08-08-2008, 03:45 AM
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Joining, as I promised, ^=^
Cwmfen nic Graine had entered Bleeding Souls, but she knew naught of this place. As she approached, her gait was light as if she were weightless; the sound of her pawfall was as the whisper of the winds beaten from the moth’s delicate wings. And the she-wolf approached with the grey of predawn at her heels. She came upon a place with strange stone structures, but the vegetation that grew there caused a small, warm smile to cross her slender maw. The bright eyes beheld the great statue of a human, though she did not recognize who it was (of course it was not expected). What is this place...? Her attention was averted by a scent—a boundary.
Pausing at the boarder, the white orbs, shining with a light of their own, took in the land beyond the intangible boundary. It was not the lands of her birth, whose green grasses were lush and sweet as if the spirits of the earth still dwelt there from years long past. Nor was its scent that of old faeries, whose paths were dangerous to cross. But many wolves she did smell, and she knew a pack found shelter in these lands. A quiet whine escaped her maw. The black she-wolf, marked with the blue of woad, was apprehensive. She lowered her barred maw, sniffing quietly the scent once more, considering her possibilities.
For more than two years, Cwmfen had traveled on her own, fleeing the shadow of the crow-wolf; she feared that being more than anything else, and yet loved him too, more so than the Great Unknown of Death. Several months ago, he had found her and raped her, damaging her for fleeing from him; even now the healing was just completing in her physically, but mentally she was disturbed by him, by her feelings for him; she was angered, too, that she was unable to defend herself against him after all the years of self-training for just such a situation. And his presence lingered in the back of her mind, moving her to leave the places in which she had settled over the years. She had lived off of conies and the occasional carrion deer, but she wished to hunt with many. She wished for the company of others.
These lands were her only hope.
When she was naught but a pup, her mother, in the quiet of twilight, had passed on to her tales of her ancestor’s travel. Turuambar Wolfbane. He had stumbled upon the lands called Bleeding Souls in the prime of his life. ‘Souls was a land, they said, where many things were possible, where safety frequented through numbers and packs. He had served under the rule of one Ceres Sadira of Clouded Tears. Cwmfen nic Graine did not expect to find that alpha, nor did she expect the pack to exist still, for times had long passed since her ancestor’s lifetime, and the alpha would have passed from the world of the living.
What she sought was security.
The black fae, with woad bands about her limbs, with the olde patterns of her birthplace swirling about her body, remembered the present. She was still young. She was strong-willed. She was a warrior. And she was tired of running. The strong female’s mentality threatened to crack from her sire’s act, and if she did not find acceptance soon, the fighting spirit would be lost in the muck. The warrior would be lost…
Cwmfen nic Graine was not yet lost.
The marked tail wagged once as she made her decision.
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Joining, as I promised, ^=^
Cwmfen nic Graine had entered Bleeding Souls, but she knew naught of this place. As she approached, her gait was light as if she were weightless; the sound of her pawfall was as the whisper of the winds beaten from the moth’s delicate wings. And the she-wolf approached with the grey of predawn at her heels. She came upon a place with strange stone structures, but the vegetation that grew there caused a small, warm smile to cross her slender maw. The bright eyes beheld the great statue of a human, though she did not recognize who it was (of course it was not expected). What is this place...? Her attention was averted by a scent—a boundary.
Pausing at the boarder, the white orbs, shining with a light of their own, took in the land beyond the intangible boundary. It was not the lands of her birth, whose green grasses were lush and sweet as if the spirits of the earth still dwelt there from years long past. Nor was its scent that of old faeries, whose paths were dangerous to cross. But many wolves she did smell, and she knew a pack found shelter in these lands. A quiet whine escaped her maw. The black she-wolf, marked with the blue of woad, was apprehensive. She lowered her barred maw, sniffing quietly the scent once more, considering her possibilities.
For more than two years, Cwmfen had traveled on her own, fleeing the shadow of the crow-wolf; she feared that being more than anything else, and yet loved him too, more so than the Great Unknown of Death. Several months ago, he had found her and raped her, damaging her for fleeing from him; even now the healing was just completing in her physically, but mentally she was disturbed by him, by her feelings for him; she was angered, too, that she was unable to defend herself against him after all the years of self-training for just such a situation. And his presence lingered in the back of her mind, moving her to leave the places in which she had settled over the years. She had lived off of conies and the occasional carrion deer, but she wished to hunt with many. She wished for the company of others.
These lands were her only hope.
When she was naught but a pup, her mother, in the quiet of twilight, had passed on to her tales of her ancestor’s travel. Turuambar Wolfbane. He had stumbled upon the lands called Bleeding Souls in the prime of his life. ‘Souls was a land, they said, where many things were possible, where safety frequented through numbers and packs. He had served under the rule of one Ceres Sadira of Clouded Tears. Cwmfen nic Graine did not expect to find that alpha, nor did she expect the pack to exist still, for times had long passed since her ancestor’s lifetime, and the alpha would have passed from the world of the living.
What she sought was security.
The black fae, with woad bands about her limbs, with the olde patterns of her birthplace swirling about her body, remembered the present. She was still young. She was strong-willed. She was a warrior. And she was tired of running. The strong female’s mentality threatened to crack from her sire’s act, and if she did not find acceptance soon, the fighting spirit would be lost in the muck. The warrior would be lost…
Cwmfen nic Graine was not yet lost.
The marked tail wagged once as she made her decision.