07-23-2009, 12:43 AM
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Yup, short is fine with me, and there’s no need to tire Cwmfen out too much, hah. And spear butts have that heavy metal thingy on them, so she could make it hurt to, OuO;; And sorry for the crap—I’ve been working on Cwmfen’s profile all day [updating and coding] and so I’m sort of pooped; I just wanted to get a reply up for you, ^=^;;
500+
The woad warrior traveled with ease, her wounds healed and allowing her movement. The wound upon her leg no longer caused her to limp, no longer disrupted the fluidity of her stride. But she knew that it was not fully healed. Not yet. When she pushed herself too much, she could feel it tug, could feel the pain threatening to fly loose like an arrow from its bow. But she knew as well that she must keep moving in order for it to heal without retaining the tightness. She did not want the wound to maim her movements, to render her any less than she should be. And so she traveled through the Dahlian territory, moving with those ethereal movements, her left hand going to support her belly to lessen the strain on her back. The litter moved within her, and she responded with a reassuring silence. There was nothing amiss within these lands. The Dream of prior nights had eased her mind, had allowed the light of the day to reach her darkened soul. If she could protect the pups from the darkness of her own soul, that would be enough. She could be content.
The song of the Raven Spear rose up. The woad bound maw twitched, the scent of some unfamiliar beast carried upon the wind. And those sharp ears and those acute eyes found him, a wolf sniffing the lands. He was well within the Dahlian boarders.
The white orbs flickered with a wild ferocity, their soft warmth hardening into white marble. The wild, hungry ring of the Raven Spear quieted to the murmur, the warning growl before the attack, although its song continued to flow with an undiluted strength. The woad tipped tail rose, flowing like a black river behind her. The fluid movements of the woad warrior were made to cease, and the Spear was set upon the earth in silence. And yet, in the warrior’s mind, it was as if from the single point where she had set the weapon upon the earth, a ripple of water spread forth, a single, deep strike sounding like the last beat of a dying heart. "You trespass, loner," the quiet voice sounded, and that melody, as her face, was strangely tranquil. It was only her eyes the belied that tranquility, and it was only the eyes that gave that warning.
The woad bound ears pressed forward, and she waited expectantly of him. He was a large wolf, she noted quietly. Those white orbs passed over his form briefly, assessing his strengths and weaknesses as well as her own strengths and weaknesses. He was an arctic wolf—she had contended with them many months ago when she had traveled upon the fields of ice. The lunar orbs returned to those cerulean eyes, holding his gaze with effortless ease. And she held that gaze with that ferocity, silently challenging him in that ancient way of wolves. "You show great disrespect to the lands and to the pack," that soft melody sounded again, dancing on the air like the silver leaves of autumn. "And for it, you are not welcome here." Her left hand went to support her swollen belly, but her eyes never left his. She was a warrior—she would keep that eye contact even if they fought, should it come to that. Her right hand was warm with the song of war, and the woad-bound fingers remembered the ways of the Spear as she touched its decorated shaft. A warning.
Yup, short is fine with me, and there’s no need to tire Cwmfen out too much, hah. And spear butts have that heavy metal thingy on them, so she could make it hurt to, OuO;; And sorry for the crap—I’ve been working on Cwmfen’s profile all day [updating and coding] and so I’m sort of pooped; I just wanted to get a reply up for you, ^=^;;
500+
The woad warrior traveled with ease, her wounds healed and allowing her movement. The wound upon her leg no longer caused her to limp, no longer disrupted the fluidity of her stride. But she knew that it was not fully healed. Not yet. When she pushed herself too much, she could feel it tug, could feel the pain threatening to fly loose like an arrow from its bow. But she knew as well that she must keep moving in order for it to heal without retaining the tightness. She did not want the wound to maim her movements, to render her any less than she should be. And so she traveled through the Dahlian territory, moving with those ethereal movements, her left hand going to support her belly to lessen the strain on her back. The litter moved within her, and she responded with a reassuring silence. There was nothing amiss within these lands. The Dream of prior nights had eased her mind, had allowed the light of the day to reach her darkened soul. If she could protect the pups from the darkness of her own soul, that would be enough. She could be content.
The song of the Raven Spear rose up. The woad bound maw twitched, the scent of some unfamiliar beast carried upon the wind. And those sharp ears and those acute eyes found him, a wolf sniffing the lands. He was well within the Dahlian boarders.
The white orbs flickered with a wild ferocity, their soft warmth hardening into white marble. The wild, hungry ring of the Raven Spear quieted to the murmur, the warning growl before the attack, although its song continued to flow with an undiluted strength. The woad tipped tail rose, flowing like a black river behind her. The fluid movements of the woad warrior were made to cease, and the Spear was set upon the earth in silence. And yet, in the warrior’s mind, it was as if from the single point where she had set the weapon upon the earth, a ripple of water spread forth, a single, deep strike sounding like the last beat of a dying heart. "You trespass, loner," the quiet voice sounded, and that melody, as her face, was strangely tranquil. It was only her eyes the belied that tranquility, and it was only the eyes that gave that warning.
The woad bound ears pressed forward, and she waited expectantly of him. He was a large wolf, she noted quietly. Those white orbs passed over his form briefly, assessing his strengths and weaknesses as well as her own strengths and weaknesses. He was an arctic wolf—she had contended with them many months ago when she had traveled upon the fields of ice. The lunar orbs returned to those cerulean eyes, holding his gaze with effortless ease. And she held that gaze with that ferocity, silently challenging him in that ancient way of wolves. "You show great disrespect to the lands and to the pack," that soft melody sounded again, dancing on the air like the silver leaves of autumn. "And for it, you are not welcome here." Her left hand went to support her swollen belly, but her eyes never left his. She was a warrior—she would keep that eye contact even if they fought, should it come to that. Her right hand was warm with the song of war, and the woad-bound fingers remembered the ways of the Spear as she touched its decorated shaft. A warning.