05-06-2009, 02:57 PM
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Yes, that’s probably better~ Is the 11th okay with you?
500+
Cwmfen had shifted, able now take on the change. For a moment, she simply lay within the soft grasses, tender with their youth of spring. Her breathing was only slightly labored with the effort of the change—shifting after a healing had always proved to be the most difficult. A woad bound hand reached back, lightly tracing the healed wounds that made her lower back and hips sore, but they had not reopened. And they no longer caused her to limp, but she knew that the scars that had been superimposed upon the longer scar down her back would remain prevalent for a while. There was nothing that could be done about it, but the pain was not to an extent that it could not be ignored. And the warrior’s body was used to such hardships. With a soft sigh and a serene smile, the woman fell back into the grass, the white orbs watching the springtime heavens and simply enjoying the silence of the day. She would linger here for a moment longer before she would set out for the day. But her relaxation was short-lived as the epitome of her Dream seemed to fall from the sky with shadowed wings, landing in a tree overhead. The Raven sat above in the trees, his single eye watching the female below him as he clicked his beak: something had come.
The Adonis rose immediately in response, grasping the Raven Spear that had been dormant against the tree before she turned to trace the path along the river. Her step was light and unhindered by the newly healed wounds (it seemed that every time she healed, some exciting calamity befell her). The spear was held at an angle, the bright blade humming quietly in her soul as it bit the air before her, ever hungry for that art of war. And yet she had never had the chance to use it on another, had never had a chance to satisfy the weapon’s hunger if only ephemerally. She did not doubt that one day she would be moved to, but for now she would be content with that martial pattern her body could conjure. The woman’s mind for a moment considered her father, believing that perhaps he was the one of whom the Raven spoke. And yet she felt in her soul that it was not yet time. Perhaps it would be Brennt, intent upon taking back what he believed that she had stolen—a soft growl whispered from her throat, a discontent sound; she would not waste her time again with that creature. But she did not think that she would find him there either—he was not one to hunt another down. And so she simply followed the Raven that shadowed the path ahead of her.
A whisper. The ocean’s incessant breathing sounded about her, breaking to the trees. Suddenly, the bird turned toward the boarder, and she no longer needed the Raven’s eyes. As if knowing that, he fell from sight, disappearing from that sensory in her soul that could feel him. The woad bound ear’s pricked forward, her white gaze holding a ferocity that clearly mirrored the belligerent thoughts flitting through her mind. As her feet hit the sand and the boarder that marked it, she paused, seeing a figure in the distance. For a moment the woman simply stood there, her gaze cutting through the distance to identify the creature who stood beyond the boarder. Then the wind came, touched by that smell of salt and water and eternity, bringing to her that scent as it brushed through the feather in her mane. She knew that scent. Onus. Her woad tipped tail flickered behind her, the weapon falling slightly in height—she would not need to attack. A soft trot carried her to him, closing the distance between them with ease. Cwmfen had not seen him since that night—perhaps that wound he bore had healed. The woman stopped short, suddenly a little timid as the white orbs looked at him; he seemed better than he had the night she had found him, she thought with a smile.
Yes, that’s probably better~ Is the 11th okay with you?
500+
Cwmfen had shifted, able now take on the change. For a moment, she simply lay within the soft grasses, tender with their youth of spring. Her breathing was only slightly labored with the effort of the change—shifting after a healing had always proved to be the most difficult. A woad bound hand reached back, lightly tracing the healed wounds that made her lower back and hips sore, but they had not reopened. And they no longer caused her to limp, but she knew that the scars that had been superimposed upon the longer scar down her back would remain prevalent for a while. There was nothing that could be done about it, but the pain was not to an extent that it could not be ignored. And the warrior’s body was used to such hardships. With a soft sigh and a serene smile, the woman fell back into the grass, the white orbs watching the springtime heavens and simply enjoying the silence of the day. She would linger here for a moment longer before she would set out for the day. But her relaxation was short-lived as the epitome of her Dream seemed to fall from the sky with shadowed wings, landing in a tree overhead. The Raven sat above in the trees, his single eye watching the female below him as he clicked his beak: something had come.
The Adonis rose immediately in response, grasping the Raven Spear that had been dormant against the tree before she turned to trace the path along the river. Her step was light and unhindered by the newly healed wounds (it seemed that every time she healed, some exciting calamity befell her). The spear was held at an angle, the bright blade humming quietly in her soul as it bit the air before her, ever hungry for that art of war. And yet she had never had the chance to use it on another, had never had a chance to satisfy the weapon’s hunger if only ephemerally. She did not doubt that one day she would be moved to, but for now she would be content with that martial pattern her body could conjure. The woman’s mind for a moment considered her father, believing that perhaps he was the one of whom the Raven spoke. And yet she felt in her soul that it was not yet time. Perhaps it would be Brennt, intent upon taking back what he believed that she had stolen—a soft growl whispered from her throat, a discontent sound; she would not waste her time again with that creature. But she did not think that she would find him there either—he was not one to hunt another down. And so she simply followed the Raven that shadowed the path ahead of her.
A whisper. The ocean’s incessant breathing sounded about her, breaking to the trees. Suddenly, the bird turned toward the boarder, and she no longer needed the Raven’s eyes. As if knowing that, he fell from sight, disappearing from that sensory in her soul that could feel him. The woad bound ear’s pricked forward, her white gaze holding a ferocity that clearly mirrored the belligerent thoughts flitting through her mind. As her feet hit the sand and the boarder that marked it, she paused, seeing a figure in the distance. For a moment the woman simply stood there, her gaze cutting through the distance to identify the creature who stood beyond the boarder. Then the wind came, touched by that smell of salt and water and eternity, bringing to her that scent as it brushed through the feather in her mane. She knew that scent. Onus. Her woad tipped tail flickered behind her, the weapon falling slightly in height—she would not need to attack. A soft trot carried her to him, closing the distance between them with ease. Cwmfen had not seen him since that night—perhaps that wound he bore had healed. The woman stopped short, suddenly a little timid as the white orbs looked at him; he seemed better than he had the night she had found him, she thought with a smile.