((This event is based on logs of RP with ImagenAyshun. I'll add more speech color and formatting later. Maybe.))
The Pack
Orvisha sat perched in a wind-bent tree on the edge of the remains of a draenic post in Nagrand, idly studying the remnants of the town. Her lips creased in a deep, thoughtful frown. Soon enough her ponderings were halted at the sudden movement of blue at the entrance to one of the bronze buildings. Frown faded for neutrality as she peered to it. A lean forward as her eyes squint. Upon realization of who it is those eyes widened as she sat up. Despite, she did not yet make herself known.
The draenic spirit walker she had aided and accompanied before stepped out, shirtless and hairy as ever. Contrasted to her own drifting melancholy, he beamed joyously, his eyes gazing out to the violet stars. Though, he seemed to search for something. He seemed to let his hooves do the guiding as he made his way to the bridge out of the empty settlement, not noticing Orvisha's presence at all.
She scurried from her perch, slinking to a new one near the bridge. She watched. She leaned again to peer from whence Kapre came--there was no sign of his new wife, the flower decked sin'dorei that smelled of herbs and hints of Zangarmarsh's moss. Just as she settled she caught the twitch of Kapre's head, the dim flickering of his eyes. The hunch of his back as if he took on a new weight, the curl of his tail as if adjusting to a different balance with it. The frown returned to Orvisha's lips at that, head tilting. A glance flitted around, then returned to the spirit walker.
Meanwhile, Kapre huffed as his breathing steadied. His fist thumped onto his shoulder as his stance straightened. Most notable, his draenic accent vanished as his tongue turned to orcish speech. "Throm'ka, perched one. What do you seek?"
Orvisha blinked a moment. One brow creased, the other lifted.
"...When have I ever been so formal in greeting?"
Kapre placed his arms akimbo and cocked his hip in an effete manner. The expression on his face differed from the norm, as well as the air he carried around him. "Good question, young one. Why do you linger upon the tree branch? Come down, I won't bite."
Orvisha opened her lips to speak again, then closed them. Eyes squinted, as it dawned on her. She leaned back slightly, then turned start her slink down the tree. She paused at the base, then padded forward.
"I don't--think you and I have met," she spoke slowly, switching to her native tongue as well.
"We have not. I am Je'ana Thunderaxe. Shamaness of the Frostwolves."
Orvisha watched Kapre with wide eyes. She approached slowly, strafing a step or two to the side, her head barely lowered, gaze tilted up.
"Orvisha Lorewolf--Flowerpicker." A pause, then she bowed at her waist.
"Far as the tree goes, I like high places. Perhaps I am shy." Orvisha shrugged lightly.
Kapre crossed his arms as he smirked. "Shy for what reason, child? It seems you are in touch the departed, or at least learning to. The lot of us are frightening. Surely the living--such as this big blue guy here--would be less terrifying, hm?" The entity speaking through him took a moment to look up and down the body she borrowed. "I would have preferred another orc. Blue is not my color."
Orvisha relaxed somewhat, relived the orcish spirit realized and accepted its state. She straightened loosely.
"I am not so frightened of you, no--it is actually 'the big blue guy'. Aaand, the last spirit that habitually spoke through him lead him to Karabor. Heh." She shrugged loosely.
"And I am learning to be a shaman, yes."
"I am not a hostile spirit. I died long before my others among my people partook in the Blood of Mannaroth. I remain to guide the lost should they have me... though I must be of care, for once, a Dark Shaman attempted to take hold of me. You, however, seem trustworthy."
Orvisha lowered her chin slightly, overwhelmed a moment by such a chance to speak with the elder spirit. And being deemed trustworthy. She approached somewhat closer, inhaled, then stood straighter.
"I don't know if I count as lost, but I'm not going to pass this opportunity to listen."
"Many are lost and do not know it. What is your place among the Flowerpickers?"
"...No idea, heh. My father is a high warlord, my sister seeks to be a Farseer. My brother is a beastmaster. Me?--storyseeker, and all around oddity that befuddles my family."
"Storyse-...lore keeper. Heh. An underrated role. The orcs of today have oft to deny or fully forget the atrocities that led them to the sorry state that is today. Those that remain linger in numbers that struggle to recover. Their stories untold. Are you a mouthpiece of the Ancestors child? Do you wish to be?"
Orvisha inhaled, thinking.
"That is an inevitable part of being a shaman, I'd think. I want to be a shaman. Though, I do not think I could be a Spirit Walker or Champion."
"It is inevitable... but as I walk upon this earth, there are those we wish to have nothing to do with, yet they try to take us. The Ancestors will deny their place by those who only wish to use us as tools. You need not to be a champion or walker to actually walk among us."
Orvisha lifted her hands somewhat, palms facing Kapre.
"I don't wish to take anything, you can be sure of that. I cannot really--commune yet, as I think you're implying."
"How long have you been walking this path, Lorewolf?"
"...A few months. The winds have blessed my arrows for longer, though. Little more."
"So, you were a warrior longer? Huntress?"
"Huntress, yes."
"So, you have mastered tracking? Communing with the earth itself?"
Orvisha answered this question with a soft smirk.
"As much as a twenty year old can, I think."
Kapre smirked in turn. "You have much to learn, young one. Though your experience as a tracker can be used in communing with spirits. Do you possess sapta?" He started to search himself, large blue hands awkward under their new user. "Does this Walker possess any?"
"His sister is the sapta maker. I have...not a finished one, but..."
"Does his sister dwell here? The Walker?"
Orvisha turned to search herself as well. From a leather loop under a flap of her kilt she takes--a rock? A rock. This rock possessed a hidden hinge, which with she opened the item.
"I don't know where she is, and she'd likely hoof you. She doesn't like orcs." Inside the rough 'locket' is a compartment full of shamanistic essentials. Coral, spices, seeds, feather bits, volcanic ash.
"...Hoof me?"
"As in, try to kick you out of him. Like I said--doesn't like orcs. Will these do for sapta making?"
"...Gracious me." He lifted one of his hooves up, balance awkward. "I can possibly crack a skull with these..." Kapre then realized 'her' distraction as he looked towards Orvisha. "What herbs do you possess?"
Orvisha searched again, after closing the rock. From the satchel hanging across her torso, she pulled a cloth wrap with little pockets. She laid it out on the ground; various herbs rest therein. A fairly disorganized mix of Azerothian plants for basic healing. And a few Outland bits she found attractive, though might not be useful.
"What you have will do. Walk with me."
Orvisha wrapped the cloth up again, and trotted the few steps over to follow. The first few steps taken on a long walk towards the Nagrand arena named The Ring of Trials. Braziers remained lit nearly constantly as goblins frequently used the place for their own tournaments. At the moment though, it was conveniently empty.
Kapre stopped at the entrance of the ring. He took a deep breath as they approached it, looking up to the banners and braziers that surrounded the place. "Do you possess a wolf guide, Lorewolf?"
Orvisha thought a moment, then glanced to Kapre.
"...A what?"
"A wolf to be your companion. The shamans of my time often had one, especially the far seers. They are our guides and companions as we would have dwelled upon the material plane."
"I have a wolf to ride. But--I'm assuming you mean spiritual. I do not."
"Come with me inside," Kapre beckoned then hoofed onto the ring's floor, stopping at the center. "Perhaps one day, when you are ready, we will do this as well by the Oshu'gun. But here...is where you start. Bring forth your materials to your sapta and sit here." Kapre pointed to the sandy ground before his hooves, hand brushing with foreign grace.
Orvisha eyed 'Kapre' again, then shuffled forward. The cloth wrap was tugged out from under her arm as she sat with folded legs. Afterward, she unrolled the wrap. She peered up, neck craning.
"Bet this is the tallest Walker you've spoken through."
"He certainly is. And...the hairiest by far. This is disgusting. I should make a talbuk joke, but there are so many, I don't know where to begin." After attempting to brush any loose fragments of chest hair off 'herself' Kapre made to kneel--then suddenly found the action very awkward. These new legs unable to bend like her old ones. A near topple occurred, but the spirit tugged on Kapre's muscles and nerves just in time before falling to sit, tail flopping in the dust a second after. "Now. May I see what you have?"
Through the ordeal, Orvisha had controlled her laughter with a well-placed bite to her lip. Grand amusement strangled to a snerrrrk in her throat. She sat properly. Back straight, hands in her lap. Lips had curled into a suspisciously feline manner of wit. She gestured to the laid out wrap.
"A piece of earth, a piece of fire, a piece of water. The wind will be in union with the fire. Put them together in that hollow stone of yours."
Orvisha 's counted the contents of the rock, finding it already has at least three of four. Water was represented by coral, fire volcanic ash, earth was Mulgore soil. Despite, she plucked and tossed in a couple herbs extra.
"Call upon the water above your cup to gather within it."
Orvisha thought. Having trouble with straight water, frost began to coalesce. Little jagged fern-like designs growing and curling, and melting into water along the rock cup's concave sides.
Kapre smiled as he watched. "Let it be that the fire licks upon the water upon which earth upholds. Let it be that the air is in union over the rock that holds the water as the fire licks upon it. Make all four so with a burst of flame upon the water."
Orvisha 's brow furrowed as she pondered that riddle. She seemed a little nervous for a moment or two, hesitant. She bit her bottom lip--she possessed even less skill in fire. Eventually after an old prayer or two, the volcanic ash began to smoke, despite the frosty water so recently introduced. The sudden spark and ignition that followed startled her, and she nearly dropped the thing. Nearly.
Kapre reached his hand over the flame as it mingled with the water despite their incompatibility. "Careful, now," he assured as he waved his hand onto the fire itself. His hand remained untouched by the small tongue. "In your hands, you hold a miniature of the earth on which you walk, eat, breathe, and sleep." He held back his hand as fire quieted. Before Orvisha was a simple concoction, clear, but not at all simply water. "You hold the elements in liquid form, a drink which will allow you to see the spirits. But this is not for you to simply see them... you can become like them, yet still be among the living. If you wish to commune with the Ancestors without being their Champion or Walker, you must at least learn to move with them and attain your own spirit guide. Breath in and out, Orvisha."
Orvisha flitted her gaze to 'Kapre' as the spirit speaks, though the rest of her doesn't move much. Not after that near dropping of the sapta. At the instruction to drink, she looked to it again. Then took a slow breath through her nose, then out through barely parted lips.
"You sit within an arena where many have died in honor. They are not like the spirits of Oshu'gun, but pained spirits dwell here among those who departed with their heads high. Drink very slowly, Orvisha. Let each drop melt on your tongue."
Orvisha 's shoulders sunk slightly at the description, a sense of foreboding drifting a mist over her mood. She flitted her gaze around in a quick scan, then focused on the sapta again. A huff of her breath out. Then the sapta is set to her lips and she drank. Slowly.
With each drop, one by one, a spirit became visible like a ghost coalescing, solidifying from the fog that was now the world. Some of them still fought each other in joyous clash of arms. Those who had died in shame slunk away to the corners where they wallowed in mourning. As more and more of the sapta slid down Orvisha's throat, the arena around her wafted and shimmered about like smoke on a windy day. Finally, seated by Orvisha is now not Kapre, but an old brown-skinned crone with hair that dropped past her shoulders and hips. She grinned a tooty grin upon seeing the young shaman acolyte in this realm.
Orvisha removed the little rock cup, eyes closing a moment. Then she pulled them open, not quite in synch in their hesitation. The sudden absence of a large blue figure drawew her attention. She blinked, then returned an awkward grin. Her attention is then quickly drawn to the myriad spirits and their doings. Particularly the sorrowful mourners.
Je'ana turned her head to those who wallowed in shame. "These fools resorted to dishonorable means of victory, or won without acknowledging the crimes that brought them here. They are punished and fell to wallow in their cowardly blood. They did not live long enough for their cowardice to be rewarded by the deceit that is Kil'jaedan and his Legion.”
Orvisha peered sidelong to Je'ana.
"...Arena traditions confound me. Was there no chance given to them to redeem?"
"Chances at redemption are only provided to the truly remorseful. But how often would an orc admit to remorse? Heh. Look there."
Orvisha squinted softly in skepticism, then peered to wherever the elder might gesture or indicate.
Je'ana pointed to the side. A ghostly apparition of a wolf stalked upon the champions who died with their heads held high and axes to the sky. "A spirit wolf. They do not ever abandon the truly brave and strong, in soul as well as body. Careful, child. Approach it like you would a wild wolf of the tangible earth."
Orvisha watched the wolf carefully, head turning slowly to keep it in view. She then peered to the sorrowful losers again. She didn't seem very willing to get up, a deep frown tugging at her lips. Eventually, she pulled herself to stand, watching the judging spirit once more. She glanced to the sorrowful, then the 'brave' again.
"...Hmph." She muttered an inaudible 'we will see'. Then slowly padded around. Chin held high, though she did not make domineering eye contact with the 'beast'.
The Spirit Wolf continued to pad around in its lazy confidence, sniffing along the earth as it passed the champions and the defeated. It turned its head to Orvisha and lowered its snout as its piercing bright eyes darted towards her. It growled low, paws firmly planted onto the spiritual earth. As it did, more wolves came into view, pawing forth from the cheering crowds and among the wallowing fallen. They began to circle Orvisha.
"Ah... they acknowledge that you can see them."
Orvisha turned slightly to spot the new wolves.
"...Yeah. Yeah, they do." An inhale, and she peered to the first wolf again. The Alpha. She still remained careful to keep eye contact to a minimum. The gesture of a threat would be unwise.
"Who are you, ah? Do you judge all these fallen?" She asked in old orcish, with a slightly sing-song quality to her voice. She padded forth slowly.
"The strong the brave."
The wolf lowered his nose, though its eyes remain on the young orcess. Its lips did not move, maw remained shut but a haunting voice drifted from its form like a whisper in a moving fog.
We... stand... by those who honor us. Those who walk with us and do not resort to wicked means to an end. The fallen here who wallow in eternal unrest have become so for they have abandoned us in life, as they shall continue to do so in death. Many here are before your time... before the Blood has tainted you and severed our ties. But should you return to us in heartfelt genuinty... we will not abandon you. Do you wish to walk among us, Young Shaman, as one of honor and duty to your people, and not a wretch who will relive the shame they have caused among their bretheren?
Orvisha truly had not expected a verbal response. Even one that only broke on the shores of her mind and spirit. She paused to listen, glancing to the Sorrowful again. Still skeptical. She listened. She pulled her gaze back to to the Alpha, then slowly around at the lupine audience. The Pack.
"...Honor, duty. I have been questioning those of late." Her head tilted, eyes closed.
"Shame. Such easy words to espouse." Eyes opened, half-lidded, peering off into thought.
"Would this pack round on me if I said my lifemate is an Exile? Branded, one who has committed crimes likely worse than any these warriors have imagined?" A breath.
"I would not be surprised, if you did." She eyed the Alpha again, huffed a moment then strode toward a Sorowful. She crouched beside the fallen warrior.
"My duty. Is to my people. All of them. The one that guided me here asked how often an orc apologizes. I have seen an elder break down at the edge of this land for a lost village. I shed tears over the nest of a ghostly Broken." Eyes close, then open.
"If we are a pack, we will not survive if we cast out our brothers again and again."
The Alpha padded next to Orvisha as the other wolves followed. It sat down upon its haunches next to her, the Sorrowful raising his head and lowering it in shame.
Pride is often the reason of the fall of orcs. It is the reason they have abandoned us when the Deceiver came and spoke to their Warchief. The ones you see standing tall did not trample their brethren for their own means; they did not raise their hands against the innocent and vulnerable. The Fallen here have forgotten their duty, and they lived to their selfish gain--slaughter of the unarmed, raiders of the peaceful, stirrer of wars, violaters of the pure. Tell me, Shaman... does your lifemate slaughter the Exiled Ones for the joy of the hunt? Does he raid villages for perceived glory? Does he spit upon graves to prove his way to the world
Orvisha glanced to the Alpha.
"His crimes were committed because that's all he's known. There is no joy in it.”
Lead him away from the path, for it will lead him to the shame that are the Fallen here. That is part of your duty, or it will doom not only your lives, but your union as well.
Orvisha stared down the Alpha a moment, then peered to the dishonored one again.
"...Should a hand be offered to one of these, would they not see it?"
You walk among us, but they may not acknowledge you. You may try.
Orvisha pulled her gaze back to the one before her.
"...What is it that keeps you here?", she asked in the same old orcish. She did not quite reach out--literally--yet. Her tone of voice rung smooth, not pitying. Speaking to the ghostly orc as if he were on equal footing with her.
The fallen one looked up to Orvisha, eyes drawn and haggard with his belly split open. As he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth are broken and falling out, as though he endured much before his soul would depart. "I laid with my captain's wife when I myself was married. When I learned she was with child, I denied her and sent my own men to slaughter her while she bathed unarmed in the nearby river. The captain learned of my treachery and sent me to death here in this arena. I fought well against six of his men. I should be champion and let go."
Orvisha flopped to sit, not looking too hard at the injury.
"What is it you regret?" She still spoke in the same tone, not letting any disgust cross her face. She did not lead on with what he
should regret.
"I regret laying with her in the first place. She seduced me."
Orvisha grunted in sardonic humor at the familiar line.
"Did you lay with this woman when you were a whelp just growing your first hairs, and wondering why your voice was changing?"
"Do not mock me, shaman. I was weak. The ogres and beasts do little instill fear in my spirits, but the flesh of woman turns me to mush."
"I speak to you like I would an equal. In the same vein--...what if you had the chance to leave here? To try again for honor?"
"I have died in shame for the slaughter neither I nor the Ancestors can justify."
"You did. And you seem to accept that. I cannot return you to any sort of life, but..." She peered to the Alpha.
"The ghostly wolves that accompany shamans, usually in pairs. From whence do those come?" She softly nodded to the Sorrowful she speaks to in indication. A hint.
We are mediators of the Elements and the Departed. Judgement among the Fallen are passed from the Elements themselves.
“Would it be possible for one regretful enough--truly regretful...to leave this place? Alongside one that would reach out to them? To leave this place in a form similar to your own?" She nodded outwards to the general pack.
"Would redemption be possible through service?"
This is the responsibility of the shaman, to bring to rest the restless. Lead him to redemption, and it shall become so.
Orvisha huffed a moment, then looked to the fallen again.
"What do you think? My hand is offered, it is up to you to take it."
"If it unbinds me from this arena, then I shall follow," the orc answered with dispassionate frustration.
"No. Only be at my side if your wish for a second chance at honor is true." Orvisha stared down the Fallen, brow lifting.
"What do you intend with me, Shaman?"
"Serve at my side, fight with me as a wolf would. I am the daughter of a high warlord, I fight for the Horde and spirits on a world called Azeroth. I seek peace as well, so that our whelps might not be taken advantage of by the Legion again."
The orc's eyes widened as he stood up. "You are a daughter of a warlord?" He bent on one knee. "I served one of the higher commanders of the Warsong... but in my weakness, I forsook honor for saving face. I am closed from the happenings of our descendants, dying years before the demons walked this facade of our world. Does honor lie among the orcs in Azeroth? Have they truly forsaken the Legion?"
Orvisha leaned back at the reaction, mildly startled. Then relaxed. She nodded.
"Our skin remains green, and not every one has truly forsaken battle for the sake of violence. But we strive. I strive, my family strives. The demons no longer send us out, though." She paused.
"What is your name?"
He lifted a fist and clapped it across his chest to his shoulder. "I am Sergeant Mor'gosh Stonecleaver of the Warsong."
Orvisha pulled herself up to stand, and her mind rendered her movements awkward. Still thinking she'd be stiff from sitting so for so long during the conversation, despite being a spirit. She returned the salute.
"Orvisha Lorewolf." With that, she held out her hand to him for a clap of a shake.
Mor'gosh swung his hand to clasp it to Orvisha's. "I am grateful this chance at redemption is mine. Perhaps, this way, I will walk freely in this plane. Guide me, Shaman Lorewolf. I beseech you." He salutes her once more.
Her hand squeezed, then dropped. She turned around, peering at the rest of the sorrowful fallen.
"...I need one more! One more to fight at my side, and Stonecleaver's side. Who will step up, and reclaim their honor?" An inhale for a breath as she spoke, an attempt to calm her nerves.
"For those left--do not wallow. Others will come, for I will speak of this. You will not be forgotten."
One did not hesitate to come forth. Female, though her head had been fully shaven. She just about crawled to Orvisha and bowed his head with groveling humility. She spilled her story at Orvisha's sandaled feet. "I am Sharna Windgavel, for my clubs and hammers were faster than the wind. My dishonor came when I systematically drowned my children for perceived weakness when the Spirits have planned something greater. The blood of my children stain my hands, and I walk to see our descendants fall into the Legion's deceit. Please, give me the opportunity to guide the children of our children, as I did not in life."
Orvisha turned her gaze downward to watch the woman crawl, lips tightening into a hard line. She did not respond verbally at first. Instead, she crouched to grasp at the woman's arm and heft her up to stand.
"...I am but yet a whelp myself, Windgavel. You will see and guard this new generation beside me."
"What must we do?" She asked once she found herself on her feet.
"You will fight beside me as my wolf spirits. I fight for the Horde, but I seek peace all the same. When I call, you answer. When I pass on at my end, this new chance will be finished."
"I will do this with no question, Shaman," she agreed with her head bowed. Despite lacking breath, her voice quaked.
Orvisha heaved out a needless sigh, stood a bit straighter, then peered to the Alpha.
"...Will your blessing fall upon this?"
I will grant my blessing, Lorewolf. Though your ability to call upon the spirits have only begun. To call upon the spirits to your aid within the tangible plane, you need to learn how to run like us.
"Yeah, that's--...originally what I was seeking. I didn't expect all this." She could not help a disbelieving chuckle, then cleared her throat.
Not any spirit will come to your aid at any time. These two cannot yet cross the Nether to aid you on Azeroth. Ride along the spirit plane and come to the tangible earth first. Then, you can learn to call upon the Stonecleaver and Windgavel.
The other wolves began to gather at the entrance of the arena as the other spirits step aside. Je'ana herself stood aside, the old crone bowing her head to let the wolves pass.
Orvisha ponded a moment, the language puzzling her. Then a couple quick nods followed. She turns to offer the two companions a salute for a brief farewell, then she trotted over to Je'ana.
"...Um. I'm not--quite sure how to -leave- here. Heh."
Je'ana turned her head as the arena seems to produce more and more spirit wolves--enough to fill a cavern's worth. Large, small, starved, filled, they all seem to represent different states of the elements and departed. The areana spirits slink back as the wolves nose onto the training shaman. All who was left was the old crone, who simply stood aside. "Just run with them."
"...Oh!" An embarrassed huff, then she pushed off back to the pack, encouraged by the many spectral snouts. Her needless breaths were slow and deep--then she blinked. Breathing? Who needed that here.
Just run with them. Her toes curled into the dirt as she waited for the pack to set off.
The wolves' noses all faced forward, tails lowered in anticipation for the run. At last, the Alpha raised his maw to gape and bellow out a haunting howl. All at once, like a great gust of wind dragging an ever-moving earth, the spirit wolves dashed forward. Their paws clamored like thunder, with each brush of their fur like thistles of a thorny brush. They rushed past Orvisha in great waves of ethereal blue, like a river flowing through the tall grasses. The Alpha remained, the wolves running past it. Waiting.
Breathless--from being stunned by the spectacle, not any lack of corporeal lungs--she pushed off again after, and hopefully with them. Deer-like legs and arms pumped. The rhythm of the thunder beat in her ears, and rendered her deaf to much else. At the start, she fretted about tripping over and under these entities, but as she saw them move through each other and her, she calmed. And ran. Sinking into the rhythm of it all allowed her to focus.
The wolves pushed her forward, each them dragging like a forceful river. Orvisha was led directly out of the arena and out to the grassy open, with the Nagand sky twisting ominously. It seemed the wolves are endless as number, at least as far as her eyes could see. Regardless of how long she ran, they never seemed to end. The wolves all bolted down the hill, across the river, and past the trees. A biting sensation enveloped around the shaman as the spirits continued to race on the ethereal plane.
With no energy to spend until fatigue besides what her mind tells her she should have, she ran on. The effort was easier out in the fields with a mound to leap off of, ground gained from the jump. She was unable to imagine at present where this might end, not chancing a look upward at the twisting sky, lest she might be sucked into it.
One wolf suddenly leapt through her, a sensation like being slammed felt at first. The wolf kept running past her. Almost goading her to chase it with its bounding. Orvisha was rightly slammed to the ground, nearly cursed out loud. She scrambled up, snarling in indignation. Perhaps a bit too much. As she made after that one wolf, for as long as she might spot it in this sea of spirits, she remained on all fours for the first few moments. Feet pushing, hands scrabbling at the dirt as she tries to claw herself up.
Keep running, keep running. A growling whisper scraped at her ears as the sea of thundering paws rushed past her.
For a few triumphant moments, Orvisha was successful in getting to her feet. This would not be allowed for long as yet another wolf tackled her, then leapt enough into the blue river. She ignobly faceplanted again, nose wrinkled in a snarl. She scrambled to run again, and remained low, if only to avoid being knocked down again. From this angle, her eye sight was on generally the same level as the giant pack. Feet pushed, hands grabbed at the earth to pull. She glanced back now and then to eye for another spectral assailant.
Then something changed. As she remained low,
with the pack, her hands faded into a dusty brown. Fingers shrunk and curved, nails darkened to black. Paws, with claws forming from the tips. Her eyes widened in a brief bought of horror at the shift in her hands. It took the few moments until it passes for her to realize how much easier it was to keep up with them. Runrunrun. Blend with the flow, was what she tried to repeat in her rushing mind. Eventually, her 'paws' beat on the ground with the same rhythm as the hundreds of others. Or close enough.
The wolves raced across the plains and eventually fanned out. Their movements were slowed to Orvisha's eyes, able to catch every arc of a back or stretch of a limb. But the land beneath them zipped past. Trees, rocks, mountains, and even living villages seemed to move past them in a blur as the sky twists and evens out to show violet stars and twisting lines of errant magic. The spirit wolves, still in their eerie ethereal blue, began to gather at a hilltop where a famliar sight comes down below. A giant, pristine diamond reflecting the sky above.
Spirits walk and haunt around the Mountain as it stood tall before the little hill. As the sun began to rise, they all vanish, though the wolves remain. They paded and pawed, some reclining, seated down, or scratching their ears with their hind feet. The Alpha sat serenely at the very top, having completed its run before them all.
Orvisha slowed to a trotting pad, catching her breath in pants. Her flopping tongue fell out of her mouth and all. Padpadpad. She peered at the other wolves, quite relaxed in her four-pawed trot. Then she noticed Oshu'gun in the fields below. Long, sandy-brown ears perk towards it. She then slunk low as she spotted all the haunting spirits, making her way up the hill towards the alpha. Once before the entity, she stopped and sat on her haunches.
The Alpha nodded its head towards the shaman. The large wolf looked up to the sky then to the Oshu'gun as the sun rose higher over the shattered horizon. "Your training has only begun, young Shaman. You have learned to run with us, but control will not be fully yours until you learn to be in contact with the spirits without the aid of the sapta. Drink it to seek us out, and we shall run together so that you may change. Over time, you will no longer need it. You will learn to release your spirit, and your body will follow. And then, you will run like us."
Orvisha was about to ask how long that might take, when she might know--but, she realized those questions might only be answered with vagaries and riddles. She wasn't even sure if she could speak right now. Her dainty paws lift and pad a few times. Her acknowledgment, excitement, honor--it all came rushing forth. Unable to contain it, she pushed off to the side and ran in a circle right there, barking however a wolf might. She stops after a few turns, then howls her pride.
The Alpha bowed his head, the pack's aid for the young shaman at an end. "Until we meet again," it bade farewell as the great number of lupine spirits were pulled away to the air like so much blue smoke.