06-02-2009, 11:25 PM
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500+
The woman was walking quietly near the boarders, contemplating Firefly and Jac’s words. She wondered who’s word spoke truly but found that she could not see the truth. There was a suspicion, however, that Haku may have been at fault, but the warrior would defend him. As Adonis, she would try to understand, but as Warrior her duty was to defend the honor of the pack. Perhaps she should speak with Cercelee. The woad marked fae paused, her ears lifted to the wind. She thought that she had heard something in the distance, but as she listened, there was nothing but silence and the ghost of that sound. And she was about to return to her duties when suddenly a howl sounded. Turning, those sharp eyes found a small creature crashing through the undergrowth with such speed that she knew that something was wrong—only fear compelled the body in such a way. The pup bumped into her legs. It was Catalyst. The warrior knelt. "Catalyst, what’s wrong?" But as she looked into those dual coloured eyes, she knew that there was something gravely wrong. The woman knew that the pup had been to the boarders, but that was not what was wrong. The pup had sounded the alarm. Her hand brushed against the pup’s fur before she took off, gliding through the forest with as mush speed as she could muster, following the scent trail the pup had only just left behind.
What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks, the first time her grace had been broken unexpectedly. And she was practically upon him. The warrior’s eyes swept over his body, kneeling at his side and ignoring the wetness of his blood upon her fur. Ril’o. And he was still alive. His breathing was labored, deep and uneven, but she knew that his lungs no longer drank the air with grace. The wound was mortal—there was no way to save him. The gruesome jaws of whatever creature had done this had torn the height of his neck, the pink and bloodied flesh and bone shredded beyond recognition. But then—it was not this wound that brought horror to her eyes, for she had seen many such wounds inflicted by her own jaws and upon the jaws of others. No, it was not that gaping hole. It was the scent that drowned this dying man as surely as blood and death was: Corvus. But he was already gone without a trace, leaving only the broken shell of his victim as he always did. Why didn’t you sound the alarm? The beginnings of a silent snarl distorted her features, but then he spoke and brushed it away. Her head turned to him, his words striking her.
"No, you haven’t," the soft melody spoke quickly, gently. It is I that have failed. Then he spoke to his mother, and she knew that he could no longer hear this mortal world, for he was passing now into a place no living creature could go. "Don’t be afraid," the woman said, stroking the maw of this dying wolf, but it was almost as if she spoke it to herself. She had failed. And her father was already gone. How long would it take, she had asked herself. There was a rage within her, like the rage of battle and yet somehow different. Ril’o was gone, his shallow breathing having ceased. Her hands gripped the fur of his chest, careful to avoid the crushed hips as if he may still experience this mortal pain. And her maw lifted to the heavens, calling out a call filled with that rage that seemed to fill her and with mourning for this wolf she had failed to protect. She would not fail her pack again. Enough had suffered. The time was near, she sensed. She could no longer be idle.
500+
The woman was walking quietly near the boarders, contemplating Firefly and Jac’s words. She wondered who’s word spoke truly but found that she could not see the truth. There was a suspicion, however, that Haku may have been at fault, but the warrior would defend him. As Adonis, she would try to understand, but as Warrior her duty was to defend the honor of the pack. Perhaps she should speak with Cercelee. The woad marked fae paused, her ears lifted to the wind. She thought that she had heard something in the distance, but as she listened, there was nothing but silence and the ghost of that sound. And she was about to return to her duties when suddenly a howl sounded. Turning, those sharp eyes found a small creature crashing through the undergrowth with such speed that she knew that something was wrong—only fear compelled the body in such a way. The pup bumped into her legs. It was Catalyst. The warrior knelt. "Catalyst, what’s wrong?" But as she looked into those dual coloured eyes, she knew that there was something gravely wrong. The woman knew that the pup had been to the boarders, but that was not what was wrong. The pup had sounded the alarm. Her hand brushed against the pup’s fur before she took off, gliding through the forest with as mush speed as she could muster, following the scent trail the pup had only just left behind.
What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks, the first time her grace had been broken unexpectedly. And she was practically upon him. The warrior’s eyes swept over his body, kneeling at his side and ignoring the wetness of his blood upon her fur. Ril’o. And he was still alive. His breathing was labored, deep and uneven, but she knew that his lungs no longer drank the air with grace. The wound was mortal—there was no way to save him. The gruesome jaws of whatever creature had done this had torn the height of his neck, the pink and bloodied flesh and bone shredded beyond recognition. But then—it was not this wound that brought horror to her eyes, for she had seen many such wounds inflicted by her own jaws and upon the jaws of others. No, it was not that gaping hole. It was the scent that drowned this dying man as surely as blood and death was: Corvus. But he was already gone without a trace, leaving only the broken shell of his victim as he always did. Why didn’t you sound the alarm? The beginnings of a silent snarl distorted her features, but then he spoke and brushed it away. Her head turned to him, his words striking her.
"No, you haven’t," the soft melody spoke quickly, gently. It is I that have failed. Then he spoke to his mother, and she knew that he could no longer hear this mortal world, for he was passing now into a place no living creature could go. "Don’t be afraid," the woman said, stroking the maw of this dying wolf, but it was almost as if she spoke it to herself. She had failed. And her father was already gone. How long would it take, she had asked herself. There was a rage within her, like the rage of battle and yet somehow different. Ril’o was gone, his shallow breathing having ceased. Her hands gripped the fur of his chest, careful to avoid the crushed hips as if he may still experience this mortal pain. And her maw lifted to the heavens, calling out a call filled with that rage that seemed to fill her and with mourning for this wolf she had failed to protect. She would not fail her pack again. Enough had suffered. The time was near, she sensed. She could no longer be idle.