01-03-2011, 05:39 PM
OOC: Thank you! <3 I quite enjoy your writing as well. Sorry about poor Saraqael. 
Word Count: 1007.
IC:
She wondered how she looked in the gold light of his older gaze. A spectacle, perhaps? A freak, for certain, but she had chosen to look this way. If Kaena had disapproved of her wares, or her form, or even the abnormal color of her silky coat, the grizzled female would have said so and likely asked her to keep from representing herself as Inferni. Saraqael would have been turned away, back out into the snow to find refuge in another land, far away from the coyote leader she had offended. None of this had happened, of course. Instead the red-nosed woman gave her permission to settle where she liked and that had been that. Clinging to the memory, the fae used such a fact to quash her self-doubt, helping to kill the trepidation that was building about her impression on a stranger. In any matter, of what importance was it to have an outsider approve of anything about her? None, but the male before her was not an average foreigner. The wolf had not begun his introduction with any caustic sleight, either. Instead he had turned his face from her and bore his neck in a gesture of peace and trust. She thought him bold – being mistrustful by nature would never allow her to behave with her life so riskily. Regardless, he had made his intentions clear. Danger and scorn would hopefully have no place in their meeting, then. A ruffled, silent sigh leaked out of her lungs as the tension of apprehension escaped her breath and body. The girl willed herself to relax. Her taut spine slipped slightly, easing into a more natural curve, and the claws of her hands ceased to make painful indentations in the pads of her paws. Her toes released their clenched hold on the snow-blanketed earth, leaving dribbling white crumbles in their wake.
Willing and interested, her bleached ears stood taut and erect, leaning forward to capture his full, lengthy message. As it was delivered he flourished wildly. She imagined that his hands were weaving a loom or a web with those graceful and flowing motions. Whatever the resulting design, if it had been visible, she was sure it would have been a thing of beauty. Refocusing her attention, the imp took three main points from his pleasant, even rambling. The first was that he was a chief – a head leader – of a pack of wolves (she assumed automatically and incorrectly), making him important, a person to be revered. She could see why. Saraqael continued to perceive him as sagely and kind, and he continued to enforce her ideas with further exhibitions of his character. The second point was perhaps most important, that Kaena had met with him more than once, leading Saraqael to believe firmly that he was genuinely non-threatening, maybe even a friend to the pack. The final note involved a thing she had not expected to be so fortuitous as to encounter. People willing to trade were harder to come by than ever in those parts of Nova Scotia. Every soul seemed proficient in a plethora of skills or services, making specialists such as herself obsolete, effortlessly outcompeted in every venture. Dawali, as he called himself, could provide her with business, and if he enjoyed her product, might in turn inadvertently advertise for her. Nothing would have made her feel more successful or useful than a clientèle base.
Realizing she was getting too far ahead, Saraqael checked herself. The chief had not yet stated what precisely he was looking for, leaving the transaction open to suggestions, it seemed. If ever there was a time to speak, she felt that it was now. “If you are looking to trade for materials, I am a dye-maker and fur-dyer by profession. What you see on me today,” she said, motioning to her torso, “Is something I have made myself, though I also make skirts, anklets, armbands, bracelets, and thigh bands. The skins I use for the smaller pieces are mostly from hares and this top is a young doe pelt, all of which I kill, skin, and cut myself. The colors featured are dyes of my own making and the designs are mine by hand.” All statements were made matter-of-factly in her soft, unmusical soprano. Finished, her nerves sparked again, delivering a mild shock to her beating heart. She hoped sincerely that her pitch had not been poor, that this strange male would find a use for her carefully-honed skills yet.
“If that does not suit you,” she began again, intending to give him an obvious and simple out, “I would be happy to escort you to the mansion or the caves in search of another who might have more pleasing wares or talents.” It occurred to her that she had no interest in cornering Dawali into bartering with her. Despite that she did not yet trust him, she respected him as an acquaintance at the very least of Kaena and as a ruler of his own pack. Shifting uneasily on her digits and determining that they were done for the moment, she decided to examine her surroundings again. Naturally, being the most purposefully placed feature, it was the skulls that grabbed at her vision. A flush of embarrassment, hidden to the older canine, sent heat rushing to her cheeks at a revelation. It must have been awkward and horrible for him to come each time to see skulls everywhere of his own kind. As far as she could see, he was either a red wolf or a hybrid. Even for her, a purebred Mearns coyote, it was difficult to distinguish the difference as they shared similar features including larger ears and more slender muzzles. Saraqael wondered if they hit home. She could not – would not – apologize for the acts of Inferni, but she could feel guilt and did as it settled into a hard ball in her gut. The girl hoped Dawali answered soon so that they could move away.
Word Count: 1007.IC:
She wondered how she looked in the gold light of his older gaze. A spectacle, perhaps? A freak, for certain, but she had chosen to look this way. If Kaena had disapproved of her wares, or her form, or even the abnormal color of her silky coat, the grizzled female would have said so and likely asked her to keep from representing herself as Inferni. Saraqael would have been turned away, back out into the snow to find refuge in another land, far away from the coyote leader she had offended. None of this had happened, of course. Instead the red-nosed woman gave her permission to settle where she liked and that had been that. Clinging to the memory, the fae used such a fact to quash her self-doubt, helping to kill the trepidation that was building about her impression on a stranger. In any matter, of what importance was it to have an outsider approve of anything about her? None, but the male before her was not an average foreigner. The wolf had not begun his introduction with any caustic sleight, either. Instead he had turned his face from her and bore his neck in a gesture of peace and trust. She thought him bold – being mistrustful by nature would never allow her to behave with her life so riskily. Regardless, he had made his intentions clear. Danger and scorn would hopefully have no place in their meeting, then. A ruffled, silent sigh leaked out of her lungs as the tension of apprehension escaped her breath and body. The girl willed herself to relax. Her taut spine slipped slightly, easing into a more natural curve, and the claws of her hands ceased to make painful indentations in the pads of her paws. Her toes released their clenched hold on the snow-blanketed earth, leaving dribbling white crumbles in their wake.
Willing and interested, her bleached ears stood taut and erect, leaning forward to capture his full, lengthy message. As it was delivered he flourished wildly. She imagined that his hands were weaving a loom or a web with those graceful and flowing motions. Whatever the resulting design, if it had been visible, she was sure it would have been a thing of beauty. Refocusing her attention, the imp took three main points from his pleasant, even rambling. The first was that he was a chief – a head leader – of a pack of wolves (she assumed automatically and incorrectly), making him important, a person to be revered. She could see why. Saraqael continued to perceive him as sagely and kind, and he continued to enforce her ideas with further exhibitions of his character. The second point was perhaps most important, that Kaena had met with him more than once, leading Saraqael to believe firmly that he was genuinely non-threatening, maybe even a friend to the pack. The final note involved a thing she had not expected to be so fortuitous as to encounter. People willing to trade were harder to come by than ever in those parts of Nova Scotia. Every soul seemed proficient in a plethora of skills or services, making specialists such as herself obsolete, effortlessly outcompeted in every venture. Dawali, as he called himself, could provide her with business, and if he enjoyed her product, might in turn inadvertently advertise for her. Nothing would have made her feel more successful or useful than a clientèle base.
Realizing she was getting too far ahead, Saraqael checked herself. The chief had not yet stated what precisely he was looking for, leaving the transaction open to suggestions, it seemed. If ever there was a time to speak, she felt that it was now. “If you are looking to trade for materials, I am a dye-maker and fur-dyer by profession. What you see on me today,” she said, motioning to her torso, “Is something I have made myself, though I also make skirts, anklets, armbands, bracelets, and thigh bands. The skins I use for the smaller pieces are mostly from hares and this top is a young doe pelt, all of which I kill, skin, and cut myself. The colors featured are dyes of my own making and the designs are mine by hand.” All statements were made matter-of-factly in her soft, unmusical soprano. Finished, her nerves sparked again, delivering a mild shock to her beating heart. She hoped sincerely that her pitch had not been poor, that this strange male would find a use for her carefully-honed skills yet.
“If that does not suit you,” she began again, intending to give him an obvious and simple out, “I would be happy to escort you to the mansion or the caves in search of another who might have more pleasing wares or talents.” It occurred to her that she had no interest in cornering Dawali into bartering with her. Despite that she did not yet trust him, she respected him as an acquaintance at the very least of Kaena and as a ruler of his own pack. Shifting uneasily on her digits and determining that they were done for the moment, she decided to examine her surroundings again. Naturally, being the most purposefully placed feature, it was the skulls that grabbed at her vision. A flush of embarrassment, hidden to the older canine, sent heat rushing to her cheeks at a revelation. It must have been awkward and horrible for him to come each time to see skulls everywhere of his own kind. As far as she could see, he was either a red wolf or a hybrid. Even for her, a purebred Mearns coyote, it was difficult to distinguish the difference as they shared similar features including larger ears and more slender muzzles. Saraqael wondered if they hit home. She could not – would not – apologize for the acts of Inferni, but she could feel guilt and did as it settled into a hard ball in her gut. The girl hoped Dawali answered soon so that they could move away.