01-27-2009, 11:58 PM
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700+
Cwmfen listened with marginal interest to the pup’s retort. The black fae did not see the point in the pup’s words—they were merely trying to instill anger in the one who received them. Cwmfen herself received them with a certain amount of annoyance, emphasized by a mere flick of the ears. Disrespect was not something that she held in high regard; should Svara been her own, there would be serious reprimand, but the pup was not her own. And because the current matter was concerning the hunt, Cwmfen did not concern herself in the matter of the pup. Briefly, she mourned the ever dying customs of the true wolf. It seemed—and she saw it even in herself—that as the wolves of this world continued to shift, the humanesque qualities became dominant. She feared that should such qualities continue to become increasingly prominent, that the fate of the wolves would be similar to that of the humans. And she wondered then, if that were such a horrible thing for a decaying race. But there was still hope—it was not nearly so hopeless as her thoughts would suggest.
Upon concerning herself with such things, the woad-marked female hardly heard the words of Lubomir and Slay. Yet, it was not as if she were not listening, for slowly, as if through a thick gel, their contribution permeated her thoughts and found her mind. Silently, the white eyes turned toward the earthen Lilium, and her thoughts turned to a different matter. Yet, that too was set aside as he responded, and she listened to his commands. She was ordered to the left, paired with the older male Lubomir. She turned her head to acknowledge him with a silent nod and a friendly smile. Having never met the male, she did not know where his strengths lie, but the same could be said of her. Haku claimed that all were skilled hunters, and she did not doubt it, for the Lilium was not one to waste empty words upon another. Besides, with a quick look, Cwmfen could see that the male was more than capable. And soon the male had delivered his orders, which should be simple enough to follow. As the Lilium turned to proceed with the Hunt, Cwmfen shifted upon her paws briefly before following suit. The white orbs would watch the male with which she was paired, keeping track of where he was. If the pack life had taught her anything at all, it was the importance of reliance upon others.
As the hunters closed in, the scent of the prey hit her head on. If anything, this only made her eager, but the female very rarely lost her head, and her acute senses were not lessened. Briefly, her thoughts went to her first non-solitary hunt that had been shared with Slay; it had also been her first time tasting the fresh meat of deer, and the taste, compared to other meats, was quite exquisite. With this motivation in mind, the warrior, with the silence of a killer, moved forward, aware of her partner’s position. From the center of their battle line (at least, as she saw it), the Lilium gave the signal, and she immediately burst forth with a great speed. The white orbs sifted through the prey before her, determining which would be the target. A cry caught her attention, causing the woad banded ears to be thrown forward. Ahead, a doe, blinded by the fear that she could smell thick upon the air, came directly to her and Lubomir as if bid to do so. Perhaps disappointed that it were to be so simple, the female allowed a rueful smile before she indulged herself in the excitement of the hunt.
Swiftly with agile movements, the woad-marked female turned her course to intersect the path of the doe. Turning her head, the female snapped at the front ankles of the prey, causing it to stop as if to ascertain the dwindling options. Cwmfen’s paws turned her body sharply to come up at the side of the doe, spraying a shower of snow as she barely escaped the stamping hooves herself. With a snarl morphing her face into the fierce façade of the wild, the fae threw herself up at the deer, her capable jaws ripping at the softer belly of the unfortunate doe. Today, she’d give the throat to Lubomire (perhaps next time she’d be privileged with taking the life). The female released her grip only to lunge once more, dodging the frantic hooves as fear and panic enveloped the doe. If the male did not make a move soon, the doe’s fear would overpower the wolf’s adrenalin, and the chase would have to be made once more.
700+
Cwmfen listened with marginal interest to the pup’s retort. The black fae did not see the point in the pup’s words—they were merely trying to instill anger in the one who received them. Cwmfen herself received them with a certain amount of annoyance, emphasized by a mere flick of the ears. Disrespect was not something that she held in high regard; should Svara been her own, there would be serious reprimand, but the pup was not her own. And because the current matter was concerning the hunt, Cwmfen did not concern herself in the matter of the pup. Briefly, she mourned the ever dying customs of the true wolf. It seemed—and she saw it even in herself—that as the wolves of this world continued to shift, the humanesque qualities became dominant. She feared that should such qualities continue to become increasingly prominent, that the fate of the wolves would be similar to that of the humans. And she wondered then, if that were such a horrible thing for a decaying race. But there was still hope—it was not nearly so hopeless as her thoughts would suggest.
Upon concerning herself with such things, the woad-marked female hardly heard the words of Lubomir and Slay. Yet, it was not as if she were not listening, for slowly, as if through a thick gel, their contribution permeated her thoughts and found her mind. Silently, the white eyes turned toward the earthen Lilium, and her thoughts turned to a different matter. Yet, that too was set aside as he responded, and she listened to his commands. She was ordered to the left, paired with the older male Lubomir. She turned her head to acknowledge him with a silent nod and a friendly smile. Having never met the male, she did not know where his strengths lie, but the same could be said of her. Haku claimed that all were skilled hunters, and she did not doubt it, for the Lilium was not one to waste empty words upon another. Besides, with a quick look, Cwmfen could see that the male was more than capable. And soon the male had delivered his orders, which should be simple enough to follow. As the Lilium turned to proceed with the Hunt, Cwmfen shifted upon her paws briefly before following suit. The white orbs would watch the male with which she was paired, keeping track of where he was. If the pack life had taught her anything at all, it was the importance of reliance upon others.
As the hunters closed in, the scent of the prey hit her head on. If anything, this only made her eager, but the female very rarely lost her head, and her acute senses were not lessened. Briefly, her thoughts went to her first non-solitary hunt that had been shared with Slay; it had also been her first time tasting the fresh meat of deer, and the taste, compared to other meats, was quite exquisite. With this motivation in mind, the warrior, with the silence of a killer, moved forward, aware of her partner’s position. From the center of their battle line (at least, as she saw it), the Lilium gave the signal, and she immediately burst forth with a great speed. The white orbs sifted through the prey before her, determining which would be the target. A cry caught her attention, causing the woad banded ears to be thrown forward. Ahead, a doe, blinded by the fear that she could smell thick upon the air, came directly to her and Lubomir as if bid to do so. Perhaps disappointed that it were to be so simple, the female allowed a rueful smile before she indulged herself in the excitement of the hunt.
Swiftly with agile movements, the woad-marked female turned her course to intersect the path of the doe. Turning her head, the female snapped at the front ankles of the prey, causing it to stop as if to ascertain the dwindling options. Cwmfen’s paws turned her body sharply to come up at the side of the doe, spraying a shower of snow as she barely escaped the stamping hooves herself. With a snarl morphing her face into the fierce façade of the wild, the fae threw herself up at the deer, her capable jaws ripping at the softer belly of the unfortunate doe. Today, she’d give the throat to Lubomire (perhaps next time she’d be privileged with taking the life). The female released her grip only to lunge once more, dodging the frantic hooves as fear and panic enveloped the doe. If the male did not make a move soon, the doe’s fear would overpower the wolf’s adrenalin, and the chase would have to be made once more.