watcher in the woods


POSTED: Sun Jan 13, 2019 8:20 am


outskirts of amherst/into black river reserve

Every now and then, he'd move in a way that rustled a different part of his coat and release a soft blush of rose-water scent that gave the set of his lips a smug line. He was a satisfied male and continuing their journey southwards was marked with a bouncier step in the Gael. Gille ribbed him endlessly about it and Ruari took it in his stride, a non-committal shrug likely his only answer. The older dog knew perfectly well what the dark Gael got up to whenever he went off after some tail. Ruari prided himself on being a virile young man. As long as the two remained their sense of brotherly camaraderie and the Ahearne male didn't lose sight of what they'd come home for, they would be just fine.

The brisk coldness brought him back to his senses, the sharp slap of cool air on his washed face causing sage eyes to blink rapidly. Whilst Ruari would have loved to roll in that scent for days, Gille had grumbled enough about him being a 'flower boy'. And so the man had left Gille at the camp they'd set up for the evening and made his way to the wide expanses of the river. Having already stripped off the dark green tartan kilt that he'd taken to wearing, his weapons belt and boiled leather boots, Ruari was about to take a dive into a deeper section of the water to truly do justice to a bath when he paused. The broad expanse of his back rippled, hackles lifting as the feeling of being watched increased.

Pale gloved hands reached blindly for his weapons belt, hoping to catch hold of the hilt of his dagger when the bush across the river rustled and a frightened doe darted further into the forest to the side of the water. Tense shoulders relaxed and he blew out the breath he'd held on to. It wasn't a watcher in the woods waiting to slice his throat. Although he could have been quicker on the draw if he'd had a bow to fell the doe with. That would have made a nice supper. Ruari stepped forward, allowing brisk cold water to soak into the fur of his toes.

POSTED: Mon Jan 14, 2019 12:08 am

Miriette awoke to the sound of birds calling to one another through the snowy treetops that lay far above her tent. Her breath hung like a cloud before her face, the fog streaming from her nostrils in draconic plumes that dissipated just as soon as they appeared. The canvas of her tent was decorated with eyes that had been painted in charcoal and blood. They were beautiful and wide, the pupils sketched in perfect concentric circles. The Frenchwoman lay with her head pillowed against the long tresses of her golden hair, and she smiled to herself as she considered the ways with which she had pleased her many-faced god.

Her fingers toyed with the bandage bound around her hand, and for a moment pain seeped through the tendons of her hand – though the pain roused her further into wakefulness.

The golden woman rolled onto her shoulder, kicking at the blankets until she lay naked against the cold. Winter rippled over her, causing her skin to prickle and dance – and when she had tortured herself enough, she rose and twisted her midnight-blue cloak around her to bring the feeling back into her limbs. She exited the tent near the stream and following the babbling water, jumping playfully from stone to stone. The long sleeves of her robe billowed around her as the breeze picked up, but she found herself ducking at the sudden movement that burst through the trees that lay just around the bend.

A doe stamped its way through the brush, and Miriette yipped loudly – a cajoling cry that had the animal stampeding away from her.

She thanked them for not having her trampled, and then thanked them again for the man who stood in the stream. The water lapped at his toes, and Miriette crooned quietly, tugging her robe so that she could carefully pick her way closer. ”Bonjour Monsiour,” She smiled, beaming – hiding the bandage on her hand beneath the length of her sleeve. ”Mind if I join you?” She tittered, ”My camp is very cold.”

Dead Topics