[P] everyones got this broken feeling
#1
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It felt strange to know nothing of this place, so Otilie set out to find the answers to the questions that rattled hollowly in her head. She had come to the Clan based on the stories that had been told to her through out her journey from Terchová. She had been surprised to arrive and find that clan broken and confused - lingering in the shadow of a mountain as a storm raged on and on. Otilie couldn't help but feel that she had brought this with her, a tiny crackle of misfortune that had followed her for her entire life.

It had started in Terchová with the accidental death of her clan mate. Ever since then it seemed to follow her every decision, a tiny shadow of doubt that billowed and grew to encompass others.

She plucked at the feathers that had been woven into her hair nervously and for the first time in months wished that she had her companions with her. She had left behind many things when she had abandoned Terchová and her friends, but every once in awhile she felt herself pining for something that she couldn't put words to.

Misfortune teaches us to pray.

And it was true. She thought of the many spirits that were watching over her and thanked them silently.

Otilie clicked her teeth at the large dog that lay across the entry way to the elder coyotes den, her tall ears twitching as she raised her head in greeting.

"Ahoj," She wagged her tail, "Is Vesper here?"






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#2
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Clicking teeth jolted Clover awake from a dream – or had it been a nightmare? – and the shaggy dog snapped open her eyes and bristled. She looked for who had snapped their jaws, expecting aggression, but instead a dark coyote with feathers in her mane stood before her, wagging her tail and asking for Vesper: one of the newcomers, Otilie. Flushed with heat at being caught dozing, the Outsider cleared her throat.

Yeah, lemme see if she's awake first.

She turned and poked her head into the den, then crept in fully. The den was dry, with a low ceiling that would not fit an Optime. Vesper's scent mingled with that of dried blood; she must have been scratching at her fly bites again, against Clover's orders. Clover peered around the stout stalagmite that hid Ves' little nest of pelts and grass, finding a pair of icy blue eyes staring back at her. She scrambled back with a sheepish note of apology.

Who needs me? the former Aquila asked, drawing herself up. She sat with her bad leg stretched out at an odd angle from her body.

A new Tirones. I dunno what she wants.

You can come in, Vesper rasped loudly for Ottilie's benefit, and Clover went to sit at the other end of the small cavern. You'll just have to shift or duck.


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[html]<div class="clovSig"><div class="text">I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart<br/>
I can see through the scars inside you</div></div>

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#3
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The dog was careful - a proud fluffy creature that was protective of the elder coyote that lay within. Otilie continue to wag her tail, "Ďakujem," She dipped her head in thanks and waited for the woman to return and summon her. In Terchová the elderly were looked to for many things, and Otilie was not about to live her life in a clan that she knew nothing about. This place held a history that she wanted to know and she was prepared to sit with the scarred woman and listen to her stories for as long as she would have her.

Otilie shifted quickly, folding herself into the small coyote form that bounced eagerly into the open cave. "Thank you for seeing me," She glanced at the shaggy dog, smiling as if to reassure that she was not there to do any harm. She sat and wrapped her tail about her thin legs, blinking the pale-blue of her eyes as Vesper emerged further into the space. She was an impressive figure despite her thin frame, with scars that told stories criss crossed across her shoulders, chest, and face.

Otilie considered her quietly, running her tongue over her lips before she spoke.

"I wonder if you could tell me story of this place." She tapped her tail against the dust, "I am new but have heard many things."




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#4
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Small and dark, Ottilie slipped into the little den. Her eyes lingered on Vesper, but the old coywolf was used to this. She was a spectacle, for better or worse; some saw a warrior, while others saw a victim. From old bite marks that thinned the hair on her muzzle to surgically straight lines tracing her tender belly, she was terribly scarred. Old and bony now, too, but when Clover saw Vesper, she knew her old teacher still had a flame inside. It had guttered and dimmed when the war took so much from her, but survival was a powerful instinct.

Vesper laughed. She had a dry laugh, like the cough of a raven. Shit, where do I even start? Inferni has been around twice as long as I have.

She settled back down onto her stomach, rolling over onto a hip so that her bad leg could stretch at a less uncomfortable angle. You're lucky my ex was a historian, she said wryly, and Clover made a small noise that puffed her jowls.

The clan has a long and horrible history, Vesper began. In a land of wolves, coyotes banded together. In this land, actually – east of the mountains there's an old beach, Devil's Shoreline, where they made their stand. Even in the beginning, our warriors were bloodthirsty, our families prolific. You know the name Lykoi by now, surely.

She stopped and nibbled at a fly bite on her leg until Clover growled reproachfully, and the Evocati rolled her eyes at the nurse. A great fire ravaged this land. Everyone moved across the mountains south, but none of the wolf packs survived. Only Inferni. She licked her lips. Inferni outlived all those packs, and others that rose and fell since. Drought, flooding, wars – and yet the coyotes were the only constant thing in the place.

It's only recently that we fell from glory. Had rivals worse than us – evil, powerful. They killed sons and burned our home. We moved back to this shit-heap to avoid them. Our ancestral land, the glory of the old days reborn.

Her sarcasm was dark, and Clover flattened her ears. She hadn't heard Vesper speak quite so vehemently of their new territory; the former Aquila always seemed to support her daughter. Good-natured complaints and cynicism aside, she hadn't voiced a strong opinion. Even Ves seemed to recognize her tone, her mouth drawing into a tight line.

She shook her head. I dunno. What things have you heard?



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[html]<div class="clovSig"><div class="text">I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart<br/>
I can see through the scars inside you</div></div>

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#5
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The Coyote elder was beautiful in a way that kept Otilies attention – she had stories written across every brutal angle of her body, and Otilie couldn’t help but wonder what each slash and hiccup across her skin meant. Otilie had never been a warrior or a truly important member of the clan – she had spent her time following strange fantasies that she swore she could read on the wind or listening to the gentle croons of the valleys cranes and trying to understand what it was that they were telling her.

”I am not lucky,” Otilie wagged her tail softly, her lips twitching as she settled into a comfortable position with her paws stretched out and crossed in front of her. Luck had a strange way of following her – breaking apart all of her hopes each time she lingered in a place for too long. She twitched a long ear, bouncing a feather off of the flat of her shoulder. ”Rivals?” Otilie could feel a growl begin in her throat – rivals were something that she understood clearly for in Terchová rivals were everywhere.

There were other clans, other families – all eager to outperform and survive.
”I hear this is old place – good place.” Otilie considered her words, mulling them over with a smack of her dark lips, ”I come from Clan similar to this one. We are strong together. Good together.” She smiled, ”Is why I come. Why I stay.” She glanced towards the opening of the cave, quirking her brows as she thought of the storm that had followed her all this way. "What do you think will happen now?"





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#6
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Salsola," answered Vesper, and her voice was black with hate.

"Rival" was not a vehement enough word. Nemesis was close, Clover thought from her understanding of Vesper's stories. From the very beginning, the scarred coywolf had acted against the sprawling kingdom – back when it had different leaders, when it was barely more than a dark rumor hidden from the world by the Pictou.

In the end, it had killed her son, and her bird.

Clover growled too, but sighed and slid down onto her stomach. Her jowls rested on her leg as she stared at the shadow of Ottilie's pelt, her eyes caught in the banding of red and silver. The woman's voice was accented but sure, and Vesper was nodding at her words. However, her question jolted Clover from where she rested, and she huffed.

Nothing will happen. The winter was worse than this.

She realized she had spoken out of turn when Vesper's blue eyes flashed her way, but the coyotes did not command authority over each other like wolves. Still she felt guilt, and retracted her forepaws under the fluff of her chest.

I don't know. Vesper spoke honestly. We are strong together, but the problem with coyotes is that we, at heart, aren't meant to live in packs like this. That almost split the clan up several times during its first few years, before we became hybrids. Her coal-tipped tail swept behind her, collecting bits of dried grass and down from her nest. Storms don't last forever, though – something will break.

The clan more likely than the clouds.


I'm cool with wrapping this up here so we can have a fluffy thread. ;>


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[html]<div class="clovSig"><div class="text">I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart<br/>
I can see through the scars inside you</div></div>

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