Life is Only 10% of What Happens to You

And 90% of How You React to it

POSTED: Tue Feb 12, 2019 9:10 pm

Donned in only his rough pants, the Hushhowl son of light moved through the trails beneath the trees. His paws stepped at the snow, and he was discovering how delightful it was to have warm, dry arms during travel. In his hands was a stick he'd gone and used as a mock sword, and he couldn't help but find the occasional adversary along the way. A jutting branch? Whack, crack! A stone in the path? He'd pick up and swing away. He was so excited to become something within Casa that he hadn't gone as far as to figure what that something was.

Of course, Honrin was sure to help him with that.

Mentor, Honrin of the Brotherhood. Could he have gotten any luckier?

His grin was wide as he walked into the Denali-Wolfe camp and he met Jace's eye. Cheek to cheek, he grinned at her,” Kanyana, Terokla!” Svinka, spoken fluently by her teachings. Yet, he wasn't here to see her today and she was bound to know why that was. With a puffed up chest, despite his lanky frame, he squared his shoulders and marched toward the Wetu, seeking out a familiar white wolfdog,” Hoooeenreeeiin,” Beckoning his mentor, he stood a the wetu's door and peeked inside, looking for his might mentor.


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POSTED: Wed Feb 27, 2019 2:57 am

Honrin
Word Count → 000 ::

He could hear his mother bustling about outside, rummaging through her various possessions. She knew he was keeping something from her and he knew that she knew. He wanted to keep it just between them though, just for now.It was like a precious secret that he wanted to hide away from the world and only open it up when he was alone.

He, himself, was rummaging through his own stuff, gathering together posessions that he was going to drop off at the carpenter's shop. His time was divided up between Guinevere's place and here with his parents and over time was beginning to lean more towards the shop in the middle of the Fort.

He smiled as he heard the young boy addressing his mother, and her muffled reply.

Hey Pushok, just give me one more minute buddy. I'll be right out. Since Risa had moved in with Honrin, the space inside of his Wetu was much more cluttered.

He finished stacking up the last of his things upon the bed of furs and then turned to the young boy.

I was thinking we could work on basic stances today, how does that sound? Their two accents were not dissimilar, and an ousider would be forgiven for thinking they were one and the same but to Honrin the differences were easily distinguishable.

Some drink to remember, some drink to forget

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Honrin Wolfe-Denahlii

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Jace
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·AM I DREAMING·

POSTED: Tue Jul 30, 2019 11:40 pm

“Я буду!” He chimed as he stood completely in the door of the Wetu as Honrin moved around. Eyes alight as he watched things being moved from here and there to one spot on Honrin's bed, only for Honrin to move about and gather more things. Pushok didn't know what any of it was for, but he was hoping that by watching, he'd come to figure out the decisive moment that his Mentor was finished without him having to be told.

Such was not the case as the alabaster wolfdog turned to him, finished. Pushok's sights met his own, his tail boundlessly wrought with enthusiasm might have found the sky were it not connected to him. Maw agape at Honrin's declaration, he squeaked and balled fists against his chest. With the new spread of his limbs, there was so much to learn and do with his new body. Thumbs were a wondrous thing!

“Staences!” The boy echoed his Mentor and they made the small journey to Jace's weapon stash, his stick left in the dirt by the Wetu. The entire time, Pushok was nearly spinning circles around him and only found his feet cemented once his eyes found the weapons before him. There were so many. So many choices, types, and styles that he could do,” Dhis ohne!” He pointed at the bow on the rack. He remembered his father using this, as well as other pack members. It looked so cool!” Cahn I try?” Hands held out politely, despite his pounding heart and wild eyes, yet he wasn't so bold as to pull it from the stack.

Honrin blessed his hands with the weapon and Pushok looked it up and down. Like his father stood, he attempted to fiddle with the bow the right way but it fumbled around in his hands. He wasn't anywhere near strong enough to pull a full bow, and that was clear. A small pout found his face before his shoulders dropped,” Noet dhis ohne,” He moped as he returned the bow.

Time and time, again, he tried weapon after weapon to see how they felt, the weight and the movement, as Honrin instructed. The dagger? Too light and much too small. He wanted something with reach! Staff? Oh no, too much reach! So wiggly and thin. A staff didn't feel solid enough. A sword, maybe? Well, it was nice to swing, even if it was heavy, but how could any power be put behind that? What about something bigger than that? A sword as long as his stick! That would be perfect!

Just as Honrin stepped over, Pushok's entire face dropped the small sorrow of not finding the perfect weapon. What did his eyes behold but the biggest sword he'd ever seen,” Dhat one, Наставник!” Honrin's guided hand brought the weapon to him, and put it in his hands. Pushok nearly fell the ground under the weight of the weapon, but his heart fluttered as it he held it in his palms,” Hoenrin, I whant dhat ohne!”

It was clear enough, even to Pushok, that he wasn't going to be able to start out with that large a piece of metal. With the weapon back in Honrin's hands, Pushok scrambled to the Wetu to grab his stick. It was just the right size. Kicking up snow in his twirling wake, he slid to Honrin's side, nearly falling on his face,” Liek dhis!” Hopping off a few feet away from the weapons, he held the stick sword firmly as his mind's eye found the blade in his hands instead,” Staences! I ahm raedy!”

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POSTED: Wed Aug 07, 2019 2:54 pm

Honrin
Word Count → 000 ::

The boy's infectious enthusiasm was encouraging, an eager student was an attentive one. Remembering his own newly shifted form helped, Honrin had shifted to help his sister out of a tree where she had gotten herself stuck. Then she had simply fallen onto him, he had made a good landing pad according to herself, his stubbed tail hadn't agreed.

Fortunately for them his mother, being the hoarder that she was, had a supply of weapons in their camp so they did not have to trek all the way to the Fort. He laughed at the antics of the young boy, and remembered his derpy son who exhibited just as much zeal but with a heavy temperance of self doubt and anxiety.

It was promising to see Pushok had some sense of restraint and did not simply snatch the weapons from his mother's store. Only when Honrin gave his permission did he tenderly pick up Jace's bow.

Atop the rack of weapons was the grand longbow that his mother had brought with her all the way from her birthplace, the bow had been snapped in half during the war in Anathema and although it was glued back together the bow was thus unusable ever again. It made him sad to see.

But Pushok was already moving on, not really interested with the full strength bow that would be impossible for him to draw. For the bow, they would start with something less weighty.

Remember, handle carefully, these are dangerous weapons. He reminded the boy gently. It was easy to become lost in the veil of excitement and forget caution.

Pushok eventually caught sight of Honrin's own long-sword, mostly unused in combat but still kept sharp and deadly and his skills honed and taut. The heavy sword was handed to the boy, again with a repetition to be cautious, and he almost dropped to the ground beneath its weight.

Honrin chuckled, taking it back from the youngster before he could hurt himself. Apparently this one was the one. There would be need for the development of muscles before Pushok was capable of handling something so heavy.

For himself, the sword was a burden in his hand that he was used to, and in the day before her crippling injury Honrin had often sparred at swords with his mother, and more often than not came out on the worse end, she was a ferocious woman.

Being challenged by a skinny, stick of a boy was amusing on several levels -- in another vein he could see himself at the same age stood before his strict hard-faced mother, anxiety and excitement clashing together in his guts.

Now, he found himself parroting the same things he could remember to the young boy before him. Of the readiness of footwork, and the need for lightness. A still combatant was a dead combatant. He hoped Pushok would take his words and run with them.

Some drink to remember, some drink to forget

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Honrin Wolfe-Denahlii

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Labor Head
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Jace
Luperci Herdsman, Ambassador (MV) Mate to Guinevere Top Poster
·AM I DREAMING·

Casa di Cavalieri