07-16-2009, 12:51 PM
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I was totally going to pick this one up a few days ago >n< Sorry about that!
500+
She had watched the moon the night before and had watched how its full belly waned. Before she had fallen asleep, the woman’s hands had grasped her own belly, her fingers seeking to feel what was within her. That day, the woman had chosen to spend only a short time upon the boarders. The red breasted robin with its clear song had been the first to sing in the grey of pre-dawn. She had looked out upon the unclaimed lands as the sun had risen, watching the grey world take colour. Soon the god of the sun would die, only to be reborn with the new Year. She had watched the colours grow stronger, had listened as the sun’s song had risen with majesty, had felt those tones move through her soul. But the quiet nature of the woad warrior did not lift. Once more, the solitude seemed enough. The woad marked fae breathed a soft sigh, for there was nothing like nature that could so take her breath away. No—there was but one other.... And so, with that soft placidity upon her maw, she had turned away from the boarders, and she had returned to the deeper places of the packlands.
Cwmfen nic Graine passed through the dim woods, the Raven Spear humming softly within her hand. She was able now to walk without the harsher rhythms of her limp marring her step, but it would still be a long while before the deep wound would fully heal. The woad bound ears of the woad marked fae lifted as the fluid movements paused. The distance called out with the sound of several strikes that were too regular to belong to the trees. It must have been another, a packmember, that created that sound. For a moment, the warrior considered moving on, remaining on her own. But the pregnancy that now weighed her down kept her here within the packlands that now seemed to cage her. Perhaps she should take advantage of her circumstances. Perhaps she should meet her packmates, should learn to understand who they are. The warrior was determined, however, to retain a certain level of distance between them, for she did not wish to endanger them in anyway, nor did she wish to burden them with her social ineptitudes. Content with her solitude, the woman could retain that sentinel’s stance from a distance. But today, the pregnant female decided to move against such thoughts.
Her pace was patient as she moved toward the sound. But the sound had stopped, leaving but the echoes of its memory for her to trace. The warrior, however, was accustom to such things, and the tracing of that dead sound came naturally. The white orbs looked out ahead of her, finding that there was a new edifice that had been erected since she had last chosen this rout. She recognized the scent that permeated the area. It belonged to Henratha, whom she had met near Wolfville. She had not seen him since then, and it did indeed seem as if a great deal of time had passed. With silent steps, the warrior, her Spear’s blade hungrily biting the heavens, rounded the corner and found the male working diligently upon the door. "I see that you have found your tools," the quiet melody sounded, remembering how he had sought tools with which he might be able to build. The white orbs crossed over the pattern that he had carved upon the door, although, unable to read, she could recognize it only as a pattern in the wood. "You build as they do—the humans," the quiet alto offered, a light smile upon her maw.
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500+
She had watched the moon the night before and had watched how its full belly waned. Before she had fallen asleep, the woman’s hands had grasped her own belly, her fingers seeking to feel what was within her. That day, the woman had chosen to spend only a short time upon the boarders. The red breasted robin with its clear song had been the first to sing in the grey of pre-dawn. She had looked out upon the unclaimed lands as the sun had risen, watching the grey world take colour. Soon the god of the sun would die, only to be reborn with the new Year. She had watched the colours grow stronger, had listened as the sun’s song had risen with majesty, had felt those tones move through her soul. But the quiet nature of the woad warrior did not lift. Once more, the solitude seemed enough. The woad marked fae breathed a soft sigh, for there was nothing like nature that could so take her breath away. No—there was but one other.... And so, with that soft placidity upon her maw, she had turned away from the boarders, and she had returned to the deeper places of the packlands.
Cwmfen nic Graine passed through the dim woods, the Raven Spear humming softly within her hand. She was able now to walk without the harsher rhythms of her limp marring her step, but it would still be a long while before the deep wound would fully heal. The woad bound ears of the woad marked fae lifted as the fluid movements paused. The distance called out with the sound of several strikes that were too regular to belong to the trees. It must have been another, a packmember, that created that sound. For a moment, the warrior considered moving on, remaining on her own. But the pregnancy that now weighed her down kept her here within the packlands that now seemed to cage her. Perhaps she should take advantage of her circumstances. Perhaps she should meet her packmates, should learn to understand who they are. The warrior was determined, however, to retain a certain level of distance between them, for she did not wish to endanger them in anyway, nor did she wish to burden them with her social ineptitudes. Content with her solitude, the woman could retain that sentinel’s stance from a distance. But today, the pregnant female decided to move against such thoughts.
Her pace was patient as she moved toward the sound. But the sound had stopped, leaving but the echoes of its memory for her to trace. The warrior, however, was accustom to such things, and the tracing of that dead sound came naturally. The white orbs looked out ahead of her, finding that there was a new edifice that had been erected since she had last chosen this rout. She recognized the scent that permeated the area. It belonged to Henratha, whom she had met near Wolfville. She had not seen him since then, and it did indeed seem as if a great deal of time had passed. With silent steps, the warrior, her Spear’s blade hungrily biting the heavens, rounded the corner and found the male working diligently upon the door. "I see that you have found your tools," the quiet melody sounded, remembering how he had sought tools with which he might be able to build. The white orbs crossed over the pattern that he had carved upon the door, although, unable to read, she could recognize it only as a pattern in the wood. "You build as they do—the humans," the quiet alto offered, a light smile upon her maw.