04-28-2009, 12:02 AM
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500+
Cwmfen’s spirit was singing. It had been a month since she had last been able to move her body like this, but a month was too long.
The warrior was within the glade near her den, and she practiced the arts of war. The style was adopted from her father, of whom she now thought. While the woman’s mind was darkened by his presence, her body and soul were still free of him, and she thanked him only for life and this martial art. It was a unique style the derived power from the core of the body; while the other martial arts were of a likeness, the ability to use only the body, the ability to use only the self for defense, offense, and killing was something too beautiful. Her soul sang with that song of war with which she lived so keenly. And the Head Warrior of Dahlia de Mai practically flew with both her spirit and her body as she executed—as near to perfectly as one could get—each move. The air whistled with the power of each strike as she practiced, with a resolute mind, that which would be necessary to defeat another in any attack, whether it be a surprise blitz like Hybrid’s or something else like Corvus’. She was determined to serve herself and her pack well.
It was the call upon the wind that caught the woman’s attention. She ceased her movement as a breeze that fell silent for the night, her ears erected as she listened to the call upon the wind. Her breathing was only mildly labored and her heated body only mildly perspiring as she stood in the warm sun. The rays of fire caught the blue woad of her fur, and those markings of power and protection, bestowed upon her by the Morrigan and by her mother, seemed to leap with life like blue fire. The song that fell silent upon the wind seemed urgent and troubled. She did not recognize the voice, but it called for a wolf of Dahlia de Mai to answer it. The Adonis promptly relinquished her practice knowing that she could return to her personal endeavors at any time. The distraught call, however, must be answered at once. And as the Adonis of her pack, the warrior moved immediately.
She did not have time to seek out her Raven Spear, but she would not need it today. The Raven’s kill feather, its tip dyed the red of blood and of the Morrigan, spun in her hair as she moved with a celerity that seemed at once unhurried for her grace. Immediately, the shadow of the one-eyed Raven fell over her as its broad wings brushed against her shoulder. With a quiet smile she regarded the epitome of her Dream as she hurried to the boarders.
The black fae’s swift gait slowed to a walk and to an eventual halt when she was almost an arm’s length away from the man who had called. He smelled of AniWaya; she had been to those lands only twice. The first had been to become familiar with that newly formed pack, and she had met Ayegali. The second was in response to a call of distress from Catherine, and she had been attacked by the pain-blinded fae. It was a strange pack, one of a culture she did not quite understand. But the culture was quiet similar to her own in many respects, and where those similarities existed the warrior was able to relate. With a soft smile, the white eyed fae greeted this AniWayan, bowing before the Raven landed upon her shoulder. "I am Cwmfen nic Graine, Head Warrior and Adonis of Dahlia de Mai," she greeted formally. "What troubles bring you here?" And the warrior hoped that it was not trouble that was caused by one of her pack members.
500+
Cwmfen’s spirit was singing. It had been a month since she had last been able to move her body like this, but a month was too long.
The warrior was within the glade near her den, and she practiced the arts of war. The style was adopted from her father, of whom she now thought. While the woman’s mind was darkened by his presence, her body and soul were still free of him, and she thanked him only for life and this martial art. It was a unique style the derived power from the core of the body; while the other martial arts were of a likeness, the ability to use only the body, the ability to use only the self for defense, offense, and killing was something too beautiful. Her soul sang with that song of war with which she lived so keenly. And the Head Warrior of Dahlia de Mai practically flew with both her spirit and her body as she executed—as near to perfectly as one could get—each move. The air whistled with the power of each strike as she practiced, with a resolute mind, that which would be necessary to defeat another in any attack, whether it be a surprise blitz like Hybrid’s or something else like Corvus’. She was determined to serve herself and her pack well.
It was the call upon the wind that caught the woman’s attention. She ceased her movement as a breeze that fell silent for the night, her ears erected as she listened to the call upon the wind. Her breathing was only mildly labored and her heated body only mildly perspiring as she stood in the warm sun. The rays of fire caught the blue woad of her fur, and those markings of power and protection, bestowed upon her by the Morrigan and by her mother, seemed to leap with life like blue fire. The song that fell silent upon the wind seemed urgent and troubled. She did not recognize the voice, but it called for a wolf of Dahlia de Mai to answer it. The Adonis promptly relinquished her practice knowing that she could return to her personal endeavors at any time. The distraught call, however, must be answered at once. And as the Adonis of her pack, the warrior moved immediately.
She did not have time to seek out her Raven Spear, but she would not need it today. The Raven’s kill feather, its tip dyed the red of blood and of the Morrigan, spun in her hair as she moved with a celerity that seemed at once unhurried for her grace. Immediately, the shadow of the one-eyed Raven fell over her as its broad wings brushed against her shoulder. With a quiet smile she regarded the epitome of her Dream as she hurried to the boarders.
The black fae’s swift gait slowed to a walk and to an eventual halt when she was almost an arm’s length away from the man who had called. He smelled of AniWaya; she had been to those lands only twice. The first had been to become familiar with that newly formed pack, and she had met Ayegali. The second was in response to a call of distress from Catherine, and she had been attacked by the pain-blinded fae. It was a strange pack, one of a culture she did not quite understand. But the culture was quiet similar to her own in many respects, and where those similarities existed the warrior was able to relate. With a soft smile, the white eyed fae greeted this AniWayan, bowing before the Raven landed upon her shoulder. "I am Cwmfen nic Graine, Head Warrior and Adonis of Dahlia de Mai," she greeted formally. "What troubles bring you here?" And the warrior hoped that it was not trouble that was caused by one of her pack members.