The Sprits Speak

Was it strange to, as a wolf, prefer the company of plants over your own kind? Where wolves were loud, emotional, and overbearing, plants were calm, solitary, and silent. Or at least that was the way that most viewed them. Plants didn’t have audible voices, nor were they often perceived as having emotions, but they were still of the living. They had necessities for survival; it was visibly clear when they were thriving, and when they were dying. Just like wolves and other creatures, their health and well-being were affected by their environment and the others of their kind around them. Even a single tall tree with a looming shadow could bring benefits or disadvantages to a given plant. Much like wolves…

Pale honey eyes narrowed, glaring to the side in the general direction he knew the primary densite to be. A single being casting a shadow large enough to bring those around them crashing down. A rather familiar concept to him, unfortunately. Culture and order were things that wolf packs relied on to keep them standing, to keep them whole. To his knowledge, even the barbarians in the south had some form of understanding that they followed. And while some traditions were futile in purpose and reason, they often brought those who followed them together, in some sense or another.

She believes that breaking our way of life will somehow make us stronger. If anything, all she has done is divide us. A low growl escaped from his throat, his tuft of neck fur ruffling against his chin and chest. The dark canine turned his attention back to his paws where a grouping of feather-shaped plants grew all around in bunches, their muted green shades standing out just a tad against the more diminished yellow-green grass. Sage wasn’t exactly a rare plant by any means, and Hollow knew with certainty that there was plenty of it in the Gardens. But it was far more peaceful to watch over the herbs that weren’t growing in the Gardens, as these ones felt more…wild.

A faint gust of wind swirled through the dark pines that surrounded the small clearing, brushing through his fur almost in small waves, the trees faint rustling finding his ears. His eyes closed, breathing in the air that brought with it the scent of the pine and of the distant fields. Though it was just wind, the movement of the foliage it caused was almost comforting, as though it was momentarily giving the plants the voices he wished they had. But even without voices, being surrounded by herbs and trees and bushes, he could feel them, as though their spirits were whispering to him.

Sharp ears perked suddenly and the varying lengths of fur along his spine rose, a new scent suddenly mixing with the wind. His gaze snapped open, scanning slowly around him but remaining in place. A louder rustle of plants to the side caught his attention and his head turned, eyes narrowing further and tail fluffing in alert. Someone else was here…