01-17-2011, 12:23 AM
OOC: No problem! Sorry for the length. No need to match. >_< Word Count: 1669.
IC:
Saraqael watched with interest as Rendall approached the felled hare and lifted it up out of the snow. Blood stained its pelt slightly and painted the snow, but it was little compared to the mess she left when opening animals' bellies. Instead of pulling the arrow out, which seemed like a natural enough reaction and the easiest solution to getting it back, she pushed it all the way through and drew the fletched stick out from the opposite side. At first, this made little sense, but then she saw the way in which the hole opened easily, creating a wider cut for the shaft to go through. The extra slit in its hide was clean because the arrow was sharp. It could have been quickly sewn together with little loss in the way of attractiveness if she wanted to put it towards making a clothing item. If the talented lass had attempted to wiggle the arrow out the way it had gone in, the blunt back edge of the tip may have left ragged edges and a larger opening. Plus, it could have damaged meat or opened more organs, and entrails were best left intact for cleaning.
Bows were a marvel to her, as was how they were used. The partially feral girl trusted nothing but her own claws and teeth to do the job of taking down prey. While the long ranged method was efficient, as the evidence of the dead lapine attested to, it looked difficult to master. She did not possess the strength required to pull back the drawstring on even a short bow. The gentle ripple of lean muscle had not escaped her notice – Rendall's arms were practiced in her chosen art. Her own limp noodles for appendages would never have done well if put through the same rigorous activities. Possessing some light muscle tone was all she needed for running, walking, and performing basic daily motions. Strength was not the only thing holding her back. There was also the matter of aim. Naturally, as all hunters did, she had good depth perception and an eye for moving targets that allowed her to calculate when it was appropriate to lunge or strike. Fairly accurate, Saraqael was not even a perfect shot with her own physical body. It boggled her to no end trying to imagine how Rendall had made a tiny stick fly through the air and do the work of her body for her. After all, the Valley wolf could not feel the shaft of the arrow as she could her own fingers or arm. There were not nerves, blood vessels, and wiry muscle that attached her to it. Once it flew free from her arrow, there was no control over where it went or what it hit, it seemed. She could only do her best to guide it from the beginning. Oddly, she had been quite successful, and Saraqael was sure that like any finely honed skill, it had taken her quite some time to approach that level of greatness.
Finished being awestruck, she realized in her nose, stomach, and brain that the meat smelled incredibly enticing. The coyote had not been aware how truly hungry she was until she was exposed to the sight of food. Its pleasant odor and taste were somewhat misleading, though. Hare, or its close relative, the rabbit, was a dangerous winter food without supplement. Though the long eared rodents were easy to acquire because of their high populations in winter and the ease with which they bred, their meat was shockingly low in fat content. In part she imagined it was all the running they did, all the constant motion – their muscles were always burning calories. In addition, the creatures had exceedingly lean diets, subsisting off of basic grass, shrubs, and whatever else they could find. As far as she knew, rabbits did not frequently eat nuts or seeds, if at all. They were a great source of protein, that she could not deny, and she always needed that. She just had to be careful to balance it out with fat. Regardless, the odor of fresh flesh was making her rabbit jerky sound quite appetizing, especially if she was going to have to watch Rendall eat a full meal.
Saraqael skittered and slit down the hill with some grace, managing to keep her upright balance the whole time. Before they started, she had replaced her pack on her back, tightening the three sets of straps just above her hips, around her waist, and across her shoulders. It was a good thing, too, because the slight incline combined with the slickness of wet snow, even with her grippy paw pads, was almost enough to send her catapulting to the bottom, a ride which might have ended in broken limbs or worse, her scrawny little neck. She moved with care, navigating between flattish areas and controlling her descent when she had to slide. After that, they came near a villagey looking place, she assumed the heart of the pack lands where all the commerce and daily activities took place. It was there that she wished she could hide her face without anyone thinking her strange. Instead she wrapped the cloak Rendall had given her tighter around her little body as though it would protect her from prying eyes and walked on, taking care not to stare at anyone or look like she was paying too much attention to what they were doing. Keeping her two colored gaze focused ahead, the terrain soon changed. Faces and the noisy bustle of communal life faded to nothingness as the soft sounds of winter's silent nights took over. Wind, trees, and night birds joined in a comforting and wild chorus. Rendall seemed to know the trails and Saraqael had no choice but to trust her, moving beside her as swiftly as her short legs would allow. Eventually another human dwelling came into view. Her small heart pounded nervously at first, thinking it was a subsection of the larger town area, but the cabin stood alone, and it became apparent that the entire thing belonged to the dark-pelted lass. Before they entered, the girl noted that in the darkness, her fur looked midnight and slate, its azure undertones vanished with the light.
Warmth oozed out of the open door, flowing slower than the golden light that stained the porch and snow in a hard edged rhombus, like colored glass. Saraqael mostly heard what her keeper was saying but stumbled over the “making herself at home” portion because she knew it would be impossible for her. It felt peculiar to take advantage of generosity, for that was how she saw it, even though Rendall was clearly offering it willingly. Doing as she was told, the petite canine veered to the left once inside, avoiding a work table, and slipped quietly into the spare bedroom. As the lady had promised, there was a bed already made, a human luxury she enjoyed more than a little bit. She removed her large pack from her back and let it fall with a soft plop onto the bed. Setting it on the floor, she looked around the room. It was small, quaint, and more than she had ever hoped to happen upon while traveling. Strangely, she was beginning to feel comfortable, not even feeling compelled to check her bag for all of its contents now that she was out of Rendall's sight. Taking a moment to relax, she breathed quietly for a little while, listening to the sounds coming from the main room of the tiny house. She heard a window and the spatter of liquid in the snow, presumably old food or water. Familiar cutting sounds whispered followed by the sound of scraping and plopping as meat was transferred to a container. Then a door opened, wood creaked (the noise of fur being stretched across a frame for drying, though she did not know), and it closed again. A small bout of silence, then general rustling caused her humongous ears to perk. A noise she knew intimately, the gentle pop of a needle through thick hide followed by the gentle hiss of thread being pulled through, intrigued her enough to make her want to step out in spite of her intent to be unobtrusive. At the same time, the smell from whatever was cooking began to bloom fragrantly, filling the house. The sounds changed again. This time bowls scraped and shifted and there was the crusty, breaking noise of coals being disturbed. Her curiosity was brimming, now, and she could no longer force herself to inaction.
Like a wraith, she peeled her bottom off the bed and swept silently into the central room. Still wearing the warm cloak, she balled her fists in the excess, grabbing at it for comfort. Part of her still felt strange and afraid, but she was in a place full of warmth, light, delightful smells, and kindness. “Thank you so much for taking me into your home like this,” she said sheepishly. Saraqael had grown so unaccustomed to the old ways of hospitality and it was fortunate for her that Rendall still clung to them. Taking the initiative, she found a little spot at a nice distance away from the fire so that she would be neither too hot nor too cold in her cloak. Looking up at the lady who had saved her from a frosty night out in the elements, she was not sure what to say, at first. Gratitude bubbled in her chest, but she had already stated that. Speaking was not one of her best skills, but it was only polite for her to try, especially since the Valley female had taken care to respect her nature. The coyote noticed how she did not press her to awkward conversation. Finally, in her small voice, she asked, “How did you come to Phoenix Valley?” It was as good of a place to start as any.
IC:
Saraqael watched with interest as Rendall approached the felled hare and lifted it up out of the snow. Blood stained its pelt slightly and painted the snow, but it was little compared to the mess she left when opening animals' bellies. Instead of pulling the arrow out, which seemed like a natural enough reaction and the easiest solution to getting it back, she pushed it all the way through and drew the fletched stick out from the opposite side. At first, this made little sense, but then she saw the way in which the hole opened easily, creating a wider cut for the shaft to go through. The extra slit in its hide was clean because the arrow was sharp. It could have been quickly sewn together with little loss in the way of attractiveness if she wanted to put it towards making a clothing item. If the talented lass had attempted to wiggle the arrow out the way it had gone in, the blunt back edge of the tip may have left ragged edges and a larger opening. Plus, it could have damaged meat or opened more organs, and entrails were best left intact for cleaning.
Bows were a marvel to her, as was how they were used. The partially feral girl trusted nothing but her own claws and teeth to do the job of taking down prey. While the long ranged method was efficient, as the evidence of the dead lapine attested to, it looked difficult to master. She did not possess the strength required to pull back the drawstring on even a short bow. The gentle ripple of lean muscle had not escaped her notice – Rendall's arms were practiced in her chosen art. Her own limp noodles for appendages would never have done well if put through the same rigorous activities. Possessing some light muscle tone was all she needed for running, walking, and performing basic daily motions. Strength was not the only thing holding her back. There was also the matter of aim. Naturally, as all hunters did, she had good depth perception and an eye for moving targets that allowed her to calculate when it was appropriate to lunge or strike. Fairly accurate, Saraqael was not even a perfect shot with her own physical body. It boggled her to no end trying to imagine how Rendall had made a tiny stick fly through the air and do the work of her body for her. After all, the Valley wolf could not feel the shaft of the arrow as she could her own fingers or arm. There were not nerves, blood vessels, and wiry muscle that attached her to it. Once it flew free from her arrow, there was no control over where it went or what it hit, it seemed. She could only do her best to guide it from the beginning. Oddly, she had been quite successful, and Saraqael was sure that like any finely honed skill, it had taken her quite some time to approach that level of greatness.
Finished being awestruck, she realized in her nose, stomach, and brain that the meat smelled incredibly enticing. The coyote had not been aware how truly hungry she was until she was exposed to the sight of food. Its pleasant odor and taste were somewhat misleading, though. Hare, or its close relative, the rabbit, was a dangerous winter food without supplement. Though the long eared rodents were easy to acquire because of their high populations in winter and the ease with which they bred, their meat was shockingly low in fat content. In part she imagined it was all the running they did, all the constant motion – their muscles were always burning calories. In addition, the creatures had exceedingly lean diets, subsisting off of basic grass, shrubs, and whatever else they could find. As far as she knew, rabbits did not frequently eat nuts or seeds, if at all. They were a great source of protein, that she could not deny, and she always needed that. She just had to be careful to balance it out with fat. Regardless, the odor of fresh flesh was making her rabbit jerky sound quite appetizing, especially if she was going to have to watch Rendall eat a full meal.
Saraqael skittered and slit down the hill with some grace, managing to keep her upright balance the whole time. Before they started, she had replaced her pack on her back, tightening the three sets of straps just above her hips, around her waist, and across her shoulders. It was a good thing, too, because the slight incline combined with the slickness of wet snow, even with her grippy paw pads, was almost enough to send her catapulting to the bottom, a ride which might have ended in broken limbs or worse, her scrawny little neck. She moved with care, navigating between flattish areas and controlling her descent when she had to slide. After that, they came near a villagey looking place, she assumed the heart of the pack lands where all the commerce and daily activities took place. It was there that she wished she could hide her face without anyone thinking her strange. Instead she wrapped the cloak Rendall had given her tighter around her little body as though it would protect her from prying eyes and walked on, taking care not to stare at anyone or look like she was paying too much attention to what they were doing. Keeping her two colored gaze focused ahead, the terrain soon changed. Faces and the noisy bustle of communal life faded to nothingness as the soft sounds of winter's silent nights took over. Wind, trees, and night birds joined in a comforting and wild chorus. Rendall seemed to know the trails and Saraqael had no choice but to trust her, moving beside her as swiftly as her short legs would allow. Eventually another human dwelling came into view. Her small heart pounded nervously at first, thinking it was a subsection of the larger town area, but the cabin stood alone, and it became apparent that the entire thing belonged to the dark-pelted lass. Before they entered, the girl noted that in the darkness, her fur looked midnight and slate, its azure undertones vanished with the light.
Warmth oozed out of the open door, flowing slower than the golden light that stained the porch and snow in a hard edged rhombus, like colored glass. Saraqael mostly heard what her keeper was saying but stumbled over the “making herself at home” portion because she knew it would be impossible for her. It felt peculiar to take advantage of generosity, for that was how she saw it, even though Rendall was clearly offering it willingly. Doing as she was told, the petite canine veered to the left once inside, avoiding a work table, and slipped quietly into the spare bedroom. As the lady had promised, there was a bed already made, a human luxury she enjoyed more than a little bit. She removed her large pack from her back and let it fall with a soft plop onto the bed. Setting it on the floor, she looked around the room. It was small, quaint, and more than she had ever hoped to happen upon while traveling. Strangely, she was beginning to feel comfortable, not even feeling compelled to check her bag for all of its contents now that she was out of Rendall's sight. Taking a moment to relax, she breathed quietly for a little while, listening to the sounds coming from the main room of the tiny house. She heard a window and the spatter of liquid in the snow, presumably old food or water. Familiar cutting sounds whispered followed by the sound of scraping and plopping as meat was transferred to a container. Then a door opened, wood creaked (the noise of fur being stretched across a frame for drying, though she did not know), and it closed again. A small bout of silence, then general rustling caused her humongous ears to perk. A noise she knew intimately, the gentle pop of a needle through thick hide followed by the gentle hiss of thread being pulled through, intrigued her enough to make her want to step out in spite of her intent to be unobtrusive. At the same time, the smell from whatever was cooking began to bloom fragrantly, filling the house. The sounds changed again. This time bowls scraped and shifted and there was the crusty, breaking noise of coals being disturbed. Her curiosity was brimming, now, and she could no longer force herself to inaction.
Like a wraith, she peeled her bottom off the bed and swept silently into the central room. Still wearing the warm cloak, she balled her fists in the excess, grabbing at it for comfort. Part of her still felt strange and afraid, but she was in a place full of warmth, light, delightful smells, and kindness. “Thank you so much for taking me into your home like this,” she said sheepishly. Saraqael had grown so unaccustomed to the old ways of hospitality and it was fortunate for her that Rendall still clung to them. Taking the initiative, she found a little spot at a nice distance away from the fire so that she would be neither too hot nor too cold in her cloak. Looking up at the lady who had saved her from a frosty night out in the elements, she was not sure what to say, at first. Gratitude bubbled in her chest, but she had already stated that. Speaking was not one of her best skills, but it was only polite for her to try, especially since the Valley female had taken care to respect her nature. The coyote noticed how she did not press her to awkward conversation. Finally, in her small voice, she asked, “How did you come to Phoenix Valley?” It was as good of a place to start as any.