rise with the moon, sleep with the sun

Tam!

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 3:08 pm


It was a dreamless sleep, though still wholly enjoyable, even though it felt over in a matter of seconds — but rather than be awakened gently by the rising sun, a rough, prickly cat tongue lapped gently at her cheek, and Fennore groaned as she turned over, dumping the feline off of her chest and onto the ground. Macha seemed unfazed by this, and instead kneaded into the wolf's side with her jellybean paws, mewing continuously. "Hello, morning, Fennore," she chirped, her words sweet but disjointed and jumbled as the one in question sighed and rubbed her tired eyes.

"You are insufferable," she stated pointedly, knowing the word was too complex and contained too many syllables for the cat to understand. Naturally, Macha didn't let up on her cute assault until Fennore was up and about, exiting her small lean-to that she had asked Tamlin to help her construct (though in reality it was more so Tamlin constructing and Fennore watching). It was ungodly early, as Macha always seemed to rise before the sun ever did — but the Moonwraith knew that laying back down would subject her to the cat's torture again, so she instead opted to retreat to the shelter, beginning her daily routine.

Snow white hands ran deftly through the orange mane, ridding it of kinks and knots before she took to brushing out the locks steadily and easily. The gray kitten was seated near her, and she watched with huge jade eyes as Fennore began braiding from the crown of her head in a long, single Dutch braid wrapping around her left ear. As if she hadn't seen the wolfess do this countless times before. It didn't take much for Macha to be amazed.

When she was satisfied with the state of her hair, Fennore had a light breakfast from her stores, then left the lean-to once more, this time with purpose. While she usually always saw the scout around the camp, Fennore had less time to interact with him beyond passing conversation. He was hard at work performing tasks for the King and Queen, whereas she was less... well, busy with work, but still doing little things for the refugees. Or at least she thought so. It was easy to justify hunting and collecting water and returning to Amherst for wares and information if it was for the good of the group.

Regardless, today, she felt it was time to pay her scout a visit. He slept near his horse a ways from her shelter, and as the woman approached, she quieted her steps, moving with all the silence and grace of a huntress. His golden chest rose and fell in tempo, and from the horse's saddle, she was met with the sharp eye of Sabriel, brooding with an air of suspicion as Fennore stopped near the three. With a quirked brow, the canine put a finger to her sneering mouth, and the eagle complied, amused and curious what she was up to.

Noiselessly, she knelt down next to the man, sparing a small, interested glance to his peaceful form. A devious grin tugged at her mouth, and she slowly and carefully neared her muzzle to him, gingerly brushing aside fiery red hair as she parted her lips. Her words were sultry and low as she breathed into his ear.

"Rise, Tamlin Anor."

>:) the sun and moon back at it again [+564]

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Songs from the Wood

POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 11:03 pm

Though sleeping arrangements had obviously changed since they fled their homeland, Tamlin liked to think that everyone had become accustomed to the new normal. Lirael, who had often cuddled with Katoa back home, had adjusted well to being the pillow of the group—both Tamlin and Sabriel often found ways to perch upon or curl around her, sharing the mare’s body heat during the night. Sometimes the Sunwarden woke to find Sabriel resting on his chest heavily, oftentimes giving him nightmares of drowning, though he hadn’t the heart to remove her when he woke up to see her slumbering peacefully. Luckily for him, this past evening it hadn’t been the case—Sabriel had chosen Lirael’s back for her respite, and Tamlin had lain alongside them both. He hadn’t had to deal with a plague of nightmares, just the familiar pitter patter of spiders crawling by his head and the occasional early mosquito. In fact, it was shaping up to be a peaceful, restful night after all.

“Rise, Tamlin Anor.” The words jolted through his ears like a lightning bolt, and without being able to stop it a yelp broke free of the normally taciturn man’s mouth, his body jerking upright violently. His eyes were wild in the disruption, both hands brought up as though he was going to need to defend his life, finding only instead a laughing white woman with her ginger hair coiled like a vivid serpent atop her crown. For a moment, it was all he could do to keep breathing, his lungs sputtering in confusion—he wasn’t even able to look disdainfully upon their audience, of which the eagle was laughing merrily, and the horse harrumphing about her interrupted sleep. Finally, as the surges of adrenaline abated and his respirations began conducting themselves more stably, Tamlin could narrow his eyes in complaint.

“I… what… you…” Unfortunately, his words did little to illuminate Fennore’s betrayal of him, and his hands were lifted in a useless display of wobbling accusations. Even more regrettably for the Anor man, the vexing vixen looked even more attractive in the mornings, especially when her smile was accompanied by a laugh… even if it was at his expense. A deep sigh signaled his surrender, and he put his hands down into the soil, pushing himself up. “All right, all right, I’m awake,” he grumbled, though the beginnings of a smile were already twinkling on his golden face. “What did you need, miss Fennore? Is it breakfast?” He offered her a hand to bring herself up.

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Becky
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POSTED: Thu May 16, 2019 11:47 pm


His reaction was nothing short of satisfying, and the Anor man started with wide eyes, fear, and eventually betrayal. Fennore didn't find many things funny, but this in particular seemed to tickle her, and she broke into a soft, genuine giggle, her laughter harmless but still enough to cause protest in the now-awake scout. She flashed a cheeky beam at him, her pearly white teeth glistening in the slowly rising sun as Macha padded over, smiling just as widely even though she had no clue what was going on, as per usual. The cat rubbed against the scout lovingly, and she meowed his name proudly before he rose from the ground and offered the wolfess a hand.

"Oh, no. Not at all." She took his open palm gratefully, rising beside him in a fluid movement, and her rare smile faded back into its regular stoic line. Absentmindedly, she ran her paws through her braid as she watched him, amusement still dancing in her eyes as she glanced critically at his disheveled hair. Sure, he had just woken up, but if his hair was not in one of her braided creations, it was more than likely knotted and kinked up with twigs or grass, giving him a rugged, but somewhat endearing air. She couldn't help but move her wandering hands to his red hair instead, squaring her shoulders with his as she reached to smooth out his mane without asking. "I wanted to try my hand at archery again today, since I am a natural."

Tilting her head at him, her gaze shifted back to his two-toned eyes, and she pulled back from him after she was sufficiently pleased with fixing his long locks. "You told me I would rival you in terms of skill, but I am not sure I am totally convinced of that yet." She sneered at him, crossing her arms over her bust as the gray cat moved to wrap herself around the man's leg, purring loudly. "Unless you have other tasks to attend to, in which case, I will patiently wait for the mighty scout."

Light teasing, nothing unusual for the two of them. In the past weeks, Tamlin had become quite a bit more comfortable in her presence, which both pleased and somewhat alarmed her. Would her charms still work on him in a few months time? Or would her antics begin to wear thin? Only time would tell, she supposed. But Tamlin was pure of heart and she hadn't ever seen anything but kindness and honesty flow from his quiet soul.

"What do you say? Shall we give it a go?" As if he could ever deny her. That would be a sight to behold.

ooc~ [+457]

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Songs from the Wood

POSTED: Tue May 21, 2019 8:50 pm

The woman before him took a devious pleasure at his distress, but her mirthful impudence did little to rouse a genuine anger within him. Through their time together in New Caledonia Fennore had sought out novel ways to prickle and tease him, leaving Tamlin wondering if he was perhaps her most commonly desired amusement, and though he let the details of disgruntlement disturb his countenance they always had an underlying delight. Before the fall of Caledonia, it had been Katoa who had supplied vivacity into his life; in the absence of his brother, Tamlin had faltered. Fennore had brought Menel’s sunshine back into his sky, even now as she went for his nearly dreadlocked hair to fuss over the mess.

“Again? But you are already a master,” he teased, waiting patiently for her to be thorough in her ministrations before he reached for his gear. Once her slender fingers had made him permissibly less messy, his own golden hands had bent around the bow and arrows, ready for movement within seconds. He didn’t even wait for her to finish her words, and though she politely requested him with the end of it, it was the graceful dance of a woman who knew she had already gotten her way. “I am free,” he stated, in simple Anor fashion. He considered grabbing some rations for a breakfast, but decided he would instead wait until after—his stomach had long been trained for infrequent meals. “We can try aiming for tree trunks near camp if you’d like. Or was there something else you had in mind, miss Fennore?” He paused, leaning down to express some affection for the small feline strolling between his legs. “Good Macha, pretty kitty,” he whispered, his words just for the cat, having never been able to resist a steady stream of sweet nothings when caring for an animal.

The ruckus of earlier forgotten, Lirael had already lay down her head, determined to fall back asleep. Sabriel took her cues from the horse, though she gave Fennore and Tamlin a warmhearted cluck before she returned to roosting, perched atop the mare as though she was a great buckskin egg. The duo obviously settled, there was nothing left for the Sunwarden to do but offer up an elbow to his white-furred companion, and so that was what he did.

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Becky
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POSTED: Thu May 23, 2019 10:57 am


Even before she finished her spiel, the loyal scout was at the ready, prepared to carry out her regal wishes as competently as he could muster. She had yet to be disappointed by the coydog, and today was no exception. His light words garnered a snort from the woman, and she waved a hand at him, the movement whimsical yet flippant. "Ah yes, how could I forget?" she replied, matching his teasing tone easily. "Perhaps I seek to show off that skill rather than improve it, then."

He was swept up in Macha's affectionate display momentarily, and the gray feline mewed in ecstasy at Tamlin's praises, unable to stay still on her four legs as she bounced around him excitedly. "Tamlin!" she exclaimed with fervor, and then her wide eyes darted up to the eagle seated on the horse's saddle (oblivious to the fact the bird was seeking to return to her slumber), her beam quickly giving way to a look of agape curiosity.

"Sah... Sab..." She fumbled over her words, eyebrows furrowing as Fennore watched with subdued amusement. "Sabriel," she offered, her voice monotonous, and the cat's small frame jolted as if she had been bewitched by a spell of remembrance and understanding. "Sabriel!" she parroted with even more elation, and the woman rolled her eyes. How easily excitable and simple this creature was, and how strange that her frolicking had yet to turn the she-wolf away from her.

After Macha had calmed down a little, Fennore finally addressed his open-ended inquiry with a decisive nod. "The tree trunks will suffice." He offered his escorting services to her as he so often did, his arm a silent invitation, and she placed herself at his side with fluidity, as though it were a natural movement. Her hold on his toned arm was gentle, though firm, a grasp he had no chances of escaping from until they reached their destination. Yet another opportunity to entrap the scout, watch him fumble over himself if the opportunity presented itself. As simple as Tamlin could be sometimes with his lack of words, it entertained her a great deal.

She led the pair to the edge of the camp, spotting the trunks he had referred to, and they made their way to the spot seemingly alone — a quick glance back to his horse affirmed that Macha had hung behind with them, presumably to torture Sabriel with kindness and unknowingly prevent the avian from catching up on sleep.

They halted as the neared the trunks, and Fennore finally released him from her grip as she placed a hand at her hip, leaning into the motion as she looked at him from beneath full lashes. "Shall we should begin with a bit of a refresher?" she suggested, though it was a blanketed command for Tamlin to move her into the right stance, the right movements.

ooc~ [+484]

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Songs from the Wood

POSTED: Thu May 23, 2019 2:42 pm

As expected, Fennore could not resist a retort to his cajoling, and it only served to brighten the bliss on his countenance. He took a few more moments to wriggle his fingers invitingly at the bouncing cat, but in her current hyperactive state Macha was son distracted by the next excitement, which happened to be the roosting eagle. At the beginning tidings of her name, the eagle’s eyes had opened once more, glancing down at the small white creature. Fennore was able to guide the feline to the correct pronunciation, and at first it seemed Sabriel would only stare in predatory fashion; finally, her own beak cracked open. “Macha,” she echoed, ruffling her wings and causing her feathers to poof out. “Macha, good kitty,” the golden eagle seemed almost parrot-like in her repetition of Tamlin’s words, and Lirael uttered a weary groan as the avian rose to her claws astride her back.

As entertained as the Sunwarden was by all of their shenanigans, there was a svelte Moonwraith alongside him hooked arm in arm, and it insinuated a more tantalizing prospect. Leaving their entourage behind them, Fennore’s steps naturally took the lead, and Tamlin did not argue. He was surprised to witness Macha letting them off—the cat was uniquely attached to Fennore, something that Tamlin understood implicitly—but he could hear Sabi chittering behind them, and as he angled his skull for one last look it appeared that Macha was climbing aboard Lirael to get closer to the eagle. Who knew what they would return to?

It didn’t take long for the trees to give way to the designated trunks, with several holes visible from Tamlin’s own practice and trial of new arrows. His arm felt cold when her warm hand left it, but the woman placed it alluringly on her hip as she instructed him, and he swallowed hard. “Uh, of course,” he agreed, stammering into action, placing his golden hands gently on her shoulders to face the tree how he wanted. The Anor hesitated to correct her stance any further at first, but then featherlight let one hand briefly touch upon her hip bone, correcting the angle at which she stood. “Like this, miss Fennore.” He thought his blush was strong enough to stain his words red as they vacated his mouth, and he distracted himself with motion, taking the bow and placing it in her waiting hands.

He took a step back to admire his handiwork, glancing between the closest tree and herself. “Go ahead and practice drawing back the string, but be mindful, it can crack like a whip on your skin if you’re not careful.” His own wrists burned with the memory of injuries long past, and he didn’t want Fennore to experience that as well. Nevertheless, knowing the impatience of the woman before him, he took an arrow from his quiver to hold in his hands. She would not be satisfied with just the bow for long.

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Becky
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POSTED: Thu May 23, 2019 11:33 pm


The cat was very pleased indeed to receive even more "praise" from the eagle, and Macha lifted her tiny chin high, puffing out her chest as best as a feline could. It did not occur to her that perhaps Sabriel was mocking her or just repeating what her master had said, and instead she took the words in stride, purring out a small, satisfied meow at this lovely turn of events. As Fennore and Tamlin left the creatures to their own devices, she found it appropriate to launch herself up onto Lirael's back as well, in order to get a more up close and personal look at the avian. They ought to have been natural enemies, but fate seemed to have drawn them together in a different way.

The stuttering began soon after she uttered her few, perhaps somewhat suggestive words to the scout, and as he stumbled over himself, a reserved, though obviously sneering grin made its way onto her face. One aurelian hand moved to adjust her stance at the hip, and she allowed it with no question — she watched his anxious movements carefully, wordlessly, her attention more caught up in Tamlin's touch than the posture he sought to set her in. Even as she was in the correction position, she did not especially commit it to memory; rather, she was... taken aback by how his gentle hold had caused a weird, knotting sensation in her stomach. Had that ever happened before? It wasn't as if she was a stranger to his touch, for he often escorted her in his typical gentlemanly fashion. Perhaps he had brushed against a ticklish spot. Or something to that effect.

Even as he moved away, for once, Fennore found it hard to focus. For once, she was not the only one having difficulty in their interactions. It was odd. But why was it different? Furrowing her brow, she took the bow from Tamlin a bit more roughly than she had intended, and her paws were awkward and without much direction as she clumsily practiced drawing the string. She exhaled a deep breath, as if to expel the weird, slightly nauseating feeling from before, and she tried to redirect her mind back to why they were there: archery. Or at least some semblance of it.

Her stance had fallen into something not quite right, but she didn't notice; she couldn't really tell much of a difference. She drew the bow back again, eyes narrowing at the tree trunks, but her attention was drawn to Tamlin once more as he produced an arrow from the quiver. Hastily she plucked the arrow from his newly foreign, strange, weird grasp, and with just as little understanding of the weapon she held, she attempted to nock the arrow into the bow. It was all wrong, and a part of Fennore was becoming aware of this fact, but she tried to shoot it anyway, as if it would distract her.

Naturally, the arrow did not go far at all. In fact, it didn't even correctly sail from the bow, instead falling between her fingers as the string (as he had warned to her deaf ears) snapped back onto her virgin hands, and with a yelp the wolf dropped the weapon, cradling her paw. "Gods," she breathed sharply, massaging her poor hand as a deep frown tainted her graceful visage. She shot a venomous look to Tamlin, as if somehow he was responsible for her failure, but soon after she looked away from him, busying herself with collecting the bow and arrow from the dirt. Her hand throbbed in protest as she bitterly and gawkily sought to nock the arrow again, just out of spite this time. And her pouting was clearly evident in her jerky movements.

ooc~ [+634]

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Songs from the Wood

POSTED: Sun May 26, 2019 4:00 pm

Somehow a divide had formed between them, a maladjustment in their communication—even as his hands moved to guide her, her body broke to disorientation. The emotions expressed on her normally stoic countenance were almost stricken, as though he had somehow repulsed her, and confusion rose buoyantly in his chest as he sought to repair whatever it was that had gone wrong. Her stance was askew, her motions hasty and impulsive, and Tamlin’s face wore a wince as he attempted to pause her reckless process only to be shrugged off. “Fennore, wait—” he was driven to words, though they came too late past his frozen lips, for the white woman had already loosed the arrow rashly into the dirt. Like an angry dog struck by its master, the string retaliated onto her flesh in a harsh bite, and Tamlin’s ears instinctively went back along his skull as he flinched at the sound.

Though he did not shy away from her, instead reaching out as though he would comfort her, Fennore’s rancorous expression fixed his hands in their place, her singular word muttered like a mutiny against him. In near automation at the chastening, his tail dropped low, his breath catching in his lungs. She did not stare for long (not that she needed to) before she moved to replicate her mistake, rage as hot as a July summer driving her fingers as she stumbled through the motions. “Fennore.” He tried again, as his own golden appendages elevated to intercept her, though they were as cautious as one approached a wild animal. “Wait. Please.” It was difficult to keep his words measured when his lungs felt so reluctant to breathe, but he managed what he could, a pleading expression giving way in his countenance. He didn’t want to watch her hurt herself again.

“It’s just a bow. It’s nothing, it’s just… a stupid thing,” his words sounded graceless even to his uneducated ears, and he felt the futility of his attempt even as he stated it, his chest deflating in the effort. The Sunwarden knew the burden of his ignorance then, for he could not even register why she was mad or what would amend it. Golden Katoa would have known what to do, with his charming smiles and flattering words… Tamlin didn’t even know what he was supposed to be feeling. Was he meant to be mad? He did not, truthfully, think he deserved to be yelled at—but he could not rouse the heat within his breast, when only a befuddled sadness stirred there.

The Anor was struck with the realization that he did not really know the woman beside him very well, even if she was his closest friend in this new land.

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Becky
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POSTED: Mon May 27, 2019 10:42 pm


He was her scapegoat, on the one hand. It wasn't Tamlin's fault she was not an expert archer by the second lesson, even though she felt herself entirely capable of it. But on the other, she felt justified in her distaste, her lashing out a confused failsafe from the sensation at his touch. What was one to do? Not question it and continue on? Why did she feel like a stupid, insecure girl all of a sudden and why had she become vulnerable in front of Tamlin, of all people, from one touch?

But this feeling did not last long, for as soon as she saw the hurt in his eyes, her anger had subsided, replaced by shame. And yet, she could not bear to show it to him, instead doning her stony front once more, as was her natural progression. The Sunwarden reached out to her with that delicate, polarizing touch once more, and again she did not fight it; though in light of her previous reception, the Moonwraith took special care not to crack again. Instead her hand went limp under his palm, her arms slowly lowering the wretched bow as she submitted to his wishes. The sensation did not return — it was hollow now, empty. Nothing, really, to have been upset about.

What juxtaposition. What humility.

"... I'm sorry." The words were sincere, though her flat voice betrayed her. Instead she sought his ordinarily bright, caring eyes with her stoic, slightly sad ones, and she attempted a squeeze onto his hand. It was weak, lacking conviction. "Perhaps today wasn't the right time for this after all."

No explanation, no concession besides the flimsy apology. Fennore felt a rift form, however small, and even though it was decisively her fault, she felt... She didn't know what she felt.

So she would do what she always would. Resort to indifference.

Slowly, she returned the bow to its owner, reaching down to grab the abused arrow in kind. She tried to speak again, licking her dry lips and treading uneasily, "Would you... show me again, the right way? I need to see it." Despite earlier implying they should just call it a day, she didn't want to quit. She wanted to see it through. If not only to salvage her pride.

;______; [+386]

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Songs from the Wood

POSTED: Fri May 31, 2019 3:38 pm

Like a fever brought to boiling pitch, there was nothing left to do but break. The rigidity of her distress ebbed away to sullen listlessness, the fiery animosity in her lilac irises placated to a disturbing stillness. Tamlin watched the metamorphosis come upon her, and was glad to see the fury abated, though even a man as optimistic as himself was not stirred so quickly to happiness again. Nevertheless, when her apology was stated, accompanied by a physical caress, his own melancholy expression did its best to impart a forgiving attitude. Though the smile wrought by his lips was not very convincing, neither was there a resentment—just like Fennore, he felt the discord still present, but was eager to move past it.

“It’s fine, Fennore,” his tenor voice was unusually soft, accompanied by a wave of his hands as though he could push away the discomfort of earlier. It didn’t really improve his mood, but it was a start. His navigation of these complex social interactions left him feeling adrift and stupid, but when Fennore asked that they continue, he did not hesitate to appease her. His movements lacked his normal enthusiasm, but they were still the practiced stratagem of an archer as he demonstrated proper positioning. “Your legs like this, and your shoulders turned,” Tamlin’s words seemed idle, but still sounded forced, as though the Sunwarden’s tongue did not want to be obedient. A golden hand prepared the arrow in the bow, and moving with deliberate slowness so she might bear witness, he loosed it onto the tree trunk where it notched with a solid thunk.

The goal accomplished, he turned back to the ivory maiden, relinquishing his bow once more in hands held forward in offering. “Would you like to try again?” He did his best to smile again, though his lips felt crooked, almost as though he were baring his teeth instead. “If you want to.” He did not reach towards her further, or dare to touch her yet as he had done so comfortably before. They were treading on foreign territory in this new discontent, and he wasn’t sure how best to maneuver into it. Their spat hadn’t evaporated his affection for her, but it did seem to be cushioned now in a novel wariness. The Caledonian had too long relied on his brother’s social graces to pilot these encounters, and now that he was at the helm, the learning curve was proving quite steep.

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