01-15-2011, 11:46 PM
OOC: Word Count: 1333. No worries. 
IC:
Saraqael was uncomfortable, all right. The girl expected the worst at every turn and was incredibly suspicious that her items were not all intact. However, it was too awkward to say anything or to peer into the bag to check. Even she was bound by the idea of social repercussions in some cases, especially when so stunned. Adrenaline pumped through her fiercely, leaving her limbs tingly and her thoughts disconnected feeling. In concern for her items, the only thing she did do was peer around at the ground, ensuring that whatever the lady had repacked or stolen accounted for everything. Snow officially bare of her possessions, the black-masked femme listened as the cobalt lass encouraged her reflexes. She could not bring herself to utter a word – she was too surprised, confused, and embarrassed. She stood like a shapely sack of potatoes stuck hard in the frost, arms limp at her sides and knees wobbly. A light breeze would have sent her toppling. Her pack felt large and heavy in her hands but she grasped it automatically when the strange Phoenix Valley wolf thrust it at her. Carefully she went about closing the top up. There were three sets of strings latching the lid and she turned limp noodles of leather into pretty, efficient bows in no time. That sort of thing came naturally to her small fingers that often worked independently of her mind at this point. It was convenient because it allowed her brain to ponder while her hands did all the labor. She had completed whole outfits with little more than basic guidance of her consciousness while she explored concepts for new ones or went over history or hunting strategies in her head. In many ways, the busy work that was her trade was soothing. It eased her nerves and gave her fidgety little body something to do. She still had to concentrate when it came to dying complicated patterns or rinsing those same intricate color combinations out, but skinning was almost as natural as breathing, and she could cut out a properly pinned pattern for simple skirts or tops in her sleep. Certainly, her mother had trained her well. It would have been a shame if any of her highly valued skin pieces were lost in the elements actually, but she trusted that her keen eyes would have picked up on any glaring spots of vibrant defiance on the blanket of only white. A scrap of color did suddenly show itself but it was only a bird and it twittered away briskly, paying no mind to the trivial lives and happenings of wolves. Saraqael not only felt trivial but tiny, beyond the physical sense. She wished to disappear into the encompassing storm of hazy paleness and drift away like a ghost on the wind. Getting into trouble and reacting so harshly to everything was tedious, especially on her nervous system which suffered so many ups and downs that she was constantly surprised that she was not completely desensitized.
Words sent her reeling at first, overloading her, and then they grounded her when the significance of them became clear. As Rendall told it, she had been to Inferni, knew where the lands were, and had communicated with one of her leaders, either Gabriel or Kaena, and had a positive experience. It was a most welcome surprise and a revelation that melted some of the frigidness she had felt towards the woman for touching her things and for pointing the arrow at her, even mistakenly. Her embarrassment for being so foolish still ran hot in her, flushing her cheeks with invisible heat, the pink color of blood. The only thing that could ease those feelings were time and perhaps a strong dose of forgetfulness. It helped that the woman, with her pelt of stormy sea, did not seem bothered by her reaction in any way. On the contrary, she might have been impressed or at least admiring. The Valley canine went on to assure her that they were not enemies and by the sound of her voice and the way she seemed to go on about it, she might have even been fond of the rag tag band of coyotes that she called a family and a pack. Either she spun beautiful lies in an attempt to snare Saraqael into a supposed net of safety only to pounce on the small girl like a spider, or she was telling the transparent truth. Even to herself she had to admit that the former option sounded contrived. It was the sick fantasy of a paranoid girl. She was aware of that and chose to let it go. The young female resigned herself to trust Rendall instead of fear or loathe her. After all, she had been nothing but nice, helpful, and kind.
Though it seemed impossible, the blue glowing female extended her good nature further. After examining her thin state and lack of clothing (which bothered her little, even in winter), she assessed that the thin coyote was hungry and freezing. They were not inaccurate statements but the fae with mismatched eyes was quite used to living a hard life when she had to. Travel did not afford many luxuries. It brought her back to times since past when her family would have to span long distances of open tundra or plain with their bags strapped to their bodies, forced to move in Optime form because of their human trades and the technologies, however scant, that were required to continue them. Her parents always allowed her to tag along in Lupus, especially when she was young, and never expected her to carry any of the weight. It might have killed her anyway for when she was but a child – a real one, for now she was over a year in age – she was as light as a feather and as small as a mouse, as far as anyone needed to be concerned. At under five feet at her adult height, things were not much better, and Saraqael had been known to be dangerously careless with her eating. She carried a small portion of rations in the bag, some simple dried rabbit meat, but other than that, had not really found the time to hunt yet on the trip which meant that she was burning the small amount of fat she already possessed into nothingness. It was dangerous, sure, but she had survived her last winter and trusted that her body could do so again. The help that was being offered, however, was tantalizing, and she could not imagine that it would hurt to accept the generosity of this stranger.
As though she had a choice! Rendall bundled her quickly in a cloak, a thing that happened too quickly for the skittish creature to fear or protest. Once done, it was significantly warmer, defeating with magical ease much of the windiness that came with snow and the harshest season in general. An offer to follow her to her cabin was extended, and then the opportunity to spend the night in a warm, dry place inside of the exposed outer territory. A sense of danger, and certainly hesitation, prickled in the back of her mind. She chose to ignore it. “I would appreciate it greatly,” she responded, for the first time looking earnestly at her ice-gemmed guide. All traces of mistrust were gone, and though she could not do away with the natural sharpness of her features that made her look foxy and cunning, she really was grateful. Pulling her feet out of the deep holes she had plunged them in, the Inferni member plodded silently alongside the well-meaning lady, keeping up with her with a bit of difficulty due to the comparative shortness of her legs and the depth of the snow. She managed. Observing closely her surroundings, it all looked foreign to her. Feeling lost and overwhelmed, she was lucky indeed to have stumbled upon one so sweet as Rendall.
IC:
Saraqael was uncomfortable, all right. The girl expected the worst at every turn and was incredibly suspicious that her items were not all intact. However, it was too awkward to say anything or to peer into the bag to check. Even she was bound by the idea of social repercussions in some cases, especially when so stunned. Adrenaline pumped through her fiercely, leaving her limbs tingly and her thoughts disconnected feeling. In concern for her items, the only thing she did do was peer around at the ground, ensuring that whatever the lady had repacked or stolen accounted for everything. Snow officially bare of her possessions, the black-masked femme listened as the cobalt lass encouraged her reflexes. She could not bring herself to utter a word – she was too surprised, confused, and embarrassed. She stood like a shapely sack of potatoes stuck hard in the frost, arms limp at her sides and knees wobbly. A light breeze would have sent her toppling. Her pack felt large and heavy in her hands but she grasped it automatically when the strange Phoenix Valley wolf thrust it at her. Carefully she went about closing the top up. There were three sets of strings latching the lid and she turned limp noodles of leather into pretty, efficient bows in no time. That sort of thing came naturally to her small fingers that often worked independently of her mind at this point. It was convenient because it allowed her brain to ponder while her hands did all the labor. She had completed whole outfits with little more than basic guidance of her consciousness while she explored concepts for new ones or went over history or hunting strategies in her head. In many ways, the busy work that was her trade was soothing. It eased her nerves and gave her fidgety little body something to do. She still had to concentrate when it came to dying complicated patterns or rinsing those same intricate color combinations out, but skinning was almost as natural as breathing, and she could cut out a properly pinned pattern for simple skirts or tops in her sleep. Certainly, her mother had trained her well. It would have been a shame if any of her highly valued skin pieces were lost in the elements actually, but she trusted that her keen eyes would have picked up on any glaring spots of vibrant defiance on the blanket of only white. A scrap of color did suddenly show itself but it was only a bird and it twittered away briskly, paying no mind to the trivial lives and happenings of wolves. Saraqael not only felt trivial but tiny, beyond the physical sense. She wished to disappear into the encompassing storm of hazy paleness and drift away like a ghost on the wind. Getting into trouble and reacting so harshly to everything was tedious, especially on her nervous system which suffered so many ups and downs that she was constantly surprised that she was not completely desensitized.
Words sent her reeling at first, overloading her, and then they grounded her when the significance of them became clear. As Rendall told it, she had been to Inferni, knew where the lands were, and had communicated with one of her leaders, either Gabriel or Kaena, and had a positive experience. It was a most welcome surprise and a revelation that melted some of the frigidness she had felt towards the woman for touching her things and for pointing the arrow at her, even mistakenly. Her embarrassment for being so foolish still ran hot in her, flushing her cheeks with invisible heat, the pink color of blood. The only thing that could ease those feelings were time and perhaps a strong dose of forgetfulness. It helped that the woman, with her pelt of stormy sea, did not seem bothered by her reaction in any way. On the contrary, she might have been impressed or at least admiring. The Valley canine went on to assure her that they were not enemies and by the sound of her voice and the way she seemed to go on about it, she might have even been fond of the rag tag band of coyotes that she called a family and a pack. Either she spun beautiful lies in an attempt to snare Saraqael into a supposed net of safety only to pounce on the small girl like a spider, or she was telling the transparent truth. Even to herself she had to admit that the former option sounded contrived. It was the sick fantasy of a paranoid girl. She was aware of that and chose to let it go. The young female resigned herself to trust Rendall instead of fear or loathe her. After all, she had been nothing but nice, helpful, and kind.
Though it seemed impossible, the blue glowing female extended her good nature further. After examining her thin state and lack of clothing (which bothered her little, even in winter), she assessed that the thin coyote was hungry and freezing. They were not inaccurate statements but the fae with mismatched eyes was quite used to living a hard life when she had to. Travel did not afford many luxuries. It brought her back to times since past when her family would have to span long distances of open tundra or plain with their bags strapped to their bodies, forced to move in Optime form because of their human trades and the technologies, however scant, that were required to continue them. Her parents always allowed her to tag along in Lupus, especially when she was young, and never expected her to carry any of the weight. It might have killed her anyway for when she was but a child – a real one, for now she was over a year in age – she was as light as a feather and as small as a mouse, as far as anyone needed to be concerned. At under five feet at her adult height, things were not much better, and Saraqael had been known to be dangerously careless with her eating. She carried a small portion of rations in the bag, some simple dried rabbit meat, but other than that, had not really found the time to hunt yet on the trip which meant that she was burning the small amount of fat she already possessed into nothingness. It was dangerous, sure, but she had survived her last winter and trusted that her body could do so again. The help that was being offered, however, was tantalizing, and she could not imagine that it would hurt to accept the generosity of this stranger.
As though she had a choice! Rendall bundled her quickly in a cloak, a thing that happened too quickly for the skittish creature to fear or protest. Once done, it was significantly warmer, defeating with magical ease much of the windiness that came with snow and the harshest season in general. An offer to follow her to her cabin was extended, and then the opportunity to spend the night in a warm, dry place inside of the exposed outer territory. A sense of danger, and certainly hesitation, prickled in the back of her mind. She chose to ignore it. “I would appreciate it greatly,” she responded, for the first time looking earnestly at her ice-gemmed guide. All traces of mistrust were gone, and though she could not do away with the natural sharpness of her features that made her look foxy and cunning, she really was grateful. Pulling her feet out of the deep holes she had plunged them in, the Inferni member plodded silently alongside the well-meaning lady, keeping up with her with a bit of difficulty due to the comparative shortness of her legs and the depth of the snow. She managed. Observing closely her surroundings, it all looked foreign to her. Feeling lost and overwhelmed, she was lucky indeed to have stumbled upon one so sweet as Rendall.