double double toil and trouble

ooc; first thread on site! be gentle

The sun had almost set, but she was still not weary. The journey to this land had been long. She had aged and matured into a young woman before her own eyes. Though this was not entirely important to her; it merely gained her more freedom to do what she wished. With her mother long behind her, and that dreadful shack they called home as well, Sidonie felt a bit… well, we’re not quite sure what she felt. Her pale eyes displayed no hidden emotion as she walked amongst the bog. An indifferent stare was given to most of the bountiful herbs she came across before she bent to pick some. Moss was always good to gather, for instance, and the blueberries she had come across earlier were safely in her satchel. A light snack for later.

The woman’s lean body uncurled from the earth to view her surroundings. The bog was a start – it always was – but she was keen to discover more. It was also always good to be aware of places chocked full of herbs. They were useful to sell and mix. Poultices could be made and sold for food. Bandages were common, true, but always in demand. Sidonie resisted a sigh as she looked across the area; what did this place have to offer her, and how long would she even wish to stay? Time would tell, she supposed, though she could be impatient like any other soul. For now, she’d busy herself with gathering all she could. One never knew when it could come in handy.

Having slept mostly under the stars for the past few nights since her arrival, her meager possessions were a few paces away. A bedroll, a lack of a horse to call her own, and a few supplies… all she really needed. The leather satchel she carried at her hip was more of a treasured object than any of the others. It was a remnant of old days – and a reminder. It had been made for her father and given to her by her mother when he had failed to show. Even now, she was not aware of what happened to the man. And did she even care? No. The answer was no.

Pushing such thoughts away, Sidonie paused in her task. She could hear something akin to footfalls and wondered if another was nearby. Though she did not outwardly see them, it was quite possible they were either passing by without a word or approaching her from behind. Either way, she would wait to see what happened.

SIDONIE HUNTINGTON

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Hope it's okay for me to join! :D Clover is in Lupus form.

Clover gave the muskrat another good shake.

She hadn't traveled into the bog to hunt, but she'd starved too much over the past several months to turn her nose up at opportunity. When a half-grown rodent swam through the swampy water ahead of her, she'd chased it down, barking, until it was warm and dead in her jaws, and her pelt was saturated with mud and water. It dripped from the tangled hair on her tail and stomach, rivulets running through the soot-markings that painted dark bands on her legs for fortune.

She paced across the spongy ground until she found somewhere marginally dry, her tail wagging and spattering mud along her sides. She should head back with her kill, she thought; Vesper might need some, though the old coywolf had others to provide for her now. It was strange, not having to survive day-to-day anymore, not holding her breath every time she returned to the den, thinking she'd find a skinny corpse.

She lay down and gnawed on the muskrat's scaly tail for a few minutes before picking it up again and heading back home, east.

She wasn't hurried, and stopped to sniff at several bushes along the way. She had actually wandered into the bog to search for cranberry plants, although the bright red berries she used in medicine wouldn't be ready until autumn. The other herbs she knew well grew in drier grasslands and woods; her education hadn't been extensive, especially with a teacher native to deserts rather than maritime forests.

The muskrat swung from her jaws as she turned her head suddenly, sniffing the air again. It was a coyote scent, one with hints of charcoal. Hesitating, she wondered if it might be someone new to the gang; Clover certainly hadn't met everybody yet.

She approached, her feet squishing in the wet grass, and spotted the stranger. Her greeting bark was muffled through the thick, damp fur of her kill.

ooc; welcome!

A bark was her first signal that the other had approached. The scent lay heavy with prey – a muskrat – and she was not entirely sure (nor focused) what the gender of the being was at first sniff. Sidonie felt her body turn, twisting her neck to view the fellow canine with a neutral expression before she swung her full torso toward them. The being was a form of a sheepdog, mainly greys and ivories, with a thick coat. What struck her the most was the other heavy smell clinging to the beast’s fur. The smell of a community. “Greetings” her tone was deadpan, holding no warmth but also no coldness. She did not lower herself to the ground to be level with the other, instead she stood before them in a calm manner.

The woman also knew this was perhaps her first encounter, one on one wise, with another creature in this land. It was best to act cautiously just in case the other was hostile in any way. Sidonie did not exactly have the means to defend herself – she had not worked on a weapon in some time and felt little need to carry them at times. She even wondered what the other wanted of her; and decided to leave the greeting at that. Just a simple greeting between strangers. It was up to the other to speak next, if possible, for the skull marked woman was not going to waste her time speaking for nothing. She did not speak just to hear herself talk. Her ego may be large indeed, but the coyote did not consider it inflated.

SIDONIE HUNTINGTON

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Sorry for the lil wait!

The stranger faced her, and Clover's fluffy ears pricked with surprise.

Though from a distance the coyote was a plain, dull grey, her face was strikingly pale, decorated with artificial shadows and dots that explained her heavy ash-scent. The contrasted coloration seemed artfully applied, like the charcoal was mixed as a pigment rather than smeared, as it was on Clover and other Cenizans. The smudged rings around Clover's legs and the faded stripes on her head looked like a child's fingerpainting compared to the stark markings the loner boasted.

Slowly, Clover wagged her tail. While the other's response wasn't particularly friendly, she wasn't hostile either, and her appearance intrigued Clover.

"You look pretty cool," the dog said plainly, dropping her catch. It landed in a damp pile at her large paws. "Marked up like that for superstition or just 'cuz?" Her brown eyes traced over the woman before they zeroed in on the satchel hanging at her side. "Guess you're a traveler or something?" Or perhaps she was in the bog for a purpose, like Clover was. It wasn't too strange to see coyotes on their own, anyway.