Through the forest, down to your grave

POSTED: Sun Mar 15, 2015 11:17 pm

Open for one! Dawn on March 8th: downpour and strong winds. Pascal is in Lupus form and freaking out.


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The forest was dark. Thunder grumbled in the distance, slinking away after its tantrum early in the morning -- loud claps and bright flashes that had jolted Pascal out of a fitful sleep. He'd the urge to run, and so he ran. He'd ran far from the hotel, out into the woods where mist gathered, to bury his paws in the mud and smell the earth and bark and envelop himself in a sense that wasn't hearing. And now the forest was dark.

It would have been dawn, if not for the clouds. One could have looked out across the sea to see the sun rise from distant lands, bleeding pink and gold into the sky, but now the only light was gray. Pascal squinted and pushed through the trees, shivering as twigs scratched his coat and puddles splashed underfoot. He hummed to himself, a deep buzzing noise in a throat raw from the sound. His ears twitched at the distant peal of thunder, and he shut his eyes tight.

He didn't feel the first raindrop. He felt the second -- splashing him in the eye as soon as he opened it. He glanced skyward, and then heaven came down.

There wasn't any way to escape the downpour without running home, and the idea of sheltering with a dozen other wet pack mates filled Pascal with as much anxiety as the storm did. He remembered for a moment, one moment of humor and reprieve, how much he'd complained with Valencia about an earlier storm. But the humor was washed out with the rain pelting his head and ears, pat-pattering off leaves. The rain roared to outdo out the thunder. Wind howled.

The muddy-colored wolf staggered through the thick of the forest, eyes wide and darting and nearly rolling back in his skull. He needed shelter, but there was no shelter to be found -- only the leaning trees, branches rippling with movement. He was a wolf and he was scared of the trees. The forest loomed.

Sometimes Skoll spoke of God's wrath. Pascal didn't put much stock in his stories, but if ever was there a deity's wrath, it was in the rain and the wind and the crack and the toppling of an oak across his path. The Sadira could feel the earth shake, heard the tree's branches crumple and clack against each other and the earth, and Pascal began to scream.

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POSTED: Mon Mar 16, 2015 9:19 pm

I just had to grab this, I don't like seeing little Pascal scared. ;____; Estella is in Optime. (382)

Maciel had joined Estella in her home, his own shelter flooded and unlivable. While she welcomed the non-Luperci into her space, she could not help but worry about her fellow pack mates and how they fared during the storm. All she had been doing was hunkering down in her own safe space, almost selfishly so when canines like Maciel may have been suffering... It unsettled her to think that her inaction to save herself costed others'--especially her fellow Courtiers--inconvenience. The mist had draped over the land again, thunder returning in the late hours. But the drizzle was still light in the early hours of what she thought was morning (the clouds made it difficult to tell time, the sea's horizon bleak), and Estella decided to slip out to survey the damage done under the guise she was going to hunt for food.

She thought she would be able to return back to Lunenburg before anything happened. But she didn't. The rain returned, and it was as if the ocean was dumping itself from the sky. Her fur became heavy on her bones as she walked in the downpour with only her hands to shield her face. Estella did not know what was more deafening--the wind or the rain or the thunder that shook the very earth. Something like the peal of thunder cut through the air but it was louder than the sky, ripping and tearing and almost as chilling as nails dragging on a board. It only became silent when the ground beneath her feet suddenly vibrated with more intensity. And then a scream echoed behind it.

"H-hello?" the Butler called out, her voice on the edge of worry as she tried to track where the scream came from. Were they trapped by whatever fell? It sounded like a scream of fear, not pain, but Estella wasn't sure. Seconds later she saw the tree laying on its side and on the other side she could see a wolfish figure--she could not smell who it was, and her sight was blocked by the tree's branches.

She tried to peer around to see more of the figure, but she still could not tell if they weren't trapped or not--at least they were not dead. "Are you injured? I-I'm coming around, just wait."

Last edited by Estella Butler on Thu Mar 19, 2015 7:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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POSTED: Thu Mar 19, 2015 10:56 am

Eeeee I was hoping you'd join tbh. :D


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The scream and the storm rang in his ears, and Pascal gasped for air. His chest was tight, his head pounding, and he felt trapped -- the heavy tree across his path and the bushes around him. He pinned his ears tightly against his skull, eyes rolling to look at his surroundings: clacking and shaking branches, rattling bushes, sheets of rain. He shut his eyes, next.

He tried to remember his mother. Sometimes it helped, when the panic crept up on him. It wasn't easy.

A voice broke through the storm, edged and breaking through the sound of rain, and Pascal's eyes snapped back open. He tucked his tail beneath him, ears still pinned back, and curled his lips to bare strong teeth. No! he shouted, throat raw with the volume of it, and tossed his head to look for an escape. Leave me alone!

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POSTED: Thu Mar 19, 2015 6:03 pm

Eeee excite! <3 (327)

Bushes surrounded either side of the tree, and Estella wished she had shifted into her four legs before leaving her house. Her small form could have slipped more easily through them when her bigger, cumbersome body made it difficult to navigate through such spaces. Rarely she ever strayed from the path in the woods and inexperience with traversing tight spots caused extreme discomfort as she forced herself to wade and clamber over the undergrowth. Her inconvenience paled in comparison to what was at hand, however. She urged herself to move faster.

A roar of a voice was returned in response to her's. Instinctual fear gripped at her stomach and she felt the fur raise on her neck. Rationale kept her moving forward, though she did falter for a moment as she struggled through the bushes. Eventually within those few seconds of the voice barking at her, she moved around the tree enough to see who it was. It was difficult to see the mismatched, wild eyes that she only saw as expressionless and hard to read before this moment.

It was her sister's friend, the good King's son. "Pascal," she almost gasped, trying to catch her breath. It had escaped her from exerting herself and the anxiety that clawed at her. "It's me, Estella—Silvia's sister." She half-scrambled, half-fell from the bushes and onto the Sadira's side of the tree. She barely managed to land on her feet and had to grab painful handfuls of branches from behind to steady herself on the slippery ground.

Estella, admittedly, did not personally talk often with the boy. But she knew—everyone eventually knew—that he was "different," but treat him differently she could not; Silvia was almost like him in the way they had unreadable, almost intimidating stares. "Did you get hurt?" she asked again, trying to even her voice and make it more calm for his sake and she kept herself near the underbrush. His teeth were bared, but his scream spoke of fear.

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POSTED: Mon Mar 30, 2015 10:17 pm

meep sorry I'm slow v_v

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A feminine voice shaken with unsteady breath and a lilt of an accent reached his pinned ears, but it didn't quite reach through the panic choking the chestnut wolf. His chest remained tight, constricting a fluttering heart, and he stared with dilated eyes for some escape, some dark place to run to. His fear had made him an animal -- trapped, cornered. When the dark, ticked shape of the girl half-stumbled over the vegetation, Pascal lifted his voice in a snarl.

Go away, the wolf warned -- in a deep voice, a man's voice, because while he'd reverted back to a childhood fit he was big now -- and backed until his rump brushed up against another tree. He whirled to snap at it as if it were another monster attacking him, a monster that howled with the gales' voices. Rain beat down, too cold, a thousand pressure points on his skull. The world hurt. He hummed loudly enough to make his throat burn, rocking on his paws, claws digging into mud.

The bushes. She'd come from the bushes. Pascal made a blind gallop for them, likely to bowl Estella over if she didn't move. He'd run until the storm died, until the storm raging on in mind and body was gone.

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