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Hush and fall, the rainman calls

Tue Sep 04, 2018 9:19 pm

OOC: For a Mistfell Vale member, please! Come recruit Canary! Also -- lyrics were written by Daniel the bard! ;>


Rain pattered on the leaves, a comforting shushing sound. Rivulets ran down the greenery like veins, then splashed on the damp, frizzed hair of the coyote under the trees. She was sitting tailor style in the dirt, gently rocking herself, her voice low and crooning as she sang to something grey and fuzzy wrapped up in her arms.

"Hush and fall
The rainman calls
He pulls his hood on over

The loon outcries
The rainman's eyes
To cool the fields of clover..."

The raccoon kit suckled on her finger, its eyes half-shut in their dark mask. Small and hungry, it was of an age where it should be half-weaned -- but the coyote had no milk to give. She'd spat up some of her last meager meal, a mouse, and cradled the babe as she looked for its mother or siblings. That had been hours ago, with no sound or sight of them; even the scent of the family had faded, leaving the runt behind.

Canary had always had a soft spot for strays and orphans.

Thunder rumbled overhead, past the canopy, and the kit opened its eyes and sought hers. She smiled in reassurance, rubbing her thumb across its brow. It ought to have been a lot more afraid of her, she thought, but it had been so cold when she found it -- maybe it didn't care where the warmth and food was coming from. She continued the crooning lullaby, and it resumed suckling.

"The leaves all speak
In a wispy leak
The rainman is not sober..."

Nearby, the big black horse nickered and shook his head, his thick forelock bouncing. Canary smirked over at him as she sang, and his dark pointed ears swiveled toward her. Elvis was all she had left of her little family now; the vagabond hadn't realized she would feel so terribly lonely. With a cat-shaped hole in her heart, and a clan-sized hollow in her soul, she realized she would have a hard time going on alone.

Or perhaps not alone -- people who needed each other usually found each other, in the end. The raccoon kit finally fell asleep in her arms, and her lullaby trailed away, a whisper in the trees like the soft pattering of rain.

"The smooth and deep," she sang,
"Tugs at his sleeve...
And the rainman snores in clover."

Re: Hush and fall, the rainman calls

Thu Sep 06, 2018 4:58 pm


The sky had finally given way. The hum and crack of thunder and lightning had been teasing its arrival for most of the day and now the droplets were flowing fast and free. While Saga wasn't a huge fan of rain (who was?) she felt grateful that it had caused the temperature to drop significantly. A cold weather creature, the dappled Starkhelm had never had much patience for those sweltering days where you could hear the air sizzling. In the end, it was the snow she longed for. Waking up to see a deep, cold, white blanket of snow covering her home would have given her much joy. However, judging from the temperature snow was still a long way off and she would have to content herself with rainstorms and the grumbles of thunder overhead.

Usually, she would have returned home by now, but something had caught her eye as she doubled back from the mouth of the overgrown valley. She'd sought shelter while she'd lingered to observe the golden creature, her fingers resting at the lips of something small. A child? Saga couldn't tell, the breeze blew away from her and the petrichor made it also impossible to focus on anything else. Regardless, it was a queer sight to see someone willing to wait out a storm in the open. Queer enough to provoke the Wolverthorne into investigating the situation a little more closely.

As she moved forward, her head high and her body positioned in a way that showed both power and pacificity, a sharp bark rang through the air, as the curious (and unsubtle) Mistwalker called out from afar. She waited a comfortable distance away, letting the rain fall onto her back in fat clumps, icy and miserable, a small price to pay for laying the foundations of a proper, respectful encounter.
Last edited by Saga D'Angelo on Thu Nov 15, 2018 3:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Re: Hush and fall, the rainman calls

Thu Sep 13, 2018 12:42 am

Canary looked up at the call, squinting as raindrops splattered onto her muzzle. She'd tightened her arms instinctively around the baby raccoon, which by some miracle hadn't awoken at the bark; it must have been more exhausted than she'd thought. Elvis snorted, mist spraying from his nostrils, and swung his skunk-striped head toward the sound, his forelock matted with rain to his blaze. The big gentle horse was alert, his eyes ringed with white as he tried to see what was there.

Hello, the blonde coyote called back, her voice hushed. She got her feet beneath her and rose, cradling the raccoon kit in one arm as she brushed her wet fringe from her face. Once she saw the stranger, she smiled; how had she been able to miss the dappled creature?

Don't mind us. We're an orphan, a vagabond, and an Elvis, she said, pointing at the coon, herself, and the draft horse who bobbed his head up and down. We don't mean trouble. Just waiting out the storm -- nowhere better for us right now. She didn't mind this so much. Though lonely now, the wanderer was thoroughly used to confronting storms in solitude. There was no danger in summer rain.

She hummed softly as the raccoon turned over in her arm, its skinny tail draped over a wrist.

Re: Hush and fall, the rainman calls

Tue Sep 18, 2018 10:40 am


As she drew closer, Saga could see that the thing in her arms was not a puppy at all, it wasn't even vaguely canine. No, the little bundle in the stranger's arms was, in fact, a racoon. She fought to roll her eyes, bemused at the willingness of some to pack bond with whatever small, cute thing they came across. At least it was a rescued orphan and not some ridiculous pet, though Saga had seen far dafter things that people claimed as their companions.

'A loner then?' The Starkhelm queried, though it was a rather redundant question. This woman didn't smell like any pack Saga knew of, and she knew of every pack in the area and further over on the peninsula. Vagabond had been the great signal, for she'd never heard of someone with a home regard themselves in such a fashion. She found it strange, regardless, the concept of purposefully wandering, alone. She'd done it once out of necessity and found next to none of enjoyable. Granted she'd been young and alone, powerless to stop any attack if one had occurred. She had been lucky where many other's hadn't been, overall she'd been foolish to even attempt that journey in the first place. Saga knew that now.

Besides, what person with a home to go to would stand around in the fair, as this blue-eyed stranger had so clearly pointed out. Lime eyes searched the horizon, 'There's probably better places to wait out the rain than a tree, you know...' The landscape of the valley was littered with hunting lodges and old human villages and while they were not in great shape, they likely afforded better cover that an old oak tree. Safer too, for at least there was the possibility of remaining somewhat obscured behind walls and doors. Plus there was no accounting for how long the rain would hold up, especially this late into the year. Day-long rainstorms seemed to be the trend this season.
Last edited by Saga D'Angelo on Thu Nov 15, 2018 3:52 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Re: Hush and fall, the rainman calls

Wed Oct 03, 2018 8:50 pm


Canary nodded. She had been a loner far longer than she'd been in the clan; it had become part of her identity, to be a wanderer, even if she wasn't always truly alone. When part of Inferni, the woman had roamed through the woods and traveled unknown roads -- though she had a home to come back to. There was an itch to walk and meet new people, something romantic about it, but Canary had always been all about silly romanticism. Why wouldn't a bard be?

The young, dappled hybrid looked through the trees at the surrounding valley, pointing out that there were better places to weather a storm. Canary smiled at this, shrugging and looking down into the sleeping, masked face of the kit. You're right, she conceded, not bothered by the fault found in her logic, then after a beat looked up. You're part of a pack, aren't you? It was as obvious that the girl was a pack wolf as the fact that Canary was a loner. She smelled of it: other wolves, spruce and pine forests, rivers. Though she had a lean build, she was not emaciated like a loner; her eyes and pelt had a healthy shine.

Re: Hush and fall, the rainman calls

Thu Oct 11, 2018 2:24 pm

Word Count → 3+ :: ooc

Her question was met with a silent response, which in turn was met with its own shallow nod. Saga did not understand those who sought to be or remain loners. To her, having an entire pack at one's back was the ultimate luxury. It was how their species was built to exist and how their existence was best spent. Her own brief time as a loner taught her that, as self-sufficient as she was, her pack was among her own kind. Preferably somewhere near the top. The Starkhelm could wander far enough despite her duties and so the call of the wild was not so strong, it's appeal nullified by the level-headed need to be an active cog in a larger, stronger machine.

Through the canopy overhead, rain snaked its way through the gaps in the overlapping leaves and steadily dripped onto the pair. Snorting the raindrops from her nose like a short-tempered bull, Saga gave an insouciant reply, 'Yes. Mistfell Vale.' The D'Angelo did not default to her usual steady, automatic distrust of those she happened across in the wilderness. Perhaps it was the racoon kit, bundled tight and snug in the golden woman's caring grasp. Her chartreuse eyes drifted upwards towards the small creature, shielded from her gaze by the height difference between the women, who waited out the rain in two different forms.

'Were you apart of the coyote clan?' She asked bluntly, her gaze rising further still to catch the striking blues of the older woman. If she had, her scent had drifted a while ago. In fact, it was the foxlike features that provoked the Starkhelm's question. Satellite eyes, angular and slim, with a coat fit for the deserts of the south. Compared to Saga, whos litheness, domestic heritage, and dark, sporadic colouring did almost nothing to mask the dominant wolf blood in her, the loner almost looked like an entirely different species. She was, and there was a part of Saga that envied that lithe, pale visage. A part that she swallowed with equal measures pride and shame. There was still a sliver of vanity in her, but her own miraculous patterning was soured by the overbearing superstition of her father too much for her to forget.

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