01-14-2011, 11:33 PM
OOC: Word Count: 1454.
IC:
His voice was hostile. She could tell by the way he rushed his speech, by how he had asked her why she had arrived so late in the day. The male suspected ill of her immediately, and again, she could not blame him. Their kinds were taught to dislike one another, and it would have been unfair of her to expect him to suspect anything else. Because she was the one encroaching upon their territory, the one attempting to extend her feelers in search of something, that placed the burden of explanation on her. What she was in search of, the girl could not exactly say. On the surface of her intentions, she moved out of curiosity, seeking to make her face known throughout all the lands as a sort of ambassador, though Sepirah already held the official position in their ranks at Inferni. On a separate level, she thought she searched for peace within herself, and that could only be accomplished if she could prove that wolves were not all bad.
It was difficult, clearly, for both her and Niro to approach one another. Mistrust tainted the air, hanging between them in the darkness. The lack of light was a real life metaphor for their confusion and murkiness, their inability to see one another for who they really were. Saraqael knew she had to make the first move. “I did not mean to upset your people, and as you could tell, I did not purposefully disturb anyone. I did not call with my voice. If no one came upon me, I would have slept quietly at the borders. I traveled when it suited and have been walking a long time. From my last destination, I estimated that I might arrive here during early night and then sleep until dawn to meet with someone or travel again.” Simple practicality had dictated that she finish her trek to Cour des Miracles that evening. She could have camped somewhere else along the way, but why when a few more hours would have brought her where she needed to be, in position to begin a new day, a new quest?
Indecision froze her to inaction. Part of her was tempted to edge in further but he might perceive that as a threat. If she stayed in the shadows, he might also fear she was plotting something. Torn between the two, Saraqael did something that was quite foreign to her but was becoming more and more useful as she extended herself to become acquainted with the packs surrounding Inferni. She would attempt to use reason, and he would have to trust that what she told him was not a lie. “As I said before, I have just come from Phoenix Valley. I met wolves named Noah and Rendall. If I had done them wrong or started trouble, it is unlikely I would be standing before you right now, let alone made more than a half day's travel to come see your territory.” Honesty felt strange on her lips. She was learning that telling the truth was the best policy if you never changed locations, if you led a stationary life. Her former life had been that of a traveler's which afforded her the ability to spin pretty tales to faces she would never again see. Falsehoods would never come back to bite her if they could not be proven. By tying herself to Inferni, however, she had set down traceable roots, and if she dared tell someone that those roots took a different course than they had in actuality, they could easily discover the truth by asking around. Simply by existing and interacting with others, she planted seeds of evidence everywhere. Good liars knew when it was too dangerous to make a bluff, and now was one of those times. If he became too uncomfortable with their situation and chose to fight her, she would flee, and if he chose to flee, she would wait until the morning to prove her honesty to someone else, exactly where he left her. In that case, she probably would not sleep in case he sent for his pack mates to dispatch her in the heart of night. Inferni would assume she had disappeared or run off, for who would come checking for bodies near the lands of Cour des Miracles? No one. In retrospect, it had been foolish of her to keep her business to herself. Someone should have known her plans and motivations so that in the worst case scenario, retribution for her death could have been carried out.
As it could have been expected from her, the tiny coyote decided to err on the side of caution. She valued her life too highly and her intense sense of self-preservation demanded her not to take any more chances in her speech or movements. Instead of standing, she stayed seated, keeping herself as unimposing as possible. She almost regretting having spoken now. Normally, strangers mistook her for a youth and looked upon her as a creature to be helped or aided in whatever way she required. She even lacked proper breasts which might have given her away as an adult. The only thing that had betrayed her true age was her voice, which was not the sickly sweet tone of a child's but that of a full-grown woman's.
Because Niro was back lit by the faint light emanating from his village, the snowy fae trusted him not to have any long distance weapons raised. Noticing the distinct pose of an Optime with an arrow cocked was not a problem for her since such an image was fresh in her mind. Recalling Rendall, the arrow pointer in question, the face of a peculiar but kind bluish gray wolfess drifted across her memory and she felt a little better. That lass had been suspicious in the beginning as well, or had mistaken her for an odd winter creature with a desirable pelt. Upon discovering her identity and origin, she then offered a hand of friendship and support. Unfortunately Niro was by far the most suspicious wolf she had encountered yet. Even Noah, who was soft spoken and quiet, had warmed to her after she made her intentions clear and had proved not to want to attack him or their lands. That male had approached her boldly. If the Cour des Miracles canine kept up their stalemate of stillness any longer and never came forward, she would probably be forced to move on to another part of the borders and wait for a fresh face. The male was still in the darkness, a hard statue of indecision.
Thinking only of him and their predicament was setting her nerves to intense agitation. In an attempt to distract her fragile mind, she considered the world around her, taking care to pay attention to each one of her senses. It was a game she played with herself to turn her thoughts from whatever was bothering her toward something unrelated. Touch was the sense she connected to most strongly and tactile exploration elicited the most profound reactions from her. Because it was easily available, Saraqael plunged her hands into the snow. At first she did not notice cold, only the feeling of hard beads rolling over the top of her fur. As her comparative warmth collided with the freezing temperatures, the crystals began to melt, changing into water that could penetrate the guard of follicles gracing her skin. Wetness ensued, somehow increasingly cold, the ice and the water intensifying one another until her hands were numb. At that point, she turned to sound. The night was absolutely alive. It twittered and hooted violently if she truly tuned into it. There was a war going on in the forest between the hunter and the hunted, and it was the prey that made all the commotion as fear indicated to them that their lives were coming to an end. The foxes and owls were silent killers, their sounds no more indistinguishable from the sound of wind through trees than her two hands were from each other. In her mouth, she tasted the day's tang in the form of a pasty, salty grit, unpleasant and unimportant. Her nose told the story of much activity, from campfires to recent snow fall. She began to pick apart the various scents at the border, each one unique but all combining to create the perfume of Cour des Miracles. Vision was the only uncooperative sense. Many times she tried to focus it on the sliver of moon, the twinkle of stars in the endless abyss above, the way distant fire light made snow glisten. She could not. All she saw was the silhouette of Niro.
IC:
His voice was hostile. She could tell by the way he rushed his speech, by how he had asked her why she had arrived so late in the day. The male suspected ill of her immediately, and again, she could not blame him. Their kinds were taught to dislike one another, and it would have been unfair of her to expect him to suspect anything else. Because she was the one encroaching upon their territory, the one attempting to extend her feelers in search of something, that placed the burden of explanation on her. What she was in search of, the girl could not exactly say. On the surface of her intentions, she moved out of curiosity, seeking to make her face known throughout all the lands as a sort of ambassador, though Sepirah already held the official position in their ranks at Inferni. On a separate level, she thought she searched for peace within herself, and that could only be accomplished if she could prove that wolves were not all bad.
It was difficult, clearly, for both her and Niro to approach one another. Mistrust tainted the air, hanging between them in the darkness. The lack of light was a real life metaphor for their confusion and murkiness, their inability to see one another for who they really were. Saraqael knew she had to make the first move. “I did not mean to upset your people, and as you could tell, I did not purposefully disturb anyone. I did not call with my voice. If no one came upon me, I would have slept quietly at the borders. I traveled when it suited and have been walking a long time. From my last destination, I estimated that I might arrive here during early night and then sleep until dawn to meet with someone or travel again.” Simple practicality had dictated that she finish her trek to Cour des Miracles that evening. She could have camped somewhere else along the way, but why when a few more hours would have brought her where she needed to be, in position to begin a new day, a new quest?
Indecision froze her to inaction. Part of her was tempted to edge in further but he might perceive that as a threat. If she stayed in the shadows, he might also fear she was plotting something. Torn between the two, Saraqael did something that was quite foreign to her but was becoming more and more useful as she extended herself to become acquainted with the packs surrounding Inferni. She would attempt to use reason, and he would have to trust that what she told him was not a lie. “As I said before, I have just come from Phoenix Valley. I met wolves named Noah and Rendall. If I had done them wrong or started trouble, it is unlikely I would be standing before you right now, let alone made more than a half day's travel to come see your territory.” Honesty felt strange on her lips. She was learning that telling the truth was the best policy if you never changed locations, if you led a stationary life. Her former life had been that of a traveler's which afforded her the ability to spin pretty tales to faces she would never again see. Falsehoods would never come back to bite her if they could not be proven. By tying herself to Inferni, however, she had set down traceable roots, and if she dared tell someone that those roots took a different course than they had in actuality, they could easily discover the truth by asking around. Simply by existing and interacting with others, she planted seeds of evidence everywhere. Good liars knew when it was too dangerous to make a bluff, and now was one of those times. If he became too uncomfortable with their situation and chose to fight her, she would flee, and if he chose to flee, she would wait until the morning to prove her honesty to someone else, exactly where he left her. In that case, she probably would not sleep in case he sent for his pack mates to dispatch her in the heart of night. Inferni would assume she had disappeared or run off, for who would come checking for bodies near the lands of Cour des Miracles? No one. In retrospect, it had been foolish of her to keep her business to herself. Someone should have known her plans and motivations so that in the worst case scenario, retribution for her death could have been carried out.
As it could have been expected from her, the tiny coyote decided to err on the side of caution. She valued her life too highly and her intense sense of self-preservation demanded her not to take any more chances in her speech or movements. Instead of standing, she stayed seated, keeping herself as unimposing as possible. She almost regretting having spoken now. Normally, strangers mistook her for a youth and looked upon her as a creature to be helped or aided in whatever way she required. She even lacked proper breasts which might have given her away as an adult. The only thing that had betrayed her true age was her voice, which was not the sickly sweet tone of a child's but that of a full-grown woman's.
Because Niro was back lit by the faint light emanating from his village, the snowy fae trusted him not to have any long distance weapons raised. Noticing the distinct pose of an Optime with an arrow cocked was not a problem for her since such an image was fresh in her mind. Recalling Rendall, the arrow pointer in question, the face of a peculiar but kind bluish gray wolfess drifted across her memory and she felt a little better. That lass had been suspicious in the beginning as well, or had mistaken her for an odd winter creature with a desirable pelt. Upon discovering her identity and origin, she then offered a hand of friendship and support. Unfortunately Niro was by far the most suspicious wolf she had encountered yet. Even Noah, who was soft spoken and quiet, had warmed to her after she made her intentions clear and had proved not to want to attack him or their lands. That male had approached her boldly. If the Cour des Miracles canine kept up their stalemate of stillness any longer and never came forward, she would probably be forced to move on to another part of the borders and wait for a fresh face. The male was still in the darkness, a hard statue of indecision.
Thinking only of him and their predicament was setting her nerves to intense agitation. In an attempt to distract her fragile mind, she considered the world around her, taking care to pay attention to each one of her senses. It was a game she played with herself to turn her thoughts from whatever was bothering her toward something unrelated. Touch was the sense she connected to most strongly and tactile exploration elicited the most profound reactions from her. Because it was easily available, Saraqael plunged her hands into the snow. At first she did not notice cold, only the feeling of hard beads rolling over the top of her fur. As her comparative warmth collided with the freezing temperatures, the crystals began to melt, changing into water that could penetrate the guard of follicles gracing her skin. Wetness ensued, somehow increasingly cold, the ice and the water intensifying one another until her hands were numb. At that point, she turned to sound. The night was absolutely alive. It twittered and hooted violently if she truly tuned into it. There was a war going on in the forest between the hunter and the hunted, and it was the prey that made all the commotion as fear indicated to them that their lives were coming to an end. The foxes and owls were silent killers, their sounds no more indistinguishable from the sound of wind through trees than her two hands were from each other. In her mouth, she tasted the day's tang in the form of a pasty, salty grit, unpleasant and unimportant. Her nose told the story of much activity, from campfires to recent snow fall. She began to pick apart the various scents at the border, each one unique but all combining to create the perfume of Cour des Miracles. Vision was the only uncooperative sense. Many times she tried to focus it on the sliver of moon, the twinkle of stars in the endless abyss above, the way distant fire light made snow glisten. She could not. All she saw was the silhouette of Niro.