OOC: Notes: Word of the Day: Gelid. Extremely cold; icy.

Hunting in Cottontail Valley, Ghita's going to start in the manor & head down.
Also, wanted to give you a heads-up that Ghita's going to get a small kick from a deer in the thread - to help Cambria out.
WC: 682




The midmorning sun was nowhere to be found, hidden behind large puffy clouds of a slate-like gray. All afternoon snowflakes had decided to dance down from the heavens, keeping the restless female behind the closed door of the manor. It wasn't that she stopped moving every time a snowfall came, it gave greater testament to the gelid temperatures of the day.


She had stopped pacing in her room ages ago, instead opting for lounging on the bed she and her mate shared. Turning large turquoise optics to the outside world, already feeling the temperature seep into her fur. Even in her more familiar Lupus form, Ghita still found herself appreciating the temperature outside, knowing that by no means did this resemble the placid temperatures of Italy's summers. Curled up at the foot of her mate's bed wrapped in multiple furs and the like, the young mother was decidedly alone, hiding inside from the winter.



But she was restless. So incredibly restless from even the few hours Ghita had tried to pass in a catnap. Her personality, her very nature screamed out against this injustice, her muscles needing to be of use; to run, to stretch and release the bundled up energy. Rolling over in the mountains of fur that had been around her, she let them fall off of her and onto the floor, cranium looking back out to the window once more. She had no clue what time of day it was, or any inkling of how much daylight, if you could call it that, was left.



Yawning, jaws parted to reveal double rows of ivories, a long pink tongue flopping out practically screaming laziness to the outside world. This lady, just lounging around inside was not Ghita. Not the one that had crossed over from Italy and was known as the daredevil around her family. This was what parenting and mateship had made the fae; sometimes lazy and lethargic.



Gripped with an indescribable need to move, do something, anything, the woman rose to her four paws, ignoring the cave of the bed as she leapt off of it and onto the wooden floor. Letting her ebony nails click as she trotted across the room, a slender snout finally opened the door that had been propped open and carried the rest of the body down the stairs, out into the open.



Yep. The weather was as cold as she had imagined.

But for some reason it wasn't all together unpleasant. Letting her paws sink a few inches into the snow beneath her, the fae was quickly littered with a dust-like layer of snow around her pelt, turning her silver tips into white. Now that the woman had made it outside, the question remained as to what could entertain the woman for a long enough period of time. It would have to be something that was involving for a long time, utilizing skills that she knew she had left dormant long enough.


The idea that reached her finally came to her in the form of a scent. Beyond the smells of her various pack members and the heavy blanket of snow, there was the faint trace of deer, perhaps recently caught, that reminded her of the valley that lay just behind the Manor. Easily the perfect distraction, a hunt called upon speed and strength as well as teamwork and communication, something that one simply could not be bored by.


Lowering her haunches to the cold ground beneath her, Ghita took in the frigid air to her lungs, letting her ivory chest swell and expand, before preparing to let it out. Her cranium pointed towards the sky, ebony lips parting as notes accented the surroundings. Her howl was perhaps louder than she had anticipated, causing tent-like ears to flick in confusion. Breaking off the call a few seconds after she had started it, the fae could only hope that someone could hear it, and want to join her on her midday excursion. Sure, it was a long shot, but someone would want to join her... right?

OOC Notes: WoD: Approbation ~ The act of approving; formal or official approval.
Gah... the post sucked. Sorry!

Wc: 600


Pawsteps echoed behind her, barely loud enough for even her keen wolven ears to notice. Approaching from an unexpected direction, Flayra's arrival gave Ghita need to swivel her cranium around on her slender shoulders, letting turquoise optics settle on the packmate that had chosen to join her. A one-sided smile, quite typical of this fae graced her features for a moment, the emotion reaching the young mother's sparkling eyes, accented by the snowflakes that dotted her face.



Although not someone she knew terribly well, the scent of Crimson Dreams, as elusive and comforting as it always was, tickled her nostrils, at the very least informing the Italian fae that the wolfess was not a trespasser. However, the younger fae was one she recognized, albeit from a distance. The light gray pelt stood out against the ivory snow, not quite a matching shade and yet close enough to be mistaken for one and the same by unsuspecting prey. As a hopeful Courser, Ghita couldn't help but envy the colour - it would certainly aid in winter months, when food was all the more needed, and valued.



Two pairs of great blue eyes met, each standing at about roughly the same height as each other. The older wolfess flicked her metal-ridden ear in acknowledgement, letting the fae travel closer before opening her jowls to produce sound. Dragging her Lupus form into a standing position, Ghita met her companion half-way, standing with muzzle turned towards her, anticipating the interaction. Si, it's me.



Flayra held truth in what she said; Whether it was the fault of the season or everyday tasks that overran her life, Ghita hadn't had much time to herself at all, let alone to finally get out and about. The exhaustion that came with pregnancy had only recently subsided, Ghita's body still scarred from her previous miscarriage. But, of course there was a whole other hurdle to jump - and that one had to do with her living, breathing children.



Although not usually one to seek approbation, something about finally being able to produce pups spoke to Ghita, almost as if she should be commended for this usually standard task. Rolling her shoulders lazily, the wolfess stretched out her muscles while waiting, starting with the front and pulling until the back was limber once more. By now, Flayra had fully approached the older fae, and the situation seemed to be crossing into the territory of rudeness every second that Ghita held her tongue.


It's been a while, si. And a shame at that. You're well, I trust? The pleasantries hadn't used to be part of Ghita's standard repertoire, but pack life had changed Ghita, as she had expected. The wild thing was tamed, true, but not fully slaughtered, a steep relief for the fae. Perhaps it was for the better; Ghita was now surrounded by packmates who she could communicate with (finally), and had sown roots in the small community in the form of a family.


However hard she tried, patience never seemed to come easily to Ghita, although many times she wished it did. The only time that Ghita could feign something resembling the virtue was with Sophia and Aro, who, thank the Gods, hadn't shown signs of wanting to get into too much trouble. A long pink tongue ran over the two silver snake bites that were lodged in her bottom lip, covering the silver for a moment before the wolfess spoke up again. I was actually looking for a hunting partner for the evening. You wouldn't happen to be interested?

OOC Notes: WoD: Vitiate ~ To render ineffective.

Wc: 446


The two wolves almost seemed to be bowing to each other, an outside easily thinking that this was some secret rite that she-wolves performed upon meeting each other, or perhaps even beginning a hunt. This not being the case but a coincidence, The wolves of similar statue rolled shoulders, elongating limbs to revel in the stretch that stimulated them. For the Italian femme, limber limbs were called into motion, the muscles not immediately apparent until called into use.



Nodding now, her petite facial features bobbed up and down, mind already working out the logistics of the hunt. The two companions were roughly the same size, so that wouldn't affect too much... And Ghita highly doubted that the pair would be chasing something that would require large amounts of stamina and speed, so there was no need for an official formation. Minutely lifting her cranium to the air, Ghita attempted to scent out the nearest grouping of prey.


Unfortunately nothing resembling a useful scent sang to her nostrils, likely the fault of the ivory snow that had fallen earlier. An irritated huff expanded from her narrow chest, the fact settling in that they'd likely have to travel a distance before anything resembling prey could be reached.


Her focus was so intent that she nearly missed the words that tumbled out of Flayra's mouth. Ghita was fairly certain that her ears had never flew higher so quickly, the movement spurring a small amount of pain as the skin was tugged around her earrings as they jangled. A smile, unprecedented for so long in the pack graced her face, the joy that Ghita found in her home language eminent. The pronunciation could be improved, the grammar passable, but overall the woman was impressed that the language was starting to live again. "Ah! Stai molto bene finora! Quanto ne sai?"


Already she ran the risk of overwhelming the novice linguist, but Ghita couldn't contain her joy at hearing Italian once more. Blue eyes locked onto a similar pair, the shocking aspect of their hue vitiated once seen together. Her smaller than average tail began to thump against the back of her hind legs, her tail still set low but the movement visible from a distance.


Once the Italian conversation had dwindled into silence, the pair running out of words to exchange. Turning her optics towards the hunting grounds, Ghita swiveled her ears, once more calling her senses into employment in an attempt to locate prey that she could offer to the pack. Perhaps we should start moving? I can't scent many prey from here, and we don't have too lots light before night.

OOC Notes: My Ghita muse just sizzled and died... so... sorry in advance.

Wc: 502


She could smell it on the wind; the unmistakable need, the call to action. It breathed in her bones, swirling around her heart and pulling her towards the forest that lay not too far off. It was bred in the fae, the need to run, to move, to dance along the wind and experience the hunt.


But for now, Italy called back to her, across the ocean and lapping at her paws. The language danced around her, pulling the fae back into the atmosphere she loved. Blinking, her eyelids lingered closed for longer than normal, Ghita allowing herself to remember the good days back in Italy, the days of her youth before Carlo came along and before her mother, Amata died.


Ghita missed her homeland almost as if she had lost a limb in crossing the ocean over to Canada. She missed the atmosphere of Italy, the pack life a contrast to Crimson Dreams', but still did not miss the wolves she had left behind. Brick by brick and ounce by ounce, she had began to build her home here, alongside siblings and mates and children, tangling herself in ropes and ties that no longer let her spread her wings.


That didn't mean that the language itself wasn't a joyous thing to hear once more. So different from English, Italy held canyons and plateaus in their tones, rolling and tumbling over words in a dance that was impossible to replicate and unravel. Cranium now tipped in an angle to the side, Ghita let the tide of language sweep over her, even enjoying the accented version of her tongue.


"Italiana può essere difficile da imparare, così ho sentito parlare, ma poi di nuovo, l'inglese è difficile pure. Vuoi dire di studiare l'italiano di più?" If Flayra intended on learning the language, that would mean one more wolf in Crimson Dreams that Ghita could fully leap the language barrier over to, leaving her fractured English behind to bask in the flawless Italian once more.


Her tongue ran over the two rounded snakebites, indicating the depth of thought Ghita was experiencing. We should head down this way - towards Cottontail Valley. I've seen herds rest there for sometimes, to graze, and perhaps we can be lucky in finding one?


Finally, muscles called into action reacted all too willingly, Ghita's slender paws stepping over the snow and leaving smaller steps behind. Checking over her snow-dusted shoulder to check if the grey wolfess was following behind only once, she paused, one paw hanging in the air before confirmation was assumed.


It was a general trot she set off at, muscles springing and tensing in a rhythm that was hypnotizing to watch. Her silver-tipped mousy fur rippled as she moved, the ivory powder shrugging off her back and head to tumble to the blanket beneath. Paws maneuvered the hill expertly, moving like a silent shadow as she approached the bottom of the valley, letting the auburn shadows reflect in the turquoise mirrors.

OOC Notes:
Wc: 688


Blinking her turquoises at her companion, Ghita's head suddenly found itself dipping in a tilt, the right side of her cranium pointing towards the snow beneath her paws. Something inside of her bristled, sending a shiver down to her haunches that was only barely contained from reaching physical manifestation. There had been no reason that Ghita was aware of for the need of formalities; the wayward and less than formal wolfess rarely threw around titles even towards those who deserved it. That's not saying that the respect wasn't there, simply that she never felt the need to remind someone of their title.



There was no chance of not hearing Flayra's request correctly; her native language was as clear as a sparkling brook to her, but the request seemed odd and out of the blue. The fae twitched her ears in thought, letting the piercings on her one ear reflect the sun as they moved.


Italian was one of those languages that resurrected many feelings in the woman, feelings that both confused her and angered her. The language itself she loved - the dipping tones and relaxed lilts carried her over the sea that separated her from her homeland and spoke to her senses, filling her optics with wondrous sights and her ears with laughing linguistics. It was remembering how she used the language that revived the older demons.


The home life that Ghita shared with her sister and brother was less than pleasant, to say the least. Of course, the fae had encountered older lives much worse than her own, but she wasn't about to nominate Serge for parental recogntion anytime soon. The only time that Ghita actually enjoyed what she said in Italy was with the nomads, and even that time in paradise was tainted; she had just suffered a miscarriage, and later witnessed her mate's affair and his departure.


Rolling her shoulders as if shaking off those bad times, Ghita let the silence stretch for perhaps longer than was kind. The decision wasn't necessarily a hard one to make, simply that the woman tended to have little patience for the structure and discipline, let alone the patience that teaching required. I fear I might not be good teaching, but I can try, if you wish. From where comes your interest in my tongue?"


Now her focus was elsewhere, her mind pushing out all memories of Italia and her talks with Flayra, only retaining enough to know that her hunting companion was not too far off. She was to take the lead in this hunt - so be it, but it required a multitude of concentration in many different areas. Fortunately, Ghita was a master at switching her focus (maintaining it on one thing was a whole other story), and showed it in the way she moved.


The ivory innocence flew from beneath her paws, an ebony detecter caressing the air around her as the fae maneuvered the terrain. To the average bystander, her movements would seem scattered, not co-ordinated in the slightest, but Ghita had her methodology that had suited her in the past. Only two minutes elapsed before finally a scent hit her nostrils, eliciting only the slightest change in posture before the woman straightened her course and increased her speed.


Whipping her head over her shoulder to meet Flayra's gaze, the dust-colored fae gave a quick nod, cutting off sound for the time as she approached. Ghita couldn't tell from this distance how many individuals there were, but it was always foolish to become cocky and lose your advantage in the hunt - surprise. Luckily for the pair, two or three bodies graced the land, the deer keeping a slow gait towards the forest that mimicked a lazy walk.


Ceasing her pace for the moment, Ghita waited for her companion to join her, keeping her body low and close to the ground. "I think it would be best to engage from far right - deer moving slower thanks to hurt back leg, see? Would you like if I came from straight behind it, and you cut off as I chase? Then we bring down. Good?"

OOC Notes: SO SO SORRY IT'S SUCH CRAP.
Wc: 654


There was a harsh sounding chuckle that came from Ghita's slender frame, one born of both amusement and harsh regrets that spoke leagues of past experiences. Turning to meet Flayra's gaze head-on, part of her wondered just what interest one could have in a country that birthed such hurts for the fae. However, she uncharacteristically held her tongue, nodding at what the wolfess told her regarding her fascination. "Italia was much different from Canada, from what I can remember. I can understand the fascination." Politeness and the vague hint that that was appropriate in this situation was all that kept the woman from dictating her experiences in Italy, and how it wasn't the fairy tale land that it was frequently made out to be.



Her strategy was portrayed by the chilling air, wisps of abstract curling in the cold before fading away as she panted slightly, jowls agape to soak in the rich scent of prey. It was always after that prey smelt the best; after the chase, the sweat, the working of the muscles. Once your senses were alive and adrenalin fed them throughout your body, even the littlest things were made to be extraordinary, the mundane magnificent and the excellent superb. That was the time to be alive.



Only nodding once to indicate she had heard her companion's warning, Ghita was off like a rocket, paws silently churning as they quickly soared over the distance that separated the fae and her target. Once the distance was halved she stopped, ears pointed low as her turquoise optics regarded her hunting partner, confirming that their plan was at least being put into motion. The energy was building, and she could feel it as the larger mammal wandered slowly, aimlessly over the hill, completely unaware of the eminent danger. She was so tempted to move, the emotion building in her very blood and causing her muscles to twitch, to scream against the tension.



Until she could hold it no longer. Like a small dusted arrow, she flew forward, jaws parting to expose deadly ivories as the predator launched towards her selected prey. Five feet away from the large dumb creature something finally broke, fawny ears rising in alarm just as the wolfess launched, using her front paws to support her as she dug her teeth into the deer's left thigh. The rusty liquid was quick to arrive, large scratches from Ghita's claws calling the blood forward, and the wolfess' muzzle was soon stained with the stuff.



Maintaining her solid grasp on the frantic doe, Ghita withstood the flailing hooves, watching with some small level of amusement as she saw the ebony stones whiz by the bottom half of her body. It was then that the mammal began to buck, attempting to throw the woman off, and her grip began to slip away.



Feeling the panic settling in just below her stomach, Ghita's teeth lost their hold and drew longer cuts down the deer's back until the wolf was clinging to the back of the mammal's thigh. From there it only took a certain well-aimed kick to the woman's chest before the full panicked strength of prey announced itself, the last straw. Feeling the hard material cut across her chest, Ghita barely had a moment to react, her whole body ignoring the mind by releasing and relaxing, which made Ghita's disgraced tumble to the ground a whole lot less painful.



The silver-tipped fae had flown through the air as high as a deer's shoulder, a small, high-pitched yelp cutting through the wintery silence until she crashed into the snow, instantly muted by the ivory flakes. Fresh blood from a deep cut on Ghita's chest exploded as tiny seeds into the snow, forever staining her shame into the ground as she let out a small moan, letting the pain and humiliation have it's moment as she wondered where Flayra and that blasted deer had finally ended up.

OOC Notes:
Wc: 355


It was simple - she had turned into no more than a neophyte, just stepping onto the field for her first hunt. Feeling the crimson heat creep up from just beneath her fur, Ghita let the embarrassment sweep over her, the mortification causing her to remain still with her muzzle pressed into the snow. Keeping her turquoise optics closed, the fae allowed herself to wallow in her self-pity for a few moments longer, before she heard the pawsteps approach her from her left side.


At Flayra's concern, Ghita only let out a small grunt, raising what would be an eyebrow as she did. "I think it's 'Shit' in this language, am I right?" A meager attempt at some humor, the fae remained there, letting the bruised side of her body enjoy the coolness of the snow before struggling to her paws to face her companion.


But the struggle was harder than she'd expected. The once dignified lady had disgraced herself in front of a packmate, doing what she should be able to do best - hunt. And the failure wasn't a subtle one either, one that someone could pass of as a bad day for hunting, or a lucky getaway; No. This one was horrific in nature, the old hat at hunting being made a novice in the eyes of Flayra. Any and every other day Ghita would've hung on for a little bit longer, fought a little bit harder, but today the hoof had managed to connect right on her chest and shoulder, creating a short but deep gash that was bleeding profusely.


Nodding once at her companion, she tried to brush off the injury as a light scratch, nothing that hurt her very much. But this was a killer; the hoof had ended up digging into her skin and almost to the bone, affecting the way her leg moved. Mainly, it caused a lot of pain. Shaking her head around, and body (what she could without wincing), the ivory snowdrops flew off of her for the most part, pockmarking the unmarked snow around them. "Yeah, I'm okay. Perhaps we call it a day?"

OOC Notes: Unless you have anything else in mind, do you want to call this post the last one?
Wc: 400


The cut on her chest was producing a slow-moving river of crimson, tarnishing the brown fur that the fae usually sported, causing the raw skin to pronounce itself beyond the flow. However, it wasn't pain that kept the proud fae down, the fact that that Ghita had let herself cause the inexcusable fault, and the loss of their prey; that was what made Ghita lie down and wallow in her pity.


Blinking in surprise at Flayra's insistence, for a moment it looked like Ghita would snap at the younger wolfess in defense of her own tattered pride. There was no way that the woman thought she needed help standing, after all, it was only a chest wound, but the blood loss could quickly become dangerous with such a deep cut.


Glaring in the general direction of the manor, the fae sighed, trying to defend herself against Flayra's aid. "It's only a scratch, I'm fine." But her tone was weary, the usual zest not apparent, and the fae found her body quickly being lifted to her paws. It took a few moments for the woman to become steady once more, but after she did, the Italian wolfess shook her pelt, keeping the foreleg closest to the injury off the ground as she moved, also dislodging Flayra's arm. "Thanks. I'm okay now."


Pausing, the fae looked around at her surroundings, noting with some despair that the deer she tried to take down was long gone, a subtle trail of crimson indicating where it had run. But even Ghita, foolish and headstrong as she could sometimes be, knew when to call it a day, and certainly the fae wasn't up for another blow like that. Sighing, she turned her head back to Flayra, a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes on her face. "Perhaps another day. I'm going to head up to the manor and get some rest. I'll be fine getting there on my own, but thank you."


Her paws began the long trek back to the manor now, weight unevenly distributed throughout her gait. Her left foreleg left strong divets that pockmarked the snow, while her right forepaw barely even made a mark. Every few feet or so, another bead of crimson fell to the ground, a pure cranberry amidst the ivory snowflakes, until the pattern of her exhausted and disgraced walk finally took her to the manor once more.