new and strange in many ways, but the same in others. The wolves here, well… he was still learning about them. He knew that he was heading north, towards the areas that were apparently full of Fae? What they were exactly he hadn’t entirely figured out, but there were a great many wolves that believed in them here. Perhaps like gods, another entity he had rare experience with. His family had believed in nothing much beyond themselves, and he had a hard time understanding the faith that was put into imaginary beings. Or perhaps, not imaginary to them, if that was the case. He shook his head a little, his smile disappearing as the forest started to enclose him. It was close and dense and quiet, the wind rustling leaves, but not much else making sound. It was eerie as much as it was beautiful. Perhaps one could believe things called Fae could live in a place like this.

His nose led him towards a tree with many a fallen fruit below it, apples it seemed, and he slowed. Ears twisted to catch the sounds of others approaching if they did, but holding no hesitation, Monarch leaned over to break and crunch into an apple, swallowing it in few bites before he nosed over to a more fermented one that was fall apart, giving it a lick, frowning a little. Wondering if this would work as good as the berries did in the tavern… it would certainly change it up a bit… but how exactly would he carry these all the way down to Sussex?

He paused, suddenly, stiffening and twisting his head around, wondering if he heard someone else nearby. Casting his blue eyes about behind him he called out, suspicious. ”Is someone there?” he asked, his voice low and unhurried as if he had not care in the world, but everything in his body saying otherwise.

@Saoirse