Yros

The Allmother knows he has made a drastic mistake by wandering so close to the land of the High Court. Yet here he is, swept into the chaos of officials and denizens whipping up the festivities in a frenzy.

A festival? Of all things, right now?

Such an atmosphere does tout the single benefit of helping him blend in, and he does the best he can to slip around crowds of wolves moving in the opposite direction, shoulders scrunched in in his effort to make himself as slender and compact as possible.

Saxifrage doesn't really even know where he's supposed to be going, or if he had a plan in place upon his arrival to the dell, but he swallows down his mounting anxieties and tries to instead take in and make sense of the flurry around him, wandering about in a state of awe and overwhelm as the sun goes down and leaves a pleasant evening in its wake.

it was in her best interest to stay on the fringes of the court, but there was something so grand and interesting about wintertide. especially when she could wander the dell as she pleases, blending in with strangers to keep any wandering constables off her. She had a hard enough time shaking the citizens of the high court before the thauma starting acting strange. Even with a thaumaless population to not question her lack of powers. Runeless. Mohawk-less. In all truth, she’s a freak and she knows better than to let the others see that soft, vulnerable underbelly of her insecurities.

A soft sigh turns to fog from the cold as the sun slips away, the festival goers celebrating even the sunset through the trees. Wren didn’t think it made much sense, but it was fun to watch. And with the lack of sun, her freckles are more prominent in her dusky face, the pale iridescent flecks bright against the violet and blush. Her mother never had freckles and her father, mother said, was as spotless as a new moon night. she huffs at the thought, just another reminder that she was some cursed abomination.

She’s caught up her thoughts before noticing someone fighting against the crowds in the opposite direction. Huh. A bit odd. She cocks her head as she watches him, curious. It was quite different to ever go against the crowd in the high court. even the spyguards rarely stepped a toe out of turn. A too large ear flicks as she takes him in, her curiosity getting better of her.

”Are you lost?” the questions soft, like the shadows her people so love. ”you seem stressed.”

Saxifrage

This is absolute garbage and I’m so sorry ? she should get better as I write her more!

So much for not drawing attention.

But everyone always notices the fish swimming against the current, and Saxifrage doesn't exactly blend in on a normal day. He's not thinking clearly, and the question posed to him proves it.

"Ah- huh?" The hybrid turns, ears perked and orange eyes fixing onto whom he thinks is a Ulai - at least, a colorful one. Her ears are tall, far taller than his own, and she presents herself quiet and level amidst the otherwise undulating surroundings. He's not one to judge appearances, though. It invites too many opportunities to be asked the same things. He can't have that, and especially not here.

"I've never really been to the High Court before," He doesn't want to raise his voice too much, but it's just so loud all around them, so in a fit of desperation the boy beckons her with a forepaw as he tries to move off to one side and away from the crowd. "Is it always like this?"

She watches him, head cocked to the side, as he tries to pinpoint who had suddenly started speaking. The Court can be overwhelming when you don’t grow up on its edges, watching the elaborate dances, extravagant fashions, and too loud whispers. And under all that lace and fluttering smiles? Sharp, sharp teeth. That’s what she dislikes the most, the way it’s all so disingenuous. A mask. A place where the currency was made of gossip and secrets. She wondered, watching his bright eyes zero in on her, how he’d managed to get this far into the celebrations at his age. Usually one of the courtiers would make a fuss over children joining the fete. Wren takes a few steps closer, willing to leave the shadows if it meant having someone to talk to.

An ear flicks as he admits he’s never really been to Court and her eyes widen a bit at the admission. ”oh yes,” she hums. ”it’s always a bit chaotic.” chaotic, colorful, and full of dark desires, ambitions. The Matriarch may fool a many of her subjects into thinking the days since the Upheaval were peaceful and quiet, but there were so many whispers of malcontent, of fear, of wolves in sheep’s clothing. ”plus the court loves a good feast. keeps the people distracted.” she pauses, considering her thoughts before looking at the lost boy again. ”why’d you come to the courts?” it must have been quieter, less crowded wherever he was from.

Saxifrage