01-09-2011, 12:21 PM
OOC: Word Count: 1271. Sorry for the wait/length, but yay! Thread times! ^_^
IC:
It encroached slowly, stealthily, shifting forward at a sloth's pace in an attempt to take her over without her noticing at all. First, flecks of translucent crystal gave the dirt a shiny, watery appearance but melted away within seconds. Then they arrived en masse, storming so quickly that they began to cramp in together, to touch one another and stick to each others' sides. They became whiter and whiter as the group grew, until finally, a solid patch of snow had formed. It spread like a fungus, stretching out its icy mycelium in all directions, attaching itself to smaller bodies of the same stuff to devour and assimilate them. In the first light of dawn they showed midnight but soon took the brilliant orange of the sun and became saturated with it as it crested the horizon, bleeding through the trees. With its new face fiercely cast, it made for its final attack, pushing straight towards Saraqael's pale and sensitive nose with its burning red harshness. Pink and wet, her sniffer glistened in the ruddy glow of morning. All it took was a single errant flake. Her breath sucked it in and it stuck to the inside of her nasal cavity. Immediately, her eyes shot open, brain yelling fitfully, “COLD, WET.” Vision was difficult with her, at first fuzzy and nondescript, and then clarity came all at once. What she saw made her groan in frustration. Indeed, the snow had come for her in the last hours of night, slowly slipping through the place in the pine branches that did not catch it. Whispering through that pathway, it had accumulated for hours, chasing her face. Now, awake, she took advantage of her god-like powers. With a single hand, she scooped up the nearest chunk of crusted white stuff and flung it a few feet away. It landed with a wet, slushy smack, safely out of her warm, dry zone. The coyote rolled over in her tomb.
It had taken her an hour and a half to wear a body sized hole in the snow. The spot had been chosen because it was beneath a natural overhang of low pine branches whose bottle brush stiffness and long fronds could block, even carry, the snow. She dug ferociously with hands and claws, reaching the bottom several inches down, a depth much shallower thanks to the same piny cover. Then she had built up the sides of the wilderness bed, packing hard ice eight inches high in a circle around her. She did it to cut down the wind, mostly, but also as a pathetic deterrent to anything that was not a canine to come sniffing. Now that she was traveling, sleep was of the utmost importance, especially if she wanted to make it to her next destination. But where would that be? Saraqael did not know the lands very well at all, being essentially fresh out of the surrounding area. It was her secret hope that there was another pack closer to Phoenix Valley than it had been to Inferni, but the ghost girl was careful not to get her hopes up. Instead, she planned for a lot of walking, which meant as much sleeping as she could handle, and that was why she had thrown the pesky, irritating, always sneaky snow. The crack of dawn was simply too soon. Primarily a nocturnal creature, what kept her on her diurnal schedule was the likelihood of finding people to aid her (which seemed more plausible during the day), ease of vision, warmth of temperature, and increased chance of being greeted kindly instead of being killed on the spot. Snooping around scent markers in a strange land sounded idiotic, especially for a lone coyote. And who knew? With her large ears and petite frame, she might have been mistaken for the mother of all snowshoe hares but with weirder markings and prettier eyes, especially if she tucked her tail. Even if her pursuer discovered her coyote nature, she was not necessarily convinced they would call off their hunt. Saraqael sighed again and turned her head to the left, frustrated. Only the day before she had scolded herself for having so little faith in wolven kind. It was exhausting and disturbing. As her eyes refocused, she saw that beneath the pine across, coal tipped ears twitched. The fuzzy body was barely distinguishable amongst all the white, but there it was: a snowshoe hare. She wondered if it had read her thoughts and presented itself to taunt her. The girl was reluctant to hunt so close to pack territory. That, and she had just woken up. The real clincher was her form. Saraqael never bothered to give chase to anything unless she had the smooth gracefulness of her petite Lupus body to get her skills up to par.
First she had been ambushed by creeping snow. Now the universe was waving a tasty morsel in her face, she she could do nothing. Not only was it tasty – she imagined its deep, purpley red flesh with its strong, almost vague metallic taste – but it was useful as well. Hare skins in winter phase were most easily dyed, obviously because they were white. They were also small which made them easy to pack. But she had none of her tools with her, only a single knife, and no place to dry the skin. She had not considered all her lost opportunities for furthering her trade when she first set foot outside of the mansion, determined to touch foreign soil and greet strange, new, wolf faces. The specter gave a final groan and sat up. Her stomach muscles clenched with the effort of raising her body but had the pleasant effect of sending blood to her midsection to warm her organs. That was good because the chill was beginning to seep past her pelt, sending unpleasant shivers rolling up and down her spine. Had she been shaved, she could have watched her pores pucker with the pricks of goosebumps. Instinctively, she reached for her pack, checking to make sure it was still where she had left it at the far head of her sleeping place. Pulling it in front of her, she saw that its surface was dewy with snow melt but seemed otherwise undamaged. Shoving a slim hand inside its top flap, she checked for offending moisture and found none. At least something had turned out right between last night and the day.
Clumsily, she stretched her arms and legs, the former straight up to crash into the fragrant pine and the latter harmlessly outward. That was a mistake. A huge glob of hard, milky water sloshed down onto her pretty, deserving head. The girl screeched, in anger rather than fear because she knew what was going to happen the second both of their limbs collided. It was almost more than she could handle, and all she could do to keep from throwing a sulky fit. The wet, cold stuff dribbled down onto her shoulders and chest. When it made its way to her stomach, she shook hard, sending half-melted droplets flying away from her in all directions. She decided she was thoroughly done with that particular place. Snatching her pack rather roughly, she scootched out from beneath the shadowed protection of tree limbs and stood in the foot of her dirt bed. The breeze was cooler than she had noticed before, thanks to her clever snow fort idea. It did not deter her from travel. The border to Phoenix Valley was in sight, so she made her way toward it, hoping to be found quickly.
IC:
It encroached slowly, stealthily, shifting forward at a sloth's pace in an attempt to take her over without her noticing at all. First, flecks of translucent crystal gave the dirt a shiny, watery appearance but melted away within seconds. Then they arrived en masse, storming so quickly that they began to cramp in together, to touch one another and stick to each others' sides. They became whiter and whiter as the group grew, until finally, a solid patch of snow had formed. It spread like a fungus, stretching out its icy mycelium in all directions, attaching itself to smaller bodies of the same stuff to devour and assimilate them. In the first light of dawn they showed midnight but soon took the brilliant orange of the sun and became saturated with it as it crested the horizon, bleeding through the trees. With its new face fiercely cast, it made for its final attack, pushing straight towards Saraqael's pale and sensitive nose with its burning red harshness. Pink and wet, her sniffer glistened in the ruddy glow of morning. All it took was a single errant flake. Her breath sucked it in and it stuck to the inside of her nasal cavity. Immediately, her eyes shot open, brain yelling fitfully, “COLD, WET.” Vision was difficult with her, at first fuzzy and nondescript, and then clarity came all at once. What she saw made her groan in frustration. Indeed, the snow had come for her in the last hours of night, slowly slipping through the place in the pine branches that did not catch it. Whispering through that pathway, it had accumulated for hours, chasing her face. Now, awake, she took advantage of her god-like powers. With a single hand, she scooped up the nearest chunk of crusted white stuff and flung it a few feet away. It landed with a wet, slushy smack, safely out of her warm, dry zone. The coyote rolled over in her tomb.
It had taken her an hour and a half to wear a body sized hole in the snow. The spot had been chosen because it was beneath a natural overhang of low pine branches whose bottle brush stiffness and long fronds could block, even carry, the snow. She dug ferociously with hands and claws, reaching the bottom several inches down, a depth much shallower thanks to the same piny cover. Then she had built up the sides of the wilderness bed, packing hard ice eight inches high in a circle around her. She did it to cut down the wind, mostly, but also as a pathetic deterrent to anything that was not a canine to come sniffing. Now that she was traveling, sleep was of the utmost importance, especially if she wanted to make it to her next destination. But where would that be? Saraqael did not know the lands very well at all, being essentially fresh out of the surrounding area. It was her secret hope that there was another pack closer to Phoenix Valley than it had been to Inferni, but the ghost girl was careful not to get her hopes up. Instead, she planned for a lot of walking, which meant as much sleeping as she could handle, and that was why she had thrown the pesky, irritating, always sneaky snow. The crack of dawn was simply too soon. Primarily a nocturnal creature, what kept her on her diurnal schedule was the likelihood of finding people to aid her (which seemed more plausible during the day), ease of vision, warmth of temperature, and increased chance of being greeted kindly instead of being killed on the spot. Snooping around scent markers in a strange land sounded idiotic, especially for a lone coyote. And who knew? With her large ears and petite frame, she might have been mistaken for the mother of all snowshoe hares but with weirder markings and prettier eyes, especially if she tucked her tail. Even if her pursuer discovered her coyote nature, she was not necessarily convinced they would call off their hunt. Saraqael sighed again and turned her head to the left, frustrated. Only the day before she had scolded herself for having so little faith in wolven kind. It was exhausting and disturbing. As her eyes refocused, she saw that beneath the pine across, coal tipped ears twitched. The fuzzy body was barely distinguishable amongst all the white, but there it was: a snowshoe hare. She wondered if it had read her thoughts and presented itself to taunt her. The girl was reluctant to hunt so close to pack territory. That, and she had just woken up. The real clincher was her form. Saraqael never bothered to give chase to anything unless she had the smooth gracefulness of her petite Lupus body to get her skills up to par.
First she had been ambushed by creeping snow. Now the universe was waving a tasty morsel in her face, she she could do nothing. Not only was it tasty – she imagined its deep, purpley red flesh with its strong, almost vague metallic taste – but it was useful as well. Hare skins in winter phase were most easily dyed, obviously because they were white. They were also small which made them easy to pack. But she had none of her tools with her, only a single knife, and no place to dry the skin. She had not considered all her lost opportunities for furthering her trade when she first set foot outside of the mansion, determined to touch foreign soil and greet strange, new, wolf faces. The specter gave a final groan and sat up. Her stomach muscles clenched with the effort of raising her body but had the pleasant effect of sending blood to her midsection to warm her organs. That was good because the chill was beginning to seep past her pelt, sending unpleasant shivers rolling up and down her spine. Had she been shaved, she could have watched her pores pucker with the pricks of goosebumps. Instinctively, she reached for her pack, checking to make sure it was still where she had left it at the far head of her sleeping place. Pulling it in front of her, she saw that its surface was dewy with snow melt but seemed otherwise undamaged. Shoving a slim hand inside its top flap, she checked for offending moisture and found none. At least something had turned out right between last night and the day.
Clumsily, she stretched her arms and legs, the former straight up to crash into the fragrant pine and the latter harmlessly outward. That was a mistake. A huge glob of hard, milky water sloshed down onto her pretty, deserving head. The girl screeched, in anger rather than fear because she knew what was going to happen the second both of their limbs collided. It was almost more than she could handle, and all she could do to keep from throwing a sulky fit. The wet, cold stuff dribbled down onto her shoulders and chest. When it made its way to her stomach, she shook hard, sending half-melted droplets flying away from her in all directions. She decided she was thoroughly done with that particular place. Snatching her pack rather roughly, she scootched out from beneath the shadowed protection of tree limbs and stood in the foot of her dirt bed. The breeze was cooler than she had noticed before, thanks to her clever snow fort idea. It did not deter her from travel. The border to Phoenix Valley was in sight, so she made her way toward it, hoping to be found quickly.