A Sense of Balance

Cwmfen nic Graine · 07-01-2010, 03:00 PM

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You can post again after this or wait for Libri to post with Conor, ^=^
500+

Her voice had been lost upon him.

The white orbs contemplated the loner, knowing what he must be feeling. There had been three instances in her short life where Death had clutched at her heart. She had recognized that feeling immediately, that icy hand with claws that pierced her heart with certainty and doom. Yet it had never pierced her heart with fear. She had always been willing to accept her Death, for she believed that the Goddess would choose the proper time in which to take her life. A mild curiosity stirred within her as she watched the workings of Death’s hand. The Raven Warrior was often in the midst of fighting and had already killed an opponent. In such instances, Death moved too quickly for her to see. But the Dahlian could see it now, and the fascination that so was befitting one of her purpose was lit up, imperceptibly touching the white, impassive eyes. She could hear his dissatisfaction clearly in his voice and words, but with such emotions she could not identify with him.

It was also not the first time that she had crossed a dying creature’s path. Her mind briefly fell upon the masked coyote before returning to the task at hand. This male, nameless still, was much larger than Onus, but she did not think that is weight would be an impossibility. But her quick mind new that he had already lost too much, his lifeblood already darkening the rocks beneath him. The corners of the Warrior’s mouth twitched, perhaps in a frown. She would not be able to move him without causing more harm, especially if he lost consciousness. With a shattered leg, things became less simple. His words grew quiet as she contemplate the next move. A warrior’s death, he said. A soft sound, warm and mirthful like the bubbling of a creek, stroked the warm air. “You will have that Death,” the alto song promised. For those that traveled the path of War, such a Death may have been inevitable. Very few simply died of old age. Often, the inexperienced died of simple mistakes, but a mistake could kill even the most experienced. “But you are not beyond saving yet.” His request for help pleased the Caledonian-Korean's mind, and the blue-eyed loner won favor. The woaded female knew the performing of simple medicinal tasks, but she knew who it was that she could rely on now.

Her song was sent upon the wind, that dolorous melody, bittersweet in the summertime sky, tinged with the urgency and the blood of the situation. There was much blood, the song sang, and Death was near. It was a song similar to the mourning calls of the wolf, but the black female did not morn for a life. The pied Raven clicked his broken beak and laughed harshly in the air, desiring and calling for Death so that he may lead the souls across the River that divided the Worlds of the Living and the Dead. She called long, her powerful voice dancing in the air to reach far and wide. The whereabouts of the Alpha Male was unknown to her, but she hoped that he was nearby. At length, her voice fell silent, the silver-toned song fading from the air. The woad-banded maw lowered, and she returned to the wounded loner. The black she-wolf leaned in, her jaws near his ear as she stepped carefully upon the stones. “Help is coming,” the quiet voice informed. She spoke simply, so that he could understand through the thick fog that covered his mind. Cwmfen could do little to help. Once Conor arrived, she would leave and let the young leader work. Unless Conor required her services, the Warrior had little else to offer. She must continue upon her own duty and keep the boarders safe.

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