07-20-2009, 04:39 PM
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500+
After the woad marked female had traveled along the boarders earlier in the day, she had returned to her den. She traveled alone as she was accustom to, as she was accustom to in the past and as she was accustom to now. The day proved to be uneventful, the boarders unthreatened by intruders from the world without, the world with which the woman was now unfamiliar. The woad warrior was glad for the quiet peace of the days, but the restlessness would not depart from her soul, and it never would. The wanderlust had always moved her, as did the songs of war. Indeed, she had settled within Dahlia, but she wandered about the lands to satisfy her innate need, and in doing so she was able to fulfill her duties to her pack as well. But now with her wounds having grown quiet—save for the deep wound upon her leg, which cried out on occasion—she should have been able to continue upon such duties. It was the weight in her womb, wondrous and woeful.
The day was still bright, although night threatened to come swiftly. Regardless, the woman felt the desire to eat, and she felt a hunger within her. For a moment, the white orbs beheld the Raven Spear. Instead, she took up her bow and grabbed several arrows, moving back into the trees. She moved quietly, able to traverse the darkening woods with that natural grace. The warrior hunted, moving slowly through the woods, the woad bound maw moving through the air until she found a warm scent. And there, ahead of her, several rabbits sat in a glade eating obliviously. Slowly, she knocked the arrow upon the string, her fingers brushing against the fletching as her eyes locked upon her prey, which sensed now that something was wrong. Silently, slowly, she lifted the bow and pulled the string, listening to the bow hum to her with its anticipation. Almost immediately, the strain of the bow’s weight against her left arm shot through the healing wound upon her neck. She grit her teeth and released the arrow—it was a poor release, and the bow growled in protest. But the rabbit lay dead beneath the arrow.
Having eaten, the woman returned to her abode. The woad bound ears pricked forward, swiveling to catch the soft sound that the wound brought to her. For a moment, the warrior could not place an identity with that distant voice, and she grew instantly alert, a wild ferocity flickering in those white orbs. The black fae placed her left foot upon the large roots of the tree and pulled herself around the trunk, her eyes beholding a familiar face. "Cercelee," the soft voice called in return. A quiet, indiscernible smile whispered on her lips as the intensity of her gaze softened. Slowly, her movements slowed by the heaviness of her abdomen, the black fae descended the large roots so that she may be level with the Rosea. Setting her weapon aside, the Adonis gave a slight dip of her maw in greeting, choosing not to bow as she usually did because of her extended belly. She was glad to have the Rosea visiting, for a giving of thanks was long overdue. It had been Cercelee, after all, that had allowed Onus to come visit her on occasion. The black ear swiveled at the sound of a distant crow—or was it a Raven?"How have you been, Cercelee?" It was, perhaps, a generic question, but it was spoken with sincerity nonetheless.
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After the woad marked female had traveled along the boarders earlier in the day, she had returned to her den. She traveled alone as she was accustom to, as she was accustom to in the past and as she was accustom to now. The day proved to be uneventful, the boarders unthreatened by intruders from the world without, the world with which the woman was now unfamiliar. The woad warrior was glad for the quiet peace of the days, but the restlessness would not depart from her soul, and it never would. The wanderlust had always moved her, as did the songs of war. Indeed, she had settled within Dahlia, but she wandered about the lands to satisfy her innate need, and in doing so she was able to fulfill her duties to her pack as well. But now with her wounds having grown quiet—save for the deep wound upon her leg, which cried out on occasion—she should have been able to continue upon such duties. It was the weight in her womb, wondrous and woeful.
The day was still bright, although night threatened to come swiftly. Regardless, the woman felt the desire to eat, and she felt a hunger within her. For a moment, the white orbs beheld the Raven Spear. Instead, she took up her bow and grabbed several arrows, moving back into the trees. She moved quietly, able to traverse the darkening woods with that natural grace. The warrior hunted, moving slowly through the woods, the woad bound maw moving through the air until she found a warm scent. And there, ahead of her, several rabbits sat in a glade eating obliviously. Slowly, she knocked the arrow upon the string, her fingers brushing against the fletching as her eyes locked upon her prey, which sensed now that something was wrong. Silently, slowly, she lifted the bow and pulled the string, listening to the bow hum to her with its anticipation. Almost immediately, the strain of the bow’s weight against her left arm shot through the healing wound upon her neck. She grit her teeth and released the arrow—it was a poor release, and the bow growled in protest. But the rabbit lay dead beneath the arrow.
Having eaten, the woman returned to her abode. The woad bound ears pricked forward, swiveling to catch the soft sound that the wound brought to her. For a moment, the warrior could not place an identity with that distant voice, and she grew instantly alert, a wild ferocity flickering in those white orbs. The black fae placed her left foot upon the large roots of the tree and pulled herself around the trunk, her eyes beholding a familiar face. "Cercelee," the soft voice called in return. A quiet, indiscernible smile whispered on her lips as the intensity of her gaze softened. Slowly, her movements slowed by the heaviness of her abdomen, the black fae descended the large roots so that she may be level with the Rosea. Setting her weapon aside, the Adonis gave a slight dip of her maw in greeting, choosing not to bow as she usually did because of her extended belly. She was glad to have the Rosea visiting, for a giving of thanks was long overdue. It had been Cercelee, after all, that had allowed Onus to come visit her on occasion. The black ear swiveled at the sound of a distant crow—or was it a Raven?"How have you been, Cercelee?" It was, perhaps, a generic question, but it was spoken with sincerity nonetheless.