12-31-2008, 08:20 PM
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500+ White orbs patiently watched the struggling male. He rolled his eyes and groaned, trying, it seemed to be as rude as he possibly could. Cwmfen did responded with nothing as he muttered about time under his breath. When he rose, she merely stood there, watching him. She ignored his irritable mood and waited for him to gather himself up. The female had no sympathy for him. It was obvious that her presence bothered him, but he had simply made matters complicated for himself. Should he have asked permission at the boarders initially, such irritation on both parties could have been avoided. Luckily for him, the warrior’s irritation was fleeting, and by the time he started speaking again, he had to start again from the beginning—as far as her temper went, anyways. He glared at her and then her bird. The Raven turned his one eye in the direction of the Russian, blinking once as the black eye took him in. Finding the grey male uninspiring, the large, pied raven turned his attention to the feather of the spear, which fluttered in the snow. This feather, it seemed, was far more interesting than the noisy Russian. Unconcerned with whatever violent thoughts passed visibly across the male wolf’s face, the black bird ruffled his feathers against the cold. Cwmfen shifted her arm slightly, and the bird made as if to open his wings to regain his balance. But, having regained his balance rather swiftly, the bird relaxed, clicking his beak once before returning its attention to the weapon’s feather and to the snow about them. A small frown tugged at the corners of her lips. The Russian had begun to speak, and he was being overly boisterous—needlessly, especially since she herself was being so patient with him, who, at the moment, was the perpetrator. She suppressed a sigh and a smile—a smile because his hysterical behavior was rather comical to the calmer warrior. Whatever she may be socially, the female at least knew that males had vast amounts of pride, so vast, in fact, that a mere smile or laugh could bring them crashing down. So, for the other’s sake, Cwmfen held herself in check, patiently waiting for him to be silent. “If you do not wish for others to speak, don’t ask questions that require answers, boy,” the woad-marked female said quietly. The white orbs watched him as he gesticulated, flickering over him and watching every movement. When it was obvious that he was done and that she was not going to be able to get a proper answer out of him, the female allowed that sigh to escape her, though it was more of a heavy breath than anything. “Rules and laws are made for a reason. Even nature has her set. To break them is to make a violation, and violations are intolerable.” And she left it at that. “If you wish to leave, that’s fine, though you have caused much trouble for not only yourself. Whether Dahlia de Mai is recorded on the map or not will only be your loss. We Dahlians know that we’re here. You’re the one who wants to record it,” she said, taking note of his apparent hobby. If he was going to leave, that was fine, but while he was still there, she still had a question. (The female was naturally curious—perhaps he understood? After all, did not curiosity drive him to map unknown lands?) “You called this pack ‘pretty,” she stated. She herself found the landscape to be beautiful. The variety of topography enriched her living condition, and it reminded her a little of her home.“Perhaps you could enlighten me. What do you find so pretty about this place?”  |