Yemoya and the Earthwielder

This was cowritten between the players of Ursala and Yemoya respectively. It is adapted from MSN chat logs.
It takes place in January 2010, during the Cataclysm pre-events.
Yemoya crouched on the shore, the hem of her skirt and her bare toes anchored in the waves while her heels dug into the sandy shore for support. The water was salty, but even so, she could get a pretty good feel for it. She passed a hand over the water. Beneath the waves, was Life. Irritably, she waved her free hand over her shoulder.
"Not now, not now!" she said, to something that wasn't there. "I'm busy, on the thing you wanted me to do, in fact. So stop watching over my shoulder."
She reached out her other hand as well, spreading her four blue fingers and two thumbs over the glassy surface, and started to sing. "Aah, Erzulie, ma egba." 
There was a wolf behind her. It wasn't watching over, but it was watching her. It was quiet. It hadn't been very easy to hear, but now it was sat there, watching. Looking. Staring. It had a presence - presence of a spirit with an anchor to the real world. Spirit that was created there, and hadn't yet left. 
"Erzula laya non," the troll shaman sang and thrust her hands down into the water. For the shallow waters near the coat, her hands went in remarkably far, and when she pulled them out, a sparkling trail of water followed. "Erzulie ma egba," she repeated and clapped her hands, then looked over her shoulder with a wide, wild grin. There was an unknown spirit sitting behind her, and it looked more... grounded than the sort she usually saw. 
Throm'ka, it spoke - not through its mouth, and not to her ears. This word betrayed it as a shaman. An ear flicked. The wolf stared intently - not exactly at Yemoya herself. 
"How are yah doing?" The troll rubbed her hands, spreading the salt water over her lower arms. Her skin was blue, her skirt was blue, her shirt was blue and her hair was blue. One of the few things not blue was a red belt, the buckle decorated with a shaman symbol, visible as she pushed herself up and turned around. 
Once before, came again the wolf with its odd speech. Healing Kruss Cragshot, no?
"I've healed a lot of-- Oh! Yes, I remember." Behind her, and at her feet, the waves murmured. 
Yemoya. The wolf bowed its head. 
"Hah, yah remember me!" The troll threw her arms out at the wolf, but her gaze drifted off somewhere to the left. 
And you I? The wolf glanced to the side, following Yemoya's line of sight.
Yemoya pointed at the wolf, suddenly very serious. "I remember you, but I don't remember your name. I apologise. I would..." she trailed off, and shook her head. "Where was I? What did you say your name was?" 
The wolf tilted her head. The riddles amused her. Orgrimmar. On the way to the Valley of Wisdom. I forgot how to help.
"Oh, oh, with the potions!" Yemoya gestured enthusiastically. "See, I remember!" She danced a few steps, splashing in the water. The little dance brought her facing the sea again, and she stared at it for a moment, trying to pierce through the waves, looking for that one special fish she needed.
The wolf stood, and padded without effect to stand by Yemoya. I earned a surname since.
Moya grinned at the wolf. "You did?" She sat heavily in the wet sand and stuck her hands in the water again. "Let's hear it!" 
The wolf sat also. Earthwielder.
"Ooh, one of the Earth." She grinned over her shoulder, her hands still groping around the cold waves. "You'll like this one." 
Ursala nodded slowly. She knew this Shaman wasn't mad. I have seen something like this once before, Yemoya.
"What, what? Sorry?" Yemoya looked back at the wolf, slightly confused. "What was your name again?" 
Ah... I apologise. Forgive me.
And the wolf changed, and was an orc. An orc without a tabard, but the sash was there. The sash was... important. It had important things in and on and with it. 
"Ursala Earthwielder," she said, with a voice. 
"Aah, of course." Yemoya grinned again, easily, relaxed. "You already know my name, so I won't repeat it. Though you can call me Moya, if you want." Her fingers wriggled, distorted by the moving waves. 
There was a blank grin. "Who's with you?" 
She chuckled, softly. "In what way?" 
Ursala jerked a thumb over her shoulder. 
Yemoya gestured expansively. "The whole, wide, Earth." There was something about the way she said 'earth' that made it very clear she wasn't just talking about Azeroth, or the sand beneath their feet. Mumbling, she added. "Being a nuisance, at that." She snickered and waggled her eyebrows. 
"Hah! Something's wrong, Yemoya. That's why." She looked at her hands. She took the gloves off - sharply, quickly, agitated movements. Rested her hands on the sand and gently shuffled them into it, submersing them. Yemoya sighed and looked at her hands in the water. She thought she could see a glimpse of silver, just out of her reach.
"I know, I know. I'm ashamed to say I've been avoidin' it." She glared over her shoulder. "See, I admit it." 
Ursala closed her eyes. There was... shhhh. "I'm running too, Yemoya. It's all we can do." 
Another flash of silver in the water. Yemoya snatched at it, and with a triumphant cry, found herself holding a small silver fish. It wriggled in her hands, but she had it by the head. "Monomba Erzulie," she muttered, and swallowed the little creature whole. 
The orc tilted her head. The question was implicit in her movement. It did not need to be voiced. The fish went down easily enough, but Yemoya could feel it struggle inside her, its frantic life ebbing away from it. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. She swallowed again, but her throat felt like it had grown a coating of fur. She blinked, and tiny silver fish swam across her vision.
"Excuse me for a moment," she murmured, and toppled over backwards. 
Ursala nodded. She took her hands out of the sand and knelt down by Yemoya's side, resting a hand on the troll's forehead. Testing for temperature change. Watching her face, closely. 
Yemoya stared up at the sky, only it wasn't a sky. It was the fur of some great beast, its teeth, its scales. It roared, flailing its huge limbs like the fish in her stomach. Its malevolent eyes fixed on her and it snarled, its breath streaming hotly across her formless being. No, no, this was all wrong. This wasn't what she was here to see. She pleaded, on the elements, on the names of the Loa... and she was elsewhere. There was green around her. Something was grinning at her in the shadows, indulging her like a little child. Her stomach turned, so she turned as well, and now everything was upside-down, and she was walking on the sky, led by the fish that swam inside her. She saw a flower, the leaves a bruised red, like broken hearts, and understood. 
The hand was grounding. It was a link. An anchor. A point on which to hold. But it wasn't pulling, or pushing. It was there. Ursala frowned, unaware.
Yemoya blinked. The beast was gone, the green was gone, the fish was still. Above her, the grey sky of Desolace. 
"Welcome back, Yemoya?", ventured the Earthwielder. 
"Ngrh," mustered Yemoya. The earth was firm under her, and thankfully, it was quiet, now. What had she seen?
"Paper," she muttered and patted her hidden pockets. If she didn't write it down, she'd forget. Ursala nodded, and removed her hand. She took her belt off, and went into the Frostweave one at the back. Before long, Yemoya managed to find a stub of charcoal, but still no paper. Had she remembered to bring any? Was she getting bad enough to forget to bring paper when she was hoping for a vision? She cursed herself quietly, and could feel something grinning at her in the back of her mind. 
Ursala brought the paper. She handed it blankly to Yemoya. Parts of it had already been used. (One section was a set of alchemical instructions. Something about baggle-balm?) Gratefully, Yemoya started to scribble on the piece of paper. Teeth, beast, struggling somewhere, roaring, evil (she underlined that word), green, mocking me how dare they, fish? Something about the fish? Red flower, very important. Upside-down. 
Ursala watched her hands. 
"Alright, I'm back!" Yemoya threw her hands in the air. She was grinning again. "So sorry about that, yah know how it is." 
"I can understand." She smiled lop-sidedly. 
"I knew you could." Yemoya looked over the paper again, her mouth moving silently, then handed it back without wiping away the charcoal scribbles. "Thanks for that, it was a very educative experience." She winked at the orc. Said orc folded the paper in the same way she always did, and put it back in the bag.
"I have never had a vision, you know," she commented - off-handedly. 
"Ooh, er. Really?" Yemoya scratched her throat. It still felt funny. "Do you want to?" 
"It is something which must happen at some point, surely? There is a lot of uncertainty over the stability of the next few months. I would wish to do it whilst I still have a ground to stand on." She unbuttoned a pouch on her sash, and took one red pebble out. 
"That's a good point." The troll looked up at the sky, dug around in the folds of her skirt and pulled out a flask of rum. "Then again, maybe a little instability is necessary." She sniffed the rum, dribbled some onto the sand, and took a sip. 
"A little already exists." Ursala grunted, and put her belt back on. There were two scraps of cloth and a tabard tied to it, now. Yemoya held out the flask to Ursala. She patted her stomach with the other and belched. "Do you know any red flowers?" 
Ursala took the flask, hesitantly. "I... there are some. There's a variant of Arthas' Tears that grows red, but it is bad for potion-making. Firebloom is red. Let me think..." She sniffed at the flask, seeing if she could recognise its contents. Alcohol. 
"Firebloom!" Yemoya shook her head, her arms moving along and almost spilling the rum. "Of course, it makes so much sense. And you stop laughing at me, you hear. I'm doin' my best here." She trailed to a mumble. 
"We all do. We give what we can. We hope it is enough." Perhaps without sufficient hesitation, the orc took a small sip of whatever was in the flask. Just small enough, thankfully.
"So that brings me to the usual method of distilling pure water with the feathers of a blue parrot and Firebloom." The troll frowned. "I'm still missing things." She rubbed her hair. It stood on her head in jagged spikes. "Yes, I know," she continued, "That's probably it, then." 
"Ah. My apologies, but what are you making?" 
Yemoya raised a finger and took a deep breath to proudly tell Ursala all about her experiment.
She hesitated. "I'm not sure, well. It's just, it's pretty ambitious. It probably won't work." The grin on her face betrayed that she definitely hoped it would, though. 
"Go on." 
"I'm brewing sapta." 
There was a grin on Ursala's face, along with a sense that grinning was not common for this one. "And who to see?" 
Yemoya rubbed her hands. Her grin grew wider, but also a little desperate. "Ah, well, that's where it gets real interestin'. In fact, I've been yelled at, told it can't be done, it's heresy." She rolled her eyes. "I'm doing exactly what they want, right?" She nodded. "Thought so." 
"Heresy is a false word," said Ursala with vindication, "and a false concept perpetuated by those too close-minded to consider the new as well as the old. Continue."
"Hear, hear." Yemoya grinned, but the panic was still present on her face. "I'm looking to talk to the spirit o' the Wild." 
"Oh. Ohhh..." The grin spread again. "I wouldn't be brave enough." 
"Believe me, I'm scared out o' my skin." The troll grabbed a fistful of sand, watched it run through her fingers. "Ï was told I should, that I'm out of balance." She snorted. "Not really news, huh?"
"You're off balance as well, Moya?" The grin was very sharply replaced with a frown. Trouble? 
Yemoya raised an eyebrow. This was serious business. "I have been for a long time, but I've muddled through." Absentmindedly, she rubbed the sand into her skin, where the seawater had dried into a thin layer of salt. "See, what I'm hopin', the Wild might give me a nudge in the right direction." She considered this for a moment, and grinned. "It will probably be horrifyin'." 
"Oh, thank the Spirits it isn't recent." She waved an agitated hand. "Gremkarc has lost his balance. I'm risking mine. Gulgrim is concerned, says he needs to confirm some things to himself. Lots is happening. Any insight you could find would be..." She gave a lop-sided, humourless smile. 
"Ooh, insight? Uh. If I manage my audience, I'll bring it up." Moya frowned, remembering the first part of her vision. It had to be a metaphor for something. Something big, roaring, struggling, shaking. Shaking? There had been... disruptions. "Do you think that has something to do with it?" 
"I don't know, Yemoya." Grimace. "Everything's changing." 
"That's true enough." Yemoya stared at the sea. She was plenty sick of this serious mood, and besides, it was getting late. "Hey, I'm hungry." Behind her, that which was not there sighed at her short attention span. 
"I have fruit." 
"No, no, that won't do. Come on." She pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand to the orc. "There are fires over there, and I saw someone fishing earlier." Without waiting for a reply, or for Ursala to take her hand, she skipped across several associations and said, her hand still held out: "You should catch one yourself. Sometimes it's the journey that matters." 
Ursala paused. Her jealousy of Yemoya's vision had shown, then. Nodded, with understanding. Took the hand roughly and used it to pull herself up, before letting go. With a smirk, Yemoya grabbed her companion's hand again and pulled her along as she strolled towards the fires - better visible now it was darker.
"Do you know how?" 
"No. Can you teach me?" 
"Yes, I can!" Yemoya let go of Ursala's hand again, rubbed her arms. They were covered in sand and salt, she couldn't wait for some fresh water. Ursala watched this, but didn't understand the implications.
She nodded. "Please do." 
"Oh, now?" She slowed down, looked back at the orc, but didn't stop walking. She wanted to sit at the fire and have a good piece of fresh fish. 
"Tonight?" 
"Right, that sounds good." She nodded, grinning again. "I can almost smell that fish and yes, you can have some too." This last bit might not have been spoken to Ursala.
Sal nodded. She found fruit difficult to eat. Her teeth weren't made for it. She'd felt harsh, offering it to Gulgrim and forcing it on Gremkarc like that - but she'd known that fruit was better than nothing.
Around the fires were huts, and trolls, Tauren, orcs. Mostly asleep, but not all of them. A lone figure stood fishing on a wooden pier. Yemoya waved and walked up to it. It was a troll. She offered him some coin for a fish, he charged her half again as much but gave her two. Triumphantly, she sauntered up to the biggest fire, burning red and yellow under the stars, the fish in her hands.
Ursala was silent. She followed, and watched. Interpretation. Listening, and watching. She did not respond to words, if they were spoken, but sat by the fire besides Yemoya. The troll pulled out a knife and sliced the first fish open. She pulled the guts out in one movement and handed them to Ursala. The rest of the carcass was quickly stuck to a sturdy stick and propped upright into the flames, before she started on the next fish, repeating the pattern. 
The orc waited, and watched. She was content here. She had taken the fish guts without quarrel, and looked at them before placing them carefully on the ground. She would move them later. 
The second fish stuck into the flames, Yemoya rubbed her hands and held them out to Ursala. "Mind if I have those back, now?" She grinned, and again, continued without a very long pause. "How are you with water?" 
"You can have them." She left a similar pause, picking up and handing back the fish guts without quarrel. "Water is my secondary." 
"Primary," said Yemoya, without any context again. She took the innards and smelled them. They were salty, and a little bloody. With one hand, she tossed them into the fire and yelled; "Have a nice meal!" It wasn't very loud, but some of the sleeping forms still stirred. Surpressing a laugh, she winked at Ursala as the fire ate away at the fish guts. 
Ursala nodded deeply to the fire. There was perhaps something that was not said aloud. She smiled, and tilted her head a little. 
"Do you think, if you'd call on water for a vision, it would answer?" Yemoya asked casually. She prodded at the fish with her fingers, then sucked the fingers. After a moment she started rummaging in her bags. 
"I know not until I would ask. We are on amiable terms. I'm learning to heal with water, you know." A pause. "Or, rather... Water is beginning to let me heal with it. Heh. Earth doesn't mind as much as I thought it might."
"Good, good!" Yemoya pulled a small bag out of somewhere, and sprinkled some powder on the fish. "I'm glad to hear it. Now, you start by finding a good spot." 
Ursala listened, quietly, watching Yemoya closely. 
"You know, actually, it depends who you want to call on. But if you want to find a fish, any place near or in water should work. What I do, I chant my chant, to ask for permission to take a creature from the water and take its quick life for a vision. There's a price for this, but that comes later. Do you want to hear my chant, or do you have your own ways?" 
"I've never done this before, but, ah... I have my own ways of asking things. How does the price usually make itself known?" 
"Your own way is always best." Yemoya nodded. "Sometimes the price is a favour, sometimes it's pain. After all, you're eating a fish whole." She snickered, prodded as the fish again. "It has to come out, too." 
"Aha. Aye." 
"Then, you reach into the water to summon the fish. This bit feels odd, for me. Like it's stretching your hands away from you. Pull back when you can feel fish scales, and rubs your arms with the water so the fish can find you." She adjusted the fish-on-sticks, moving them out of the hotter flames to make sure they wouldn't burn to a crisp. 
Ursala nodded, still listening. She watched the way the fire cracked and ate, and the way it hated. The way the steam rose from the cooking fish, and the way it changed. Such was balance. 
Yemoya looked at the orc. "Then it's just a matter of waitin'. But yah have to be ready when it comes, yah only get one chance at catchin' it." She grinned. "One time I didn't catch it and I never got my vision, but I still had to pay the price." She nodded, grinning. It had been painful, but seemed so hilarious now it was all over. She was startled out of the memory. "Oh, they're right, before you swallow the thing - no chewing, mind you, you want it alive as long as possible - thank Water." 
Nodding. There was quite a lot of nodding. "Aye. That's important. Is that all?" 
"That's all you can do. The rest is... up to them. Oh and..." She hesitated, prodded at the fish again. "It can be dangerous, and unpleasant. Remember you can call on the spirits while you're there." 
"If I can call upon the spirits... does that also mean I can use my ankh, if it comes to it?" She didn't seem to be considering that this might be needed. It was more a matter of comfort. 
Yemoya nodded. "Should be." 
She nodded. "That's reassuring." She touched the ankh on her sash gently. It shone in the campfire light. 
Yemoya grinned. She pointed a finger at the fish. "Which fish do yah want, dead or alive?" 
"...I haven't eaten yet today. Do I need to, beforehand?" 
"If yah gonna do it now?" Moya blinked, rolled her eyes. "Yes, I was about to say that, thank you. Might be best if yah don't, actually." 
"Then alive, I suppose." She gave a lop-sided grin. There was a little bit of embarassment there. 
Yemoya cheered. Someone in the shadows let out a muffled curse. "Good, good! I'll watch over yah." She plucked the fish out of th fire, set one close to the burning logs to keep it warm, and took a bite from the other. She was hungry. 
"I will wait until you have eaten, then." She smiled, and pulled her legs up so they were crossed. 
With a grin, or maybe a smirk, the troll devoured the fish. It was gone in a matter of moments, a few bites, and then she was gnawing on th stick contentedly. 
She couldn't help a laugh. "I envy your appetite." 
"Ooh, yah wouldn't say that if yah were stuck in an icy cold place with nothing to eat for three days, the spirits yellin' at you to push through and keep fightin', gettin' no sleep to speak of all the time." She continues gnawing the stick, as if she was going to eat it for dessert. 
"Oh, I suppose so... my body refuses to complain of hunger, haha. I suppose my longing for it to do otherwise is largely borne of vanity." 
"Maybe survival instinct, too." She gestured with the stick, grinned. "Anyway shall we?" 
"We shall." She allowed herself a grin in return. 
Yemoya pulled herself to her feet and stuck the stick in her mouth. "Yah pick your spot on yourself, hmm?" 
She nodded. Rather than standing, she shuffled around and knelt - then closer to the ground, sniffing at it. Her posture and manner altogether resembled that of a wolf, save for her actual appearance. She pulled a face, realising she'd forgotten, then shifted. The spirit wolf now there sniffed the ground with more purpose, wandering a short way before taking off in a determined direction. With a broad grin on her face, Yemoya jogged after the wolf as soon as it took up. When it was obvious it was faster than she, she called on the same powers, and sprinted just as fast, a wolf with a stick in its mouth. 
It was a short while before she bent towards the coast and eventually hit the water. She ran a short way into the tide before shifting back, falling on her hands and knees from the perhaps overconfident shapechange. The second wolf trotted after her, shifting into a troll the moment it hit the waves. Yemoya looked very pleased to be standing in water again. She walked up to Ursala, shaking her head and glancing over her shoulder. "That's right," she said. 
Ursala didn't bother to stand, but knelt in about six inches of water. "Put my hands out and meditate?" 
Yemoya took a deep breath of salty air. "Hmm?" She looked down at the orc. "Oh, yah. That's right." 
It was cold, this late, but the orc's shivering stopped as she put both hands into the water, palms-down, and closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed. With a murmured word, Yemoya pulled her feet out of the water and stepped onto it. The swell of the water pushed her up and down very gently, the bigger waves parting before they hit her feet. She didn't want to disturb the other shaman's communication, and besides, there was already enough salt between her toes to season an ox. 
And, after long enough for there to have been a difference in the position of the moon... 
A grab, a splash. A grunt, a scrabble - and a triumphant grin as she raised her hands from the water. Her hands were cupped over one another, but there was no doubt as to what was inside them. The grin softened into a smile. There were no words, but meaning was exchanged. Thanks from a shaman. There was a grin and a wink in return.
Yemoya kept a close eye on the other shaman, it would be no good to go through all this and then drown in the waters that were supposed to be granting a favour. 
Closing her eyes again, and maintaining profuse thanks, Ursala raised her hands to her mouth. No chewing. The last of the meaning was carried through - thank-you.
She swallowed. 
There was water around the orc. It prickled against her fingers, brushed against the skin. The waves were wolves and the sea was a hunting ground. The wolves howled as they ran past her, pushed her aside, raced after the scent of blood under twin moons. 
Sure of herself in as far as she could feel her ankh burning herself into her, she could run with them now - to see, or perhaps only to run.
(She left her body, then. The ankh fluouresces, but does nothing, maintaining a haunting glow as the shaman's body slumps back into unconsciousness.) 
The wolves run, full of the joy of the hunt and the urgency of hunger. It's cold, the night a brittle crystal place as trees rise to loom overhead. It's cold, and there is only one thing to eat. In a wave of fur, teeth, too-thin bodies, the wolves crash down on... something. Something small. 
She tries to separate herself from the pack once again, but still to get a look. Something small. Does it hurt? In and of itself, or the things around it? She keeps her head as far as one can under circumstances such as these. She is used to keeping it where others do not. The ankh helps. 
The thing in the mass of barking wolves is an orc child, small, crying. It's a wolf pup, yapping in alarm. It's a huge bear, drowned beneath the onslaught of wolves. It's the wolves themselves, and the wolves are eating eachother, themselves. They aren't eating, they're running. There is a fire and there's nowhere to go. The fire is closing in. 
She becomes a Shaman, and tries to take all that is small, weak and afraid into her arms. Comfort, sooth. But it's difficult, and it means empathy - taking some of that fear for herself.
(The ankh's glow grows to a shine. Yemoya watches, one hand under Ursala's head, keeping her above the water.) 
The wolves, the wolf, cowers close to the orc. It whines, its tail between its legs, and whispers in her ear. There are no words, only fear, and everything in on fire. 
Bloody-mindedness. Stroking, soothing, putting earthen barricades as best as she could call them to slow the flames. Saying it, over and over, and not telling the truth but hoping - speaking words into the void. Things will be alright. The ankh tugged on her, reminding her who she was. 
Something was laughing at her, in the flames. There was no sound but the wind, the fire, and th crying of the wolf -- orc? -- no, wolf. There had to be something in the fire, but time was running out, and it was running out fast. 
She couldn't move. She held the other young spiritual close to her, and stared - piercing like flint - through the fire. Could she see it? The ankh was yanking at her abdomen where it laid. She would have to go soon. She told this to the spirutual, and a kiss on the forehead sealed it. She wasn't thinking - she was trying to see. And whether she did or not, she would leave in two moments. 
Something reached through the flames, an thin arm like a cutout in the fire. The fire hissed against it, lost some of its wild power. The arm reached further, and there was laughter. It was hard to tell if it was sincere or threatening. It was hard to tell if the something was saving her from the fire, or the fire was protecting her from the something.
The fire went out. She woke up with a start.
"Ghh!" Heavy breathing, quick. For a few moments, she seems unaware of where she is. But she looks up at Yemoya. Some of what happened lingers in her eyes. There's a loss, somewhere. The troll grinned down at her, despite the strange expression on Ursala's face. She'd seen worse, anyway. She kept one arm under the other shaman's shoulders, patting her skirts with her free hand in search of a piece of paper. It's not long before she remembers she forgot that tiny detail. 
Ursala tried to sit up, and failed. Twice. There's a grunt of frustration as she tries a third time. Her arm still under Ursala's shoulders, the troll tried to pull her up a little, give her a little support. By now, she's found her bit of charcoal again, but only an old, waterlogged scrap of paper. 
Ursala propped herself up on the sand, gripping it in her fist. Not letting it slip from under her. She scrambled onto her front, and crawled to the shore before opening her hands for the paper and coal. Yemoya dropped the items into her hands, silently, but winking at something in the shadows. 
There weren't words, but there were pictures. Chaotic and frantic, but small. Unclear. Oh so frantic. She actually growled in parts, almost barking at the page. The result was vague and enigmatic to Yemoya's eyes, but Ursala looked on it as if it meant something.
"Running. Smell of blood, and follow. Follow and find. A pup. Fire, all around. Pain. Shelter, and blurring. There was a pup, Yemoya." She looked the other shaman in the eye. "Just a pup." 
"A pup?" Yemoya scratched her chin. "What kind?" She peered at the pictures for a moment. "Looks like a, err... frantic one." 
Ursala paused for a long while. "What else is there that is both orc and wolf?" 
"Both orc and wolf, huh." She raised an eyebrow at Ursala pointedly. "Not a clue." 
"That pup was that." 
Yemoya scratched her nose again. "Right... I'm sure it means something. Up to you to figure out out, though." She grinned again, slily. "And you did very well there." 
"I... I did?" Emotions flitted across her face. It was the most she had outwardly expressed all day. 
"Yah bet. Got it right the first try!" She munched on her stick happily. "Yah deserve a drink." 
Ursala mustered a smile. "I think I understand what you meant." 
"Good, good."
From out of nowhere, or, her skirts, Yemoya produced another flask, offering it to the orc. 
Ursala took it without pause this time.
Category:Story