08-24-2009, 02:07 AM
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500+
Urma’s silence told the warrior that the white fae was either familiar with the dangers of such treacherous footing or arrogant. While the raven female did not turn her gaze upon the golden-eyed Crimson Dreamer, she did not think that the latter was the case. A mild curiosity wondered at the path that had been taken by the white wolf, but the wolf was silent, focused now upon the scents of deer and upon bringing down flesh to be devoured for the hungry pups within her den.
Already, the white fae moved to approach the prey that the black wolf had chosen. A soft smile moved across her maw as Urma poised for the attack, and Cwmfen, who had followed close behind in silence, paused. She did not doubt that this wolf had skill in the hunt, but the warrior had skill also in battle and in tactics applicable in the arenas of war and hunt. The woad-marked she-wolf made a subtle signal—curt but not curt enough to draw the attention of the prey animals—to urge Urma forward and to align herself either abreast or ahead of the eldest stag. Cwmfen herself would backtrack and move across. The distance that each wolf had to cover would still cause difficulties, and there was the possibility, although the warrior did not believe it to be highly likely, that the others would not flee. Yet, it as the uncertainty and it was the hunt itself that was thrilled the black fae. She did not expect each hunt to end successfully, but within each failure there was something to be learned.
With a final glance (although it was not given in luck, as the warrior did not count on such things) and a transitory and yet amiable smile, the black fae turned back, disappearing as a shadow might. That otherworldly grace that transcended that of others carried her with the silence of one who killed. The white orbs watched he deer, that gaze wild and intense, fierce with the blood of her making. Occasionally, she would pause, allowing the deer to relax before she would continue. When she had found a place behind and across Urma’s chosen point, the warrior waited until eye contact was made. She held the golden gaze for a moment longer before she turned the wild eyes upon the oldest stag. Cwmfen waited paitently, quietly, silently, unmoving. And, as if sensing the Death that the warrior bore upon her heels, his head lifted from the meal of plants at his hooves. And that signal was enough.
Trusting that Urma would sense it also, the woad warrior burst from her place, her muscles trained for endurance and speed, for distance and for agility, remembered. She flew upon the wings of a Raven, her legs stretching forth to devour the land beneath her, her tail moving to keep balance. While aware of Urma through her periphery, the white orbs were locked upon the quarry that had already turned to flee from the jaws of the hungry. The warrior did not move in for the kill—that was not her part within the hunt. Instead, as a herder, she moved the aging stag toward the white fae. But the stag did not know the plan which had been made, and his direction suddenly had changed. Cwmfen’s paws dug into the earth as her body leaned down. She followed him without trouble, pursuing as if her jaws had Fated the death of that creature. The warrior’s jaws snapped down upon the air audibly, like the crack of thunder. Fear caused the animal’s eyes to roll back, baring the whites as he watched both the path at his hooves and the wolf at his heels.
500+
Urma’s silence told the warrior that the white fae was either familiar with the dangers of such treacherous footing or arrogant. While the raven female did not turn her gaze upon the golden-eyed Crimson Dreamer, she did not think that the latter was the case. A mild curiosity wondered at the path that had been taken by the white wolf, but the wolf was silent, focused now upon the scents of deer and upon bringing down flesh to be devoured for the hungry pups within her den.
Already, the white fae moved to approach the prey that the black wolf had chosen. A soft smile moved across her maw as Urma poised for the attack, and Cwmfen, who had followed close behind in silence, paused. She did not doubt that this wolf had skill in the hunt, but the warrior had skill also in battle and in tactics applicable in the arenas of war and hunt. The woad-marked she-wolf made a subtle signal—curt but not curt enough to draw the attention of the prey animals—to urge Urma forward and to align herself either abreast or ahead of the eldest stag. Cwmfen herself would backtrack and move across. The distance that each wolf had to cover would still cause difficulties, and there was the possibility, although the warrior did not believe it to be highly likely, that the others would not flee. Yet, it as the uncertainty and it was the hunt itself that was thrilled the black fae. She did not expect each hunt to end successfully, but within each failure there was something to be learned.
With a final glance (although it was not given in luck, as the warrior did not count on such things) and a transitory and yet amiable smile, the black fae turned back, disappearing as a shadow might. That otherworldly grace that transcended that of others carried her with the silence of one who killed. The white orbs watched he deer, that gaze wild and intense, fierce with the blood of her making. Occasionally, she would pause, allowing the deer to relax before she would continue. When she had found a place behind and across Urma’s chosen point, the warrior waited until eye contact was made. She held the golden gaze for a moment longer before she turned the wild eyes upon the oldest stag. Cwmfen waited paitently, quietly, silently, unmoving. And, as if sensing the Death that the warrior bore upon her heels, his head lifted from the meal of plants at his hooves. And that signal was enough.
Trusting that Urma would sense it also, the woad warrior burst from her place, her muscles trained for endurance and speed, for distance and for agility, remembered. She flew upon the wings of a Raven, her legs stretching forth to devour the land beneath her, her tail moving to keep balance. While aware of Urma through her periphery, the white orbs were locked upon the quarry that had already turned to flee from the jaws of the hungry. The warrior did not move in for the kill—that was not her part within the hunt. Instead, as a herder, she moved the aging stag toward the white fae. But the stag did not know the plan which had been made, and his direction suddenly had changed. Cwmfen’s paws dug into the earth as her body leaned down. She followed him without trouble, pursuing as if her jaws had Fated the death of that creature. The warrior’s jaws snapped down upon the air audibly, like the crack of thunder. Fear caused the animal’s eyes to roll back, baring the whites as he watched both the path at his hooves and the wolf at his heels.