[m] catching stars to keep

POSTED: Sun Dec 09, 2018 6:44 pm

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.


The camp he had made for himself was reminiscent of the shelters he and the other members of his squadron had created in Ame Rouge. It was utilitarian – a small fire sat protected by a wall of snow and branches, and a long piece of heavy canvas strung up from low lying tree branches served to protect him from the wind. Travelling like this spoke to the Gypsy in Brocades heart, and though he had his home in The Ruins there was something about the tiny temporary camp that spoke to a tradition of wandering that ran through his veins.

Boughs of pine leaned down towards him, weighted by frost and snow. Everything glittered cooly, and as he slept creatures crept through the snow silently. A hare and a bushy faced lynx surveyed the sleeping man curiously before pressing on – their retreat marked by a brilliantly silver moon. There were others too who crept through the trees, Outsiders who sought to mask themselves against the dark.

Brocade lay amongst the snow drifts with a thick fur cloak wrapped about his shoulders, a stack of blankets tossed across his legs as a small fire burned low before him. The cold distracted him from The Kingdom – though he found that sometimes his mind wandered as he slept and lost itself in the cat-like slant of Morganas eyes or the subtle sweetness of Elphabas mouth. He turned in his sleep, brushing frost from his twitching ears and rolling toward the embers with a low groan.

An empty bottle lay abandoned against the stones that circled his fire pit.

Tonnerre stood tied further away from the camp, a hide tugged over his shoulders to protect him from the elements. Mist hung before the horses muzzle like a shroud, and as the night deepened the horse shifted his weight back and forth, his hooves crunching against the snow.

Brocade didn’t wake as a thief crept through his camp.

Brocade didn’t wake as a thief unhooked his horses bridle and lead him away through the frost.

>:)

Last edited by Brocade Valentine on Mon Mar 18, 2019 5:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Wed Dec 12, 2018 11:06 pm

Optime | Morning | NPC: Glade and Brimstone (+554)

Fast-forward!

Snow crunched rhythmically beneath the dark stallion’s hooves as he picked their path through the winter-laden terrain, following the general heading that his rider had chosen for their venture. Ragna had had no real heading with the trek outside the Vale. It had been her first time so far from the pack’s borders since the snow had fallen, and she had merely been more curious to see what had been moving in and around the area rather than hunting for something. With the memory of Krokar’s destruction still relatively fresh on her mind too, there was a possibility that the reconnaissance task might yield more about the mysterious incident.

With such a possibility in mind, Ragna had left Jack back in the Vale, not wanting the extra baggage should things turn ugly. Her marten companion, Glade, should have been left too, but, unlike the horse, the mustelid could argue with her semi-articulately. He rode nestled into her shemagh, curled around the back of her neck. Her hooded cloak helped give him a little bit of extra support, as well as helped ad an additional layer of insolation from the cold. He dozed in and out of sleep and Brimstone kept his mind busy with choosing the easiest path.

Ragna, meanwhile, surveyed the passing scenery. There hadn’t been much of note since she had left the Vale early that morning. At the very least, in the direction she had gone, there were no signs of a large group of individuals like Boreas having moved through the territory. In any case, she was armed with her bow and knives should there have been any trouble.

Thankfully, there was no trouble to be had, unless it came in the form of a small campsite out in the middle of nowhere. She brought Brimstone to a halt and dismounted. Glade’s head had popped out from her shemagh, his beady eyes hungrily drinking in the new scenery. A gesture with a finger signaled for him to remain quiet.

From the looks of things, the individual—or individuals—responsible for its raising were had not been either around or active in some time. There was a small pile of what looked to be the remains of fire, abandoned and left to eventually burn itself out. From what she could see as she crouched to inspect some the footprints, there looked to be a few, though, only one did not appear as if it had only been passing through. This one could be seen prevalently throughout the immediate area, whereas, the other, the fresher set, came and departed.

The contents of the lonesome tent were inspected next, and, not surprisingly, there was a body still inside. It was a man of heavily wolfish blood, with a coloration that reminded her almost of Snorri’s. He slept soundly in spite of the chilly conditions around him. Blankets wrapped around his lower region, and a fur cloak shielded his upper body. Stale alcohol mixed with the stranger’s scent, and Ragna’s nose wrinkled.

“He dead?” Glade whispered, his whiskers twitching as he stared at the large male.

“Let’s see,” Ragna grunted. She took her bow and smacked it against the outline of the man’s legs.

"Mister, are you dead?!" The marten asked loudly.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Wed Jan 02, 2019 3:24 pm

He slept deeply and dreamt of beautiful women who danced and coerced him through mismatched tree-bough ringed in thorns. The tent trembled in the breeze, pine needles scratching eagerly against the canvas as if asking to be let in. Brocade snored, scratching unconsciously at his chest even as the woman found him.

“Mister, are you dead?”

The tiny voice somehow found him, and he blinked blearily – scrubbing at his eyes as he realized a stranger stood across the opening, her bright eyes narrowed as she looked down upon him. She had kicked him roughly, and he felt his body sway as she crossed her arms to inspect him. There was a scarf wrapped about her neck, a small animal with beady eyes gazing at him from around her ears. Confusion muddled Brocades expression, and he rose gingerly – his whole-body aching from where he had crookedly slept against the stone.

Brocade smacked his dry lips together and groaned, ”I don’t think so.” His head buzzed as he shook out the mussed curls of his hair, ”Sure feels like it though. Merde. The world spun and he braced himself, his strong hands pressing to the furs as he tipped himself to his feet. If he hadn’t felt so lousy, he would have grunted something at the pair of them and inhaled sharply to ensure that they were alone.

A tiny part of him was careless, and he only glanced around her when he stood freely from the tent – his hands resting squarely upon his hips.

The Pine Marten stared at him, its whiskers twitching as fog billowed from their too-warm mouths. The snow crunched beneath his weight, and he could see the trail that she had left as she and her horse –

Wait.

He stiffened suddenly, nostrils flaring.

”Where’s my horse?” He growled, the rumbling sound at last building in his chest like a clap of thunder. His brows furrowed, ”What are you doing at my camp?” Suspicion caused the fur along his shoulders to stand up - his golden eyes narrowed as he allowed his gaze to rove over her scarred face. The slashes along her jaw reminded him of someone, and he clicked his teeth quietly as he took a careful step toward her.

Wind rippled through the camp, flapping the entrance to the canvas tent so that it gaped like a maw. A bottle tipped close to the fire, the sound of rolling glass echoing between them like an answer to a question Brocade had not wanted to answer.

He hadn’t heard anything because he’d been unconscious. He hadn’t prepared anything because all he had wanted was to forget.

>:)

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Mon Jan 14, 2019 1:25 am

NPC: Glade & Brimstone (+549)


The wolf slowly stirred from his slumber as his body belatedly registered that it was no longer alone. Golden eyes peaked from beneath heavy lids. They stared at them, but didn’t see them, focused but not focused at the same time. Ragna frowned, stepping back and crossing her arms to give the newly-awakened dead room to reestablish itself with the living world. She canted her head towards her marten companion, her glacier eyes remaining on the male as he sluggishly rose to a sitting position.

“Not dead.” She confirmed for Glade, presenting the reanimated Luperci with an open palm.

The man only further reaffirmed this by saying so himself.

“No look much better,” Glade added, cocking his head.

Ragna felt little sympathy for the stranger as they watched him. He was likely hung over, and sleeping on the cold, hard ground probably hadn’t helped things either. There was a distinct lack of urgency to him for having been awoken by a complete stranger. There had been no demands for who she was or why she was there. He hadn’t appeared to care that caught him in a vulnerable state at a vulnerable moment.

Was this sort of thing normal for this man?

As the male rose to his feet, the Eklund only backed up further to give him space. He was of good size a wolf, and had adequate muscling to be seen in his arms and upper torso. The scars that marred his face reminder her of her own, and, when combined with those that matched on his shoulder, Ragna wondered if the male was a fighter of some sort. He had the build for one, as well as the habits—if the stench of alcohol and a penchant for waking up stiff the day after were anything to judge by—of any proud, male soldier she’d seen in her days with Boreas.

He lumbered out from his tent and let his golden eyes lazily move about his campsite. When his eyes came upon Brimstone, however, the man suddenly sobered. His energy changed in an instant, and Ragna found herself reacting in kind. She backed up and dropped into a fighting stance, her free hand dropping to one of her knives strapped to her thighs while the other held tightly to her bow. In one fluid motion, she unlatched the thigh holster and freed her blade, positioning it threateningly between her and the suddenly aggressive male.

“Calm down, bright eyes,” she growled in return. On her shoulders, Glade had sunken as close to her neck and body as he could, ready to hold on for dear life or defend his Luperci companion should it come down to a fight. “If I was here to steal your shit, I would have killed you while you were still asleep and not a threat.”

“No mean harm! Just doing scout stuff! Bad Luperci burn pack near here.” Glade chimed in, wanting to help defuse the situation.

Ragna continued to coldly stare the male down. “Whatever horse you had was long gone before we showed up.” She gestured to the set of tracks that were not her own and, apparently, not his either. “I’m guessing you were relieved of it while you were in dream land.”

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Thu Jan 17, 2019 4:41 am

The longer that he stood in the cold, the longer that his thoughts had time to settle amongst themselves. There were many of them whirling about – confused by drink and buoyed by anger – but Brocade forced himself to snarl at no one in particular, his hands flexing into aggravated fists. The tiny creature who sat perched atop Ragna’s shoulder stared at him with tiny eyes that seemed endlessly dark – its body hidden in the long scarf which looped around her throat.

He could make out the edges of a scar which crept over her cheeks and snaked its way over the lines of her jaw. One of them almost intersected with the slant of her eyes (which remained clearly unimpressed) and he couldn’t help but unconsciously finger the trio of scars that still lingered upon his own face. There were plenty more hidden beneath the leather and his tunic – but it was those that were most clearly marked that had the most story behind them.

Each mark had been slashed with great force – each line drawn by a careful hand. Brocade had fought for hours against the Bissets; a large and ancient family who had taken up a portion of land that had separated the Valentines from their allies. Ferdinand had been the one to lead them through the broken territory – his tuft of flame-red hair flashing as he fought for them.

They had thought they were done; each chest heaving with exhaustion and covered in blood.

He flinched at the memory and tipped his head into the breeze in an effort to forget.

The drink helped.

Brocade felt his should prickle as she spoke and he spat back with a growl that bit with sarcasm, ”Well thank you so much.”

Had the soldier taken the time to sort through his things she would have been sad to find only items of no value. Brocade had travelled with little else besides his horse and a bottle of Sapien Booze – an alcohol that he had become rather fond of in the wake of his nephews wedding. Somewhere further into his leather bag was a set of daggers and a small stash of cigarettes - but beyond that The Director of Salsola may have been a wandering hermit. He squinted at the trees and felt his ears twitch at the pine martens shrill voice as it poked its head out again from the top of Ragnas scarf.

"Hm?" Brocade stifled a yawn which threatened to crack his jaw and expose his sharp teeth.

A pack had burned? He remembered Kamari's mention of Krokar and felt his brows cinch thoughtfully.

”So you’re a scout?” He coughed, rubbing at his eye before tugging his hair into a neat nape with a twist of his wrists, ”You and your little friend any good bright eyes?" Brocade took note of the icy sheen her eyes took on each time she looked at him.

He cleared his throat and began to collect his things - cinching a discarded dagger to his armor and kicking an empty bottle aside. "Think you could help me find my horse?”

>:)

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Tue Jan 22, 2019 4:25 pm

NPC: Glade & Brimstone (+528)


The man snarled and his muscles flexed, it was like watching an angry bear or bull that was trying to make sense of the situation it found itself in. Unhappy and angered, the best course of action was to remain on the defensive, to let his fire burn itself out. There would be no reasoning with him otherwise, as he would likely only see her more as a threat than the neutral party to the situation that she currently was. If things came to a fight, he’d definitely have the advantage as far as raw power went. Likely hungover though—if the stench of alcohol indicated anything—Ragna might be able to turn the tide quickly in her favor, however.

After a few breaths, he settled…somewhat. He wasn’t welcoming or friendly by any means, but, at the very least, he didn’t seem like he would continue his aggressive charge in her direction. “You’re very welcome,” she replied back, her words filled with just as much sarcasm as his own. She even forced a smile to complete it all.

He yawned then, creating an almost casual air between them despite the near costly confrontation just moments before. Ragna continued to regard him with suspicious and dangerous eyes, however, her weapon did lower to her side. It remained out, ready to be put to use at the slightest hint of attack or deception, but, no longer was it an active threat between herself and the male. “I would say so, yes,” she confirmed, smirking with a bit of pride.

She had been one of the best in the Boreas group she had ventured to these northeastern lands with. And for someone who had not chosen a hawk or bird of prey as their partner, Ragna liked to think her skills were better without such a crutch to rely on. Stealth was her specialty, and tracking coyotes from such a young age made her good at what she did.

When he asked for her help, she raised a delicate brow at him. “Think? I’m certain I could find your horse thief.” She grinned, showing teeth. “However…” She shifted her weight, her glacier eyes watching as he picked up his things and tore down his makeshift tent. “…what do you have to offer in return? I’m sorry to say that my services don’t come free of charge.”

She stood no benefit to gain in helping this man, this stranger. She didn’t know him, and, for all she knew, he had deserved getting his horse taken from him.

From her shoulder, Glade stretched his neck to watch the male, curious too, to hear what business deal the man might make with his Luperci partner. It had been a while since Ragna had helped a complete stranger in these parts. Though not one to generally stick her neck out for just anyone to begin with, she was also ever wary that they might be a Salsolan in secret. Thankfully, the Infernians were easier to avoid contact with what with them being coyote-blooded.

“What name?” The marten asked, having decided what his charge would be.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sun Jan 27, 2019 9:02 pm

Each time he turned his head it ached fiercely, and Brocade was forced to tug his hands through the stringy pieces of his hair that hung in his face. The sleep had left him feeling fuzzy around the edges, as if pieces of him had been stolen away in the night with his horse. The way Ragna looked at him had him off balance and bristling with irritation – but deep down he knew that it was not the so-called Scouts fault. Her Pine Marten was keenly curious in a way that Adelia never would have been – and despite the icy glaze to his master’s expression Brocade thumped his fist against his chest thoughtfully.

He held out his hands at last, ”You may have anything you like from my camp.” He touched his nose, ”Save for my horse when we find him. He’s mine.”

He picked up a leather satchel that was filled with a few useful items; a fire starter, a set of matches, and a heap-looking dagger. It wasn't much, but he had not brought along anything worthy of trade for it had not been his initial intent. He had meant to get drunk and travel as far from Salsola as he could before returning the next day - prepared to face whatever challenge that the Thistle Kingdom offered him.

He scratched at the markings across his shoulder and wondered how much time had passed since the thief had swung up onto the tired horses back. They needed to make quick time, but he grunted before he continued, ”If nothing here is to your liking I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.” The pine marten was staring at him again, the beady eyes reflecting the pristine snow each time he twitched his head.

”What name?”

Brocade finally held his hand out to the woman, ”I’m Bastian Montgomery.”

Names were complicated things outside of Salsola. Even from within each title meant something different to those that wielded it. Outside of his Kingdom the title of Director meant nothing – but within… it gave him a power that he wielded tentatively. He wasn’t sure how Elphaba did it so effortlessly, each snap of her teeth all at once beckoning and commanding. If the Shield Supper was any indication there was still a lot to be learned when it came to the strong personalities that dwelled within The Shield.

Brocade blew air through his lips and glanced out into the snow.

”We should move – before they go too far.”

Her horse gazed at him with a flat expression that said he should not get too close, so instead Brocade picked his way through the camp to inspect that trail of tracks that lead out into the great beyond. They took a moment to discuss their direction and then took off through the trees to follow the weaving trail that the thief had left behind. Tonnerre was an obedient horse and deeply loyal - though trained for war he had no reason to lash out to Luperci who were not trying to harm him.

Brocade cursed his good nature for the first time in his life.

He glanced at Ragna as they continued through the wood, "Whats your name little guy?"

The creature was still huddled up against the nape of her neck, his little paws caught on the edge of her scarf.

>:)

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Tue Feb 05, 2019 12:46 am

NPC: Glade & Brimstone (+500)

I’m sorry if this is horrible Dx I’m sick, and brain is apparently not working all that great tonight @___@

He offered her reward to be hers to pick, and, to humor him, the Eklund glanced around the encampment with a considering but arrogant eye. “Don’t worry. I’m not looking to compete with your thief on who can steal your horse better,” she said with a teasing smirk as she continued to look about. Honestly, there wasn’t much there to choose from that would have been worth her while. Glade, too, looked about. Her glacier gaze eventually came to rest upon the man himself as he promised to find her suitable payment regardless. “Hnn, let’s find this horse of yours then.” She would be able to choose something equal to the effort that went into finding it, as well, the time would allow her to mull over her options.

When he offered a hand out in greeting, Ragna took it firmly. “Ragna Eklund of the Vale.”

With their names exchanged, Bastian decided to nudge things along before his horse traveled too far with its captor. Glade was a little crestfallen to not have been able to introduce himself too, however, with time being of the essence, he was able to justify it. Ragna gave a single nod in agreement, and the Luperci pair went about deciding the best course of action with the clues that had been left behind in the form of footprints in the snow and the scents that lingered with them.

Ragna mounted up onto Brimstone, reasoning that her higher perch would allow her greater sight distance, as well, would allow her to easily gain ground if the horse thief decided to make a run for it atop the Bastian’s horse. They moved out into the neighboring woodland, following the tracks left behind in the snow. There was little scout work that needed to be done with something so obvious to work with. It would make catching up easier for them.

As they moved along, Bastian asked a question of Glade, and the marten was all abuzz at being not only being acknowledged, but, for being recognized as the intelligent creature that he was. He stretched up a bit in his pride. “I’m Glade! Been with Ragna long time. Forever companion.” The marten leaned up against her neck fur in an endearing sort of way that was pointedly ignored by his Luperci counterpart.

“How long have you been a Loner in these parts?” Ragna decided to ask in return, her glacier eyes still scouring through the trees that surrounded them. The man had lacked a strong, group scent, and his rather simple encampment only further supported the assumption of a Loner male. That, and his strong desire to get his horse back. Having been a Loner herself for a time, she knew the value of having such a creature and companion around.

It was a rather simple and harmless question, though, the scout in her wanted to rule out that this man had anything to do with the fires of Krokar.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sun Feb 10, 2019 8:36 pm

If Brocade could have chosen another pursuit other than soldier, he would have aspired to become a Ranger. There was something wonderful about becoming in tune with the land; mastering forest, mountain, and star-filled sky. Hyacinth had taken to her role as a scout in surprising fashion – spending as much time as possible out in what she always referred to as the great beyond. She had seduced a king and spun through a war – survived the attack of The Five and had brought children into this world.

Brocade had wandered in his own way – following after her until she had found her place in The Outpost.

As a Vedetto he spent as much time away from his home as he did within it – though now he met more often with the Salsolan nobility. Elphaba expected his best and though Brocade warmed in her presence there was still the fact that she was unattainable as the sun. He reveled in his connection to her – the tiny piece of winding thread that marked him as her Sotto Cappo – but there was little else between them save for titles and infatuation.

He still pined for her, despite it all.

The Soldier huffed a breath, twitching his tattered ears as Ragna grunted at him from her horse. The leather creaked beneath her thighs and together they set out after the trail that had been left for them. Ragna Eklund. She had a name that brought with it visions of snowcapped mountain peaks and frost coated conifers. He nodded his head at her introduction and switched his tail behind him as they continued through the snow.

She was from the same place as Saga d’Angelo – a newly birthed pack that quietly took up space beneath where Krokar had once existed.

Brocade couldn’t help the way his brow cocked as Glade introduced himself. ”A forever friend?” The tiny creature seemed wholesome and warm, and when he squeaked he burrowed his little paw-hands into the fold of his mistress’ scarf. Brocade laughed, running his hand along his chin, ”That’s cute.”

”I’ve been out here a long time.” He ran his hand over the dark scars that crossed his shoulder, ignoring the heat that flared beneath his fingers.

”Started north and worked my way down. My family travelled a lot growing up, so naturally I followed suit.” His lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, ”Gypsy tradition and all that.”

A twig snapped and he froze, inhaling sharply and holding a hand against the dagger strapped to his hip.

When the moment passed he glanced back at Ragna, ”How long have you been a part of The Vale?” He waited a moment for the horse to catch up to him, ”It sounds ominous.”

Somewhere up ahead the thiefs ear twitched from astride the black and white horse - and he drew the hulking animal to a stop with a chatter of his teeth.

Feel free to PP! :)

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Sat Mar 02, 2019 9:08 pm

NPC: Glade & Brimstone (+759)

Sorry for being slow @__@ My muse for writing has been largely absent for this month.

Feel free to PP too!

Glade bobbed his head enthusiastically as Bastien asked for clarification. The marten would always be friends with Ragna, would be until his dying breath! She had rescued him from the Pelt-taker, and he would be forever in her debt because of that fateful meeting. He would remain with her, whether she tried to push him away or not. She needed him, after all, even if she would never admit it.

When Bastien remarked upon the marten’s comment, the scout let out a trying sigh. Great. How embarrassing. He probably perceived her to be weaker than she had previously let on to allow such affectionate talk to be had about her, much less, from such a small creature. With any luck, the man wouldn’t mistakenly think it an opportunity to feast upon. While Ragna often didn’t care about how Glade perceived her and their relationship, she would be damned if someone thought her to be soft-hearted.

Thankfully, their conversation’s focus moved into safer waters about Bastien. “Gypsy?” She parroted, raising a brow over at him. She had only heard of such a term in stories, and they told of a group of nomadic-like individuals that could steal a Luperci blind. He seemed anything of the sort; as he had yet to make an attempt to relieve her of her possessions despite having the prime opportunity before.

“I’d say that you’re not off to a good start,” she chuckled teasingly. Coming from some place further north explained why the wintery season didn’t look to have been too harsh on him. He had had nothing more than a blanket and the clothes on his person—and the alcohol in his system—to keep warm in that tent of his. Traveling a lot meant that the horse he had lost was more of a pressing matter than Ragna had previously realized.

The conversation bounced back into her court, and the Eklund shrugged nonchalantly. “A while.” She had helped found the pack, though, such information was of little importance, particularly to a Loner, and particularly to one that she did not know well. Her days running as reconnaissance for Boreas made her wary of telling anybody too much information lest it be used against her or her battle comrades. “It’s more stable than the Loner life.”

She no longer had to take the horses everywhere with her, nor did she have to worry about her possessions going missing if she left them unattended somewhere. She could store food, have a home that she knew would always be there and not tampered with, and she didn’t have to worry about someone trying to rob her while she was sleeping. Bastien’s predicament was not one she envied.

Her distraction with their idle talk ceased as her nose caught the scent of a large predator that had recently moved through the area. She held out a hand at Bastien, silently telling him that she had found something. Her senses pricked as she focused on the smell, taking larger, deeper sniffs in an attempt to gain more information. She could pick out the smell of a horse that was not her own.

And her nose crinkled as she recognized the stench of coyote.

Glacier eyes combed ruthlessly over the frozen, frost-covered flora around them. Searching, searching, her gaze honed in on the faint crack of a branch buckling beneath pressure. “I think we found your thief,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the direction of the sound. She jerked her head for him to move ahead. “You go directly through. I’ll take Brimstone around and cut them off.”

Glade hunkered down and Ragna waited only long enough for Bastien to accept this plan of action before she spurred her dark steed into a clipped pace. She angled him out and away from the thief’s direction, and if the coyote had only been listening to her stallion’s hoofbeats, they would have likely thought themselves safe.

When she had paced out far enough, Ragna swung Brimstone back around and readied an arrow.

Her eyes searched the frigid landscape for any signs of a fleeing attempt and, sure enough, she heard the sound of fast-moving hooves. When the coyote and horse broke from the forest, the Mistwalker took aim and fired. Her arrow whistled as it shot through the air, piercing the coyote in their shoulder. The projectile caused them to jerk on their stolen steed’s reins, causing the horse to rear.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

Northern Tides