Packless

((Kind of reserved, but i don't mind others joining if the other person doesn't))

Moonlight shone over the swamp. Turning the stagnant water and rotting vegetation varying shades of emerald brushed with silver. A light breeze shifted the fetid air, brining only a slight reprieve from the stench. The night was silent accept for the sound of mud sucking as Moira pulled her boot out near the waters edge and the squelch as she took another step.

She slapped away a mosquito that had alighted on her neck, smearing a stain of blood and goo on her pale skin. Mosquito’s seemed to be the only life forms in this swamp. One of the reason’s she had chosen to take up residence there. She was tired of running and hiding.

Humans had concurred every square foot of the land outside the swamp, driving Moira from places she had once considered home. Humans had hunted down her pack until only she was left. Her packs coats mounted on the walls above fireplaces, laid on the bare floor like rugs, trampled by dirty feet. All in the name of human comfort or ‘sport’.

She brushed a few bitter tears from her eyes. They’d been whittled down until only she was left. She pulled on her boot too hard, her foot escaping her shoe and she fell into the mud. She splattered her face with fowl smelling liquid, it ran down her face and pattered to the soggy ground, hiding her burning cheeks and puffed eyes. She wrinkled her nose at the stench.

Grumbling she scrambled to her feet. The moon’s pull was strong tonight, but the swamp tree’s hid most of its icy glow. As much as she missed its cooling touch on her skin, she was glad that the tree’s offered her the resistance she needed tonight. She was too weak to make the transformation smoothly, and a wolf in half form was vulnerable until the morning gave it release.

Many had died like that, either by some misfortune or in some cases their own pack. Moira wasn’t sure how she knew this, having never met another thing like her since she’d been alive, but somewhere deep inside, she knew never to take wolf form when she was this tired.

She lifted her head and let out a mournful and wavering howl, it lacked her usual subtle tones and beautiful tone; it lifted into the silent air and faded into the darkness of the surrounding trees. There was no reply. She’d never expected one. Struggling to her feet, she could feel swamp slime slide between her fingers and toes.

She abandoned her other boot, a useless human tool that just made her trek that much harder. She was away from prying human eyes now; she was safe to slowly shed the humanity she had adopted while travelling threw the town.

How many wolf pelts had she seen piled high on a wagon, rolling slowly to the market stool? Some still so fresh that when the wind turned she caught their scent, and blood, she’d had to turn away swiftly before she gave herself away. She’d never fled ‘civilisation’ so fast, and never so somewhere so dank and cold.

Moira pulled her cloak about her tighter, without fur the air bit at her flesh, rising tiny goose bumps of protest. The nights would be cold now, without her packs fur to warm her cold skin. Their scent lingered in her memory, bringing forcible images of her time spent with them, beautiful images that brought more painful tears to her eyes.

Memories that were such a contrast to this blank landscape with its drab colours where everything struggled to live. Suicide was not in her vocabulary, the last of her pack, she had a duty to survive, but hiding here, in this godforsaken place was like signing her own death warrant.

She would either adapt to her new life, or die before sunrise. At that moment in time Moira wasn’t sure which one she would have preferred.

The night was inky black, but her night vision picked out every detail in black and white, the only wolf trait she retained while in human form. Scenes like a black and white photograph all around her.


Moira slumped against a tree a little back from the waters edge. Falling into sleep in her exhaustion, she soon woke up screaming, the images of her dying pack tattooed to the inside of her closed eyes, playing horrors out in minute detail in her dreams.

Their dying howls and whimpers echoed in her ears. She clamped her hands to the sides of her head, trying to block the horror out, but it just kept coming.

“SHUT UP!” she screamed, her throat scratching as she forced the words from her mouth. Her shout died in the heavy silence, but the images and voices faded until she was alone with herself once more.

She looked to what little of the violet sky she could see. The moon winked blithely as clouds skittered past. For years she had loved nothing more than being what she was. Human most of the time, but able to run with her pack every full moon, snuggling into their soft fur their earthy smells as sweet as a lullaby as they rocked her to sleep.

As she stared at that cold white orb she felt the first stirrings of hate. For humans. For death, for what she was.

An eagle owl landed silently in a tree opposite her, swivelling its head to almost 360% so it could watch her with its back to her. It regarded her coldly, looking down it’s beak at the wreck of life before it. Sprawled haphazardly on the swamp floor.

“Go away,” she said softly. She didn’t need an audience to her misery, much less a snooty owl. It slowly blinked its huge cold eyes, her image reflected in both perfectly. It didn’t move though. It continued its silent vigil of the pathetic half human before it. Its broken spirit and depression disgusting of a creature meant to be so strong and graceful.

“GO AWAY!” she screamed again, this time it took flight, with lazy flaps of it’s quiet wings, barely rustling the branch it had sat on, despite it’s massive size. It swept off into the night, leaving Moira behind. For a moment she wished it would return, if only to have some proof that life could thrive here, despite the odds, if only for the company she craved so desperately but couldn’t have.

The owl skittered over the tree tops, swooping low, searching for prey, finally dwindling to a shadow in the darkness. Moira watched it go, wishing she’d been born part owl so she could fly like that, to leave all her troubles earth bound. She shoved her thoughts aside and settled in for a long and fitful night.

As dawn rose weak and watery as everything else in the swamp Moira loosened her stiff limbs from sleep. She’d made it threw the night, somehow that seemed like less of a blessing than she had expected. She would have loved to be released from her duty by passing peacefully in the night.

Her clothes were soaked threw and the air was chill, warning of winter and frost. She should have spent the winter in the village, it would be her first without the pack’s protection, but a season with those animals, was more than she could bear. Watching them wearing wolves as coats, lining boots, skinning the corpses. It turned her stomach.

She was thirsty but the swamp water looked uninviting, she couldn’t afford to make herself any weaker. She needed shelter, food and a clean source of water. She had little in the way of possessions; she’d never needed them before. A tinder box she’d always had since before she could remember, but had never needed before, the clothes she wore and some rope.

Moira built a temporary shelter out of sticks and leaves. It wouldn’t be enough as permanent home, it would only really do for one night, but it was better than sleeping so exposed again. it would do for now until she could find a cave, if there was one in this goddamned place!

She heated water to drink, but it tasted fowl and she tipped the rest away, sorry for the waste of fire and wood, but she wasn’t thirsty enough yet to drink that kind of water. She set a trap to catch rabbits then grabbed a few hours sleep. When she woke up it was mid afternoon, judging by the pale sun threw the trees. It was already getting colder; the sun didn’t reach far enough to warm the earth.

Mist was rolling in over the swamp, another side effect living here would have. Even with her sharper than average vision, mist was going to be a problem. She decided to check her traps and curl up for the night with a small fire. The mist was already thick on the ground; she couldn’t see her foot in front of her.

Before she could truly realise what she’d done she was hanging upside down from the rope she had set to catch rabbits, her head about a foot from the swamp floor. The owl returned landing on a branch near by, she was almost certain it was the same bird. Amusement and condescending seemed to flicker in its golden orb eyes, glowing like lanterns in the descending dark.

“Don’t just sit there,” she shouted, finding it hard to form words with the blood rushing to her head, “help me down.”

But again it silently watched her, making no move to help her. It lifted from the branch, spreading it huge brown wings and glided silently on an unsuspecting mouse, before lifting off smoothly as if there were no effort at all involved and landed back on its branch, swallowing the mouse whole.

It watched her for a few more moments as she thought of ways to get herself down without hurting herself or cutting her precious rope, the owl lifted off again and floated over the mist, barely disturbing it as it passed, leaving Moira hanging from a tree.

(It's okay if anyone else joins.)

Not too far away, in the same area of the swamp, was someone just like Moira. From the same pack as well, unhappily for him, the omega wolf. He only survived for so long out of sheer fear, running from the first sight of any human. Noer had heard that familiar howl the night before after transforming into a grey-black wolf.
It was only a little past the afternoon, and he was making his way through the muck that was the swamp towards the location of that supposed howl. As long as someone, anyone else from his pack was still alive, he would have less fear of everything around him. Even if that person will only cause him harm because of running away..

The man had woken up again, hearing intruders. “I’ve paid my taxes, the king can leave me alone,” he muttered, grabbing his large sword, as he headed into the swamp. He liked this swamp, away from people, full of pigs and other swine, and when it was good, a gator would come and be his dinner, or lunch. His armor showed his conquest, the gator skin over metal plates making him seem more like a demon than a human fighter. “Now what kind of king invades this muck…” His small canoe took him through the swamp, as he prepared to see what sort of being had invaded HIS mud.

The warrior had lived here for years now, after his final battle defending some traders, but now, as his last reward, he had his swamp, paying taxes through the medicines and skins of gators he could find. It would be a shock when he stopped his canoe, tying it to a stump, as he saw a trap, and then a woman on the trap. “Well I’ll be… women don’t come here cept for those demons that priest keeps pattering on about…”

“Stupid smug owl,” Moira grumbled, reaching above her head to untie the rope wrapped tightly around her foot. Her stomach muscles strained under the effort of fighting gravity. She got close to loosening her knot then fell back , hair dangling in her eyes and face scowling.

“Stupid trap,” she grumbled, she could barely see anything in the mist now and began to wonder if it was safer to stay up in the tree for the night, even if it was hanging from one foot. She reached up again; the knot was fiddly, meant to be strong because she never thought she would have ended up hanging from it!

Finally the knot gave out under her teasing fingers and she dropped like a rock to the soft ground below, landing squarely on her butt. She groaned softly, at least the owl hadn’t been there to see it. The nasty thing seemed to be following her recently. No doubt it would have found no end of amusement in her landing.

She stood up and rubbed her sore behind, noticing the man in the canoe for the first time, her cheeks blazed heat; she hadn’t even seen him during her contortionist act. Knowing she had an audience that could speak and torment her about her less than graceful landing was worse than that stupid owl.

Moira had, what she considered, a healthy fear of humans. She avoided them as best as she could, and being stuck here with one now, on her own was a nightmare come true. She looked threw the mist and trees wondering if there was away to get out now, when her eyes focuses on a shape in the mist.

She was more startled than scared, surprised that any other wolf would be living in this swamp, had they all been forced from their homes? The trees were so thick around here it could easily hold a hundred wolf packs a few feet apart and they’d never know.

She glanced again at the man in the canoe. Was he a friend or an enemy? She took in the mans clothing, alligator skin. She shivered; he’d have to be strong to and skilled to kill one of those, was her opposed to skinning werewolves? She was contemplating her options, which suddenly seemed so limited it was untrue. How on earth did she get herself into this mess?

She glanced at the black wolf, it seemed so familiar, but it couldn’t be a member of her pack, they’d all been slaughtered. The images flashed behind her eyes and she shoved them away. She’d got out with only a couple of scars, a few scratches really here and there, in all that confusion and death could someone else have got out?

For a moment hope flared, until she realised she couldn’t take her wolf form. If she could get the scent she’d know, but her human nose was too weak to tell anything. Maybe it was best to stay human for now, assess whether this man was a threat before putting herself in a vulnerable position of transformation.

“Are you from my pack?” she asked, taking a tentative step forwards, no longer fearing her own trap now she’d disarmed it. The cold afternoon air raised goose bumps on her flesh, she shivered softly, disturbing the fog around her, the soft squelching of swamp mud and the gentle lapping of water against the canoe the only sound, and they hung heavily in the air.

She was sure this was another pack member, and if they had survived, how many others could still be alive? She shook her head, mind reeling, there was no point holding out false hope, two getting out alive was miracle enough. She couldn’t hope for more.

She looked closer, it looked like…but it couldn’t be…

She was reaching out to her pack member, when she heard voices in the trees. She froze, eyes wide as a rabbit that’s just caught a fox licking its lips. Every inch of her body was tense. The splash of water could be heard above the voices. Dogs yapped and called to each other threw the trees.

They’d found them. It was too much to hope that they’d let them pass in peace. As if the mass slaughter hadn’t been enough. No, she thought bitterly, the demon spawn that was a werewolf had to be completely eliminated from the face of the earth. Not one could be spared, especially not two.

She glared at the guy in the canoe, was he there scout? Had he been tracking them both? There wasn’t time to run now; the sound of happy dogs filled the air. They had their scent. She had to stand and fight .No more running.

Moira tried to take an offensive stance but her body was weak from lack of food and a hard cold night. Her limbs felt stiff and awkward. She rolled her shoulders, easing the tension. The last time she’d been a wolf, maybe she stood a better chance as a human.

She broke a branch off a tree to use as a club, but the weight of it dragged her arms down, so she rested it on the soft earth, getting ready to throw a blow when the time came, muscles twitching with anticipation as the first of the dogs came bounding threw the trees.

Moira felt a pang of regret for those animals. She didn’t want to have to hurt them, they were trained to hunt and kill, but they weren’t evil by nature, not like humans. As the leader ran for her, intending to either take out her throat, or more likely knock her to the ground, the slobber on its jaws foaming, she swung her branch, knocking it a blow to the ribs.

The shock waves ran threw the tree branch and up Moira’s arm, shaking the teeth in her head. The dog skidded to the floor; it’s back slamming a tree with a yelp. It was alive still, but incapacitated for the moment. The rest of the dogs seemed confused now, without their leader they needed their human masters to give them instructions.

She should have taken advantage of their confusion, but her mind was working too fast for her to keep up. She couldn’t keep fighting, she’d tire eventually, and her weapon was crude at best. Cumbersome and too large for a close fight. She glanced between the black wolf and the canoeist.

Then she spun on her bare heel and ran. She preyed the blood hounds would follow her, but as she swung round a tree, her feet slipping in the mud until she fell to the ground, she realised they’d not given chase. Without their leader they didn’t have the brains to follow!

Moira ran back the way she had come, mind whirring as another plan formed. She burst threw the trees and an arrow lodged itself in the flesh of her shoulder. She screamed her shoulder a wall of fire. She collapsed to her knees, trying to get a grip on the arrow, but each time she touched it, her shoulder howled in protest.

Her vision wavered and she had to wonder if that was it. Would her pelt be plastered to someone’s wall? Would her skin be a trophy? Would the hunters brag about the deadly werewolf they had killed and skinned, not the woman they had murdered. Spinning tales about her soul being released from its torment when there was nothing she loved more than being a werewolf.

She glanced up into the trees. The owl was back, watching her silently. That owl gave her the creeps. It watched her now with its overly bright, too intelligent eyes.

“That’s all I need,” she rasped in a breath that held more pain than she thought possible, “an audience as I die.”

She closed her eyes gently and ripped the arrow from her flesh; she let out another scream, and expected another arrow to lodge itself in her chest. Trying to control her breathing, she got back up, ready to keep fighting, because there was no way she was going to die sitting there.

Noer soon lost himself in the sudden commotion, not even noticing the human wearing alligator skin. From Moira's freeing herself from her own trap to following Moira, jumping back as the arrow lodged itself into her arm. He lowered his head low, almost touching the ground, showing his inferiority to her.
Then he got into a fighting stance. His lips curled back in a snarl, staring into the mist, watching for any movement. 'Me and Moira are the last,' he thought, 'I have to protect her and ignore my fear!'

Now the man would watch all of this, simply confused as why the odd woman would be chased by hunters… poaching on… HIS PROPERTY… They would not live to see their families. He first kicked a dog, breaking its ribs with a well place boot to the sternum, turning to the others, “I thought I told you gits to get off my lands!” were the shouts of an aggravated fighter, as he used his sword, customized with an axe like cutting edge to rip into another dog, leaving it well torn up. With that, the others ran, as he saw the angry hunters, “Its time to pay YOUR TAX!” he said, cutting one through the shoulder, before kicking back, the blade tearing through bone and flesh of the already confused hunter. The others would run back, screaming about the “Mad Man,” but they wouldn’t be able to get far.

“Its time for Payback!” he said, tossing the blade into one fleeing man. With that, the last hunter would look on in shock, not expecting his biggest foe to be human, instead of the wolf. He aimed his arrow at the knight’s heart, firing a bolt from the rope drawn weapon, only to have it bounce, the close range an advantage for the knight, and soon to be the fighter’s downfall.

Running was always an intresting thing in the swap, and today was no exection, as he ran the distance between the hunter and his older location. He then saw it. A look of fear, the fear his foes felt on the battlefield, before he grabbed the hunter’s face. The palms were easily enough to cover half of the man’s face, the power making him seem like a demon, rather than a Knight of the King..

“…Never… ever…” he said, squeezing the fearful man’s face shut with his massive hands , “Enter my lands… and hunt MY animals. Anything on these lands is mine..” he said, before hearing a squish. That hunter was dead, several dogs were bleeding, and he was filty in the blood of scum. “…This is why I retired…” he said, kicking the first body into the cold, filthy water, before drawing his sword out of the second. Now of course he would clean his blade with a rag made from some fiberous plants, then tossing the body into the cold water. That would make good bait for the gators later, when he harvested them in Spring. The third corpse was a bit more work, as the adrenaline stopped flowing, forcing him to drag the corpse into the murk, where it floated, before a snap was heard. The Gators were greatful..

Now somewhat cleaner, he stared at the smaller man, and then headed, shouting, “Hey, Woman!” he said, “Those buggers who were trying to murder you are dead, now explain why you and the boy are in this place, its off limits and full of Gators…”

((sorry for the late reply guys))

Moira got shakily to her feet, the blood on her shoulder drying and crusting her clothes. She felt woozy from the hit and the fight, and despite the fact they’d been trying to kill her, slightly sickened by the sight of blood. Odd for a werewolf, but they’d never been the blood thirsty creatures they were claimed to be.

She pressed her palm against a slimy tree to steady herself as her head cleared, then said, “the name is Moira, and he’s Noer,” she glanced at Noer and offered a shaky smile, he’d stuck around, she was glad he had. She’d lost enough of her pack already.

Moira turned her attention back to the fighter. He’d got rid of those men awfully easily. She shuddered to think that they were called blood thirsty and easy killers, if they had half the ferocity of that man their numbers wouldn’t have dwindled so much.

She wasn’t sure telling him what they were or why they were there was such a good idea, what if he decided to kill them too? But then, if she didn’t tell him, they’d probably die anyway. She sighed, it was probably better to die being true to yourself.

“we’re here because there is no where else for us to go,” she shot Noer and sympathetic, sorry look, then continued, “we’re werewolves. Our pack is dead, and until I just saw Noer I thought I was the last one left. And to be honest, right now, alligators are the least of our problems.”

She looked around at the thick trees, the scales of mottled green-grey lining a few banks and shivered. They’d hunted them down to this god awful place, there really was no where they could run that would be safe enough.

Moira felt an over whelming wave of home sickness. She missed their den, she missed their hunting ground, she missed everything that this place wasn’t. Tears tried to fight their way to the surface, but she shoved them back down with a hard swallow.

She wasn’t alone at least, that was something. Werewolves had survived for years of being persecuted, if they had to eek out an existence on the fringes of society, so be it, so long as they survived.

Moira regarded the stranger silently, trying to guess what his reaction would be to her news. Probably not that much of shock, she decided. People didn’t often come out here if they had another place to go. They didn’t come out here if they were honest and upright citizens either.

She moved her heavy gaze to Noer, he’d changed a lot since the last time she had seen him, she was glad he was ok, glad he was back. She just wished everyone else was still around to great him too. He’d been missed when he went. She offered him a shaky smile, the best she could give under the circumstances.

“So why are you here anyway? You know about us, you know why they hunted us to this swamp,” werewolf pelts were worth a year’s wages to an honest man. The notoriety that went with it didn’t hurt either, “so why are you here?”

Moira wasn’t sure if she expected an answer from the stranger, she wasn’t sure what to expect from him, but it only seemed fair that if she had shared their most deadly secret he could at least impart some information about himself too.

Noer nodded at Moira's smile and at what she told the human. Now that this human knew, what will happen with he and Moira? Too bad he was a wolf for now, he couldn't speak with Moira and the human, and speech would be very useful in this predicament. But for now, body language is what he'll have to settle for.

The man then sighed, hearing her story. “Aye lassie,” he said, “Well I don’t mind you, you are one of them wolf girls I heard about…” He smiled, patting her head. “Well anyway, you can stay with me, I own this place, and the King knows not to piss me off..” The man then patted Noer, before saying his story.

“Lass and Laddie, I’m a fighter. I have fought for longer than you might have been alive. I have saved the King’s life many a time. I’m tired though, and getting old. I asked for this land as my retirement gift, and anything that I want goes. I give the King’s men some skins and medicine, and they leave me alone…” He smiled, “Its odd though, I don’t get why they would hunt such cute lasses, I’d rather…” he sighed, “But enough about me. You both should come with me, you need some clothes, and the wolf over there looks hungry…” The man then saw the clouds shift, “And its going to pour…”

Moira couldn’t help thinking that a swamp was an odd retirement gift for someone that had saved the king life, but then it did guarantee privacy (unless werewolves came running threw followed by hunters) and she supposed it wasn’t that bad if you didn’t mind swamp water and creepy eagle owls.



“We won’t stay here too long,” she said, though in honesty she wasn’t sure where else they could go. She smiled again at Noer, she was just glad not to be so alone in the world, and relieved that their pelts wouldn’t be hanging from a wall anytime soon.



She moved on a head, the wound in her shoulder healing fast, werewolf healing was a wonderful, itchy thing; she had to resist the urge to scratch it, her fingers twitched by her sides. She didn’t have a clue where she was going; she just wanted to keep moving, to stay distracted.



The first few spots of rain pattered down on Moira’s head, but she barely noticed. She’d spent half her life outside, rain was just one of those things.



“Are you the only one in this swamp?” she asked, tiptoeing by a spot of ground that looked particularly sludgy.



She wasn’t sure what it was about this place, but it set her nerves on edge, she felt like she was being watched where ever she went. She supposed it was something you got used to, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else out there.

Noer followed Moira and the Man. Where ever his packmate went, he would follow. 'At least she's the kind one..' he thought.

“Aye lassie,” he said, patting her head again, “You can stay as long as you like, I personally like company…” he looked down, “The sad thing about fighting so much is I’ve never had time for kids..” with that, he looked around, “Lassie, Lad,” he said, “It is raining, shall we go?” He walked towards his canoe, the small boat shaking, “But don’t worry, this boat has more than enough room for the both of us…”

He then grabbed an oar, pointing it towards the swamp, “No other people besides me and that witch, but she leaves me alone if I make sure to get her spell things…” the man shook his head, “But she might like you, she’s crazy like me!”

Noer trotted over to the boat, sniffed, then climbed in, wagging his tail.

Moira glanced around the surrounding trees, expecting to see the Witch materialise out of the fog. Her eyes rested on the eagle owl, still watching her intently. It’s fascination with her was unnerving. The wide eyes that held more intelligence than an owl’s should.

She was too busy staring and almost toppled the boat; she glanced away from the owl as she righted herself, blushing furiously at her own clumsiness. So much for the grace of wolves!

Once she was settled she looked again for that owl, but it was gone. Something about that bird didn’t seem right, and even though she was glad it had gone, she wished she knew in which direction it had left, so she could make sure she went in the opposite one.

She grabbed an oar, more to distract herself than anything else. The wood felt light and smooth in her hands, helping to ground her thoughts. She was reading too much into the whole owl and witch thing. It was the swamp that did it, playing tricks with her mind.

She dipped the oar gently into the water, barely skimming it, her mind swimming with dark images; she wanted nothing more than to be away. She could see one of the dogs lying on the ground, blood washed away under the down pour, its eyes staring at her.

She pulled back on the oar, limbs moving gently as she pulled with both hands, too weak to row on her own, and too distracted to try, her muscles burned gently with the force she was exerting, but the pounding rain cooled her skin and blurred her vision so that soon anything more than a few feet in front of her was lost in the grey haze of water.

Water drops splashed around them, falling into Moira’s eyes as she blinked them away furiously. The cold drops no longer soothing as they made her head and exposed skin grow numb, the mud she had acquired while walking washing away little by little, but the rain water made her feel more dirty than clean.

“Is this whole swamp dead, apart from you the alligators and the…” she swallowed hard, flicking her head to shake some of the water from her face, but more so she could glance around, why did it feel like someone was listening in? “witch,” she finally managed.

Why did the witch bother her? She wasn’t sure. She’d never met a witch, but the rumours about them weren’t exactly good…

“Is she evil? The witch I mean, you said she leaves you alone, but you give her ingredients for spells, how well do you know her?”

Knowledge was power, the more she knew the less scared she would hopefully feel.

Now the man laughed, watching as he helped Moria row, before responding, “Eh, some panthers come down here, but its mostly… he then sighed, “Its not dead, just not alive as you know it…” he said, placing his hand in the water, scooping out a frog. “See..” he said, before placing the amphibian on a tree stump, “Life exists all around you, miss wolf..” he said, before then responding,

“The Witch…” after sticking the rudder into the water to curve around a large, almost dead tree, “Well, she mostly likes this place. She’s smart, and young, I think she’s not much older than you, but the villagers ran her out. I took her under my wing, so she’s sort of ..” he laughed at this statement, “My cousin or something… she lives across the lake, I could introduce her to you today if you want..”

Noer moved to sit between Moira and the human, looking from one to the other as they exchanged words. As the rain became a bother to him, he groaned.

Moira thought about that f or a moment…She’d always assumed witches were ugly, disgusting creatures that spent their days and nights working evil spells to get children…she didn’t like the idea that she’d judged someone else based on stories she’d heard, the same way she had been judged…

“So she’d meet us right now? How will she find us? Or are we going to find her…I’d kind of like to meet her…”

It might be nice to meet another person that had been forced into the swamp, another person that had been prosecuted for something they were and couldn’t change.

Moira smiled a little, and kept tugging at the oars.

OOC: Sorry for not posting!


The man laughed, a deep and echoing laugh which spread through the trees like a pebble in still water. “Well we go to her,” he said, as he stuck the paddle into the water, changing the course of the small boat towards a fork, “So, little one, “ he said to Noer, “Do you have anything to say, or are you a mute wolf.” He didn’t expect an answer, but if there was one, the company would be nice.

Noer rolled his eyes. Of course he couldn't speak in human tongue as long as he was a wolf.. He turned and looked over the side of the boat, watching the water. Then he turned around again to face Moira and lyed down. Clearly he was bored, having nothing to do. Of course, he didn't have much to do before...

((OOC: no worries i'm not exactly brilliant at replying))

Moira reached out a hand and ruffled Noer’s fur affectionately. It was soft and thick and she realised she missed this kind of contact. She rubbed her hand around his ear and remembered play fighting with the others when she was younger.



“maybe she can help him turn back?” she muttered more to herself than to anyone else, maybe she could help Moira be wolf again. She missed it like an amputated limb, half of her was missing and she was beginning to worry it wasn’t just lack off food or energy that was stopping her.



What if she’d lost her ability altogether, how was she going to cope?