06-04-2009, 07:16 PM
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500+
Her hand recoiled as if his words had burned her. She was silent as she managed to shift slightly backwards, her eyes watching the diamond marked pack member with a silent intensity. Perhaps she had inferred incorrectly, but when she took the time to sift through the heavy scent of blood, she found that her father’s scent was indeed upon him. This was a threat—she knew how the crow wolf functioned. The warrior was silent, her eyes looking out to the trail of blood, her jaws clenching with some heavy emotion that painted her mind with blood. But with a soft sigh, the woman nodded to herself, a quiet fear flickering within the depths of those white eyes. She knew what should be done and what must be done, and yet she felt that it was not the time. There was a restlessness within her, but she knew that she must help her friend. Quietly, her hand returned to the secui’s shoulder, neither disgusted nor pleased by the blood upon upon her hands. She knew what must be done here as well.
The woman shook her head at his words—it would not be the last time she would hear such words. "No, you have not failed us," the soft melody replied, her tone ambiguous. But she did not believe that Slay had failed them. "You are still alive, able to fight another day." There was a slight pause as if she wished to continue but could not decide whether she truly did. At length the woman said, "If anything, it is I who am failing." It was, after all, her father that had done this. It was she who her father had come for—no one else. The people he had wounded—Ezekiel, Onus, and now Slay—had all paid a price for her, and she would repay them by doing her duty. She must defend the pack. And yet, for some reason, her father eluded her. What was his purpose? She could not understand. It made her job very difficult.
"Can you rise?" His secui form was large and heavy—she would not be able to provide much help. While she never used her own secui form, she could shift to it to help support him, but otherwise there was not much else to do. It was part of being a female, she supposed. "I’ll take you home." Cercelee would want to know. She would want to know of Slay’s wounds and of the threat that had now come to her pack. With a soft sigh, almost of despair, the woman rose, taking her sword from the ground. It would be a long trek to the church from here, especially for the wounded male. But he must be strong enough to rise—she would lead the way. She would speak to him if she had to to keep him focused. And that was all that could be done for now. Her father would have to wait a little longer—or perhaps it was she who must do the waiting. Above, in the trees, the pied raven clicked his beak and took off in the coming dawn.
500+
Her hand recoiled as if his words had burned her. She was silent as she managed to shift slightly backwards, her eyes watching the diamond marked pack member with a silent intensity. Perhaps she had inferred incorrectly, but when she took the time to sift through the heavy scent of blood, she found that her father’s scent was indeed upon him. This was a threat—she knew how the crow wolf functioned. The warrior was silent, her eyes looking out to the trail of blood, her jaws clenching with some heavy emotion that painted her mind with blood. But with a soft sigh, the woman nodded to herself, a quiet fear flickering within the depths of those white eyes. She knew what should be done and what must be done, and yet she felt that it was not the time. There was a restlessness within her, but she knew that she must help her friend. Quietly, her hand returned to the secui’s shoulder, neither disgusted nor pleased by the blood upon upon her hands. She knew what must be done here as well.
The woman shook her head at his words—it would not be the last time she would hear such words. "No, you have not failed us," the soft melody replied, her tone ambiguous. But she did not believe that Slay had failed them. "You are still alive, able to fight another day." There was a slight pause as if she wished to continue but could not decide whether she truly did. At length the woman said, "If anything, it is I who am failing." It was, after all, her father that had done this. It was she who her father had come for—no one else. The people he had wounded—Ezekiel, Onus, and now Slay—had all paid a price for her, and she would repay them by doing her duty. She must defend the pack. And yet, for some reason, her father eluded her. What was his purpose? She could not understand. It made her job very difficult.
"Can you rise?" His secui form was large and heavy—she would not be able to provide much help. While she never used her own secui form, she could shift to it to help support him, but otherwise there was not much else to do. It was part of being a female, she supposed. "I’ll take you home." Cercelee would want to know. She would want to know of Slay’s wounds and of the threat that had now come to her pack. With a soft sigh, almost of despair, the woman rose, taking her sword from the ground. It would be a long trek to the church from here, especially for the wounded male. But he must be strong enough to rise—she would lead the way. She would speak to him if she had to to keep him focused. And that was all that could be done for now. Her father would have to wait a little longer—or perhaps it was she who must do the waiting. Above, in the trees, the pied raven clicked his beak and took off in the coming dawn.