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Tue Sep 04, 2018 9:19 pm
Thu Sep 06, 2018 4:58 pm
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.
Tue Sep 18, 2018 10:40 am
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.
Thu Oct 11, 2018 2:24 pm
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.