01-17-2011, 11:22 PM
OOC: No pressure to match, ever. 
Word Count: 1219.
IC:
What did she want to know? In reality, that the residents of this place were not going to snap her up like a hare in their larger, wolven jaws. So far, so good – Niro had shown no aggression. As far as she could perceive, the two canines out in the dark snowscape were equally cautious of one another. When he next spoke, the male already told her that their pack was also a “court,” implying royalty, or some strange ranking system that was different from the one the coyotes used, and all without her ever having to probe for information. She admitted to not knowing the the origins of Inferni's names for its hierarchy, or even the meanings of the titles, only that she was low on the totem pole. If the collection of ranks painted a larger picture, it was not so elegantly or simply themed as Cour des Miracles'. She wondered if the courtly theme meant they also had courtiers, like dukes, duchesses, or earls. Saraqael had little interest in asking about it in spite of her curiosity. Nosiness and espionage had not been her original intentions. What she had been seeking was friendship and familiarity, though she expected nothing to even come close to what Rendall of Phoenix Valley had provided her with: a home for the night and dinner in a warm cabin.
It was obvious that the pale wolf was expecting something, however. At the very least, a query. “Who your leaders are is a place to start,” she began, then added, “And also if you know of anyone who would like to trade. I have hand cut and dyed fur pieces for barter.” There was no sense in not spouting a little sales pitch. Trade was often seen as cement for lasting bonds between packs and had the potential to ease tension if any existed. It was less for actual gain or profit and more as a symbolic gesture of good will. This was how she meant it now, in plain friendship. In her backpack she had brought many worthwhile items, including brightly colored arm bands, anklets, calf warmers, arm warmers, and a top. Some were from her personal wardrobe and others were not, but she would trade whatever was requested of her. As another testament to her willingness, generosity, and harmlessness, she proffered information unasked. “The leaders of Inferni are Kaena Lykoi and Gabriel de le Poer.” It was a harmless enough bit of trivia, for it was not as though their lives were particularly sought after. Their names could also be found nearly anywhere. It was likely that the leadership of Cour des Miracles was well aware of who the hybrid rulers of Inferni were. Niro might have asked them, but that would have defeated the purpose of their current exchange. A more interesting and important question bubbled up in her brain, and she let it flow from her lips. “Does your pack specialize in anything particular concerning trade or services?” It was very practical of her to ask.
While she listened to his responses, she thought it would be appropriate to begin preparing her bed for the night. Dark fingered paws worked to undo the straps of her satchel. The large leather bag tied in three places around her body: above her hips, at her waist, and over her shoulders. As each strap fell away, the pack pulled more heavily on the remaining tethers until they were all loosened, allowing the entire bag to dip gently into the snow. The lid was closed tight, preventing anything from dribbling out of the top and becoming lost in the powdery white mass. Still cross legged in the clearing, she rose slowly away from her belongings, trying to pay little attention to the shadowy figure the native Optime cut in the distance. First she shook many of the branches of all their accumulated snow so that the weight of the night's fall would not cause them to buckle and rain huge slushy piles down onto her. Then, crouching beneath the same pine, Saraqael worked speedily, digging out a small bed underneath the shelter of feathery and fragrant branches. Tonight, she would not be able to dig past all the packed ice to the dirt beneath – simply too many inches had fallen and she would have rubbed her small hands raw before she managed to carve out the space she needed. Instead she settled for twelve inches down. To cut the wind, the loosened snow was packed in edges all around the circle she was forming. Essentially she was fashioning a very crude fort that would provide her with enough cover until the morning. The girl moved in a slow circle, scooping out material and building it up in slices until she was done. The bed ended up being shorted than her length, only four feet, but she scant required more space. She would spend the entire night tucked into her own body for warmth. As she worked, she conversed.
The next thing that needed to be done was to line it, especially since she could not reach the earth which, if she could scrape it bare, would warm at her touch unlike the snow which would only melt and continue cooling, encouraging her form to leech its precious heat. Sweet, thoughtful Rendall, with impressively swift fingers and a large, warm heart, had sewn her a cloak the very night they had stayed together. The blue tinted female never asked for anything in return, and as a selfish, skeptical creature, Saraqael had been quite shocked. But she took the cloak anyway, knowing how much easier it would make travel during the day, and how it would ease nights like this. She retrieved it from her pack. Unfolding it in the shadows, it was only slightly shorter than she was. She carefully tucked it into the bottom of her new sleeping area, mindful not to accidentally knock over any of the built up edges. Then she grabbed the bag and brought it into the circle so that it would be near her the whole night. Normally she used it as a pillow but the pressure of her head, even though it was small, was putting odd creases into the fur clothing stored inside, and she could not have that. It was extremely important to her that her wares be in top condition. A flaw, however small, could break a deal before a potential buyer had ever had the chance to fall in love with a particular color combination or style of cut.
Full darkness had come upon the lands but the village beyond still seemed active, or at least lit. Inferni was much the same. She knew of coyotes that did not go to bed until dawn, being somehow strictly nocturnal. It seemed strange to her, to conduct all one's business in the middle of the night, but she never judged. There were plenty who were more traditional, rising at dawn to hunt or complete chores. It struck her suddenly that she might have been keeping Niro out of his own warm bed, wherever that was, if he even had one. Saraqael hoped not, for she would have been irritated in his place, if that was the case.
Word Count: 1219.IC:
What did she want to know? In reality, that the residents of this place were not going to snap her up like a hare in their larger, wolven jaws. So far, so good – Niro had shown no aggression. As far as she could perceive, the two canines out in the dark snowscape were equally cautious of one another. When he next spoke, the male already told her that their pack was also a “court,” implying royalty, or some strange ranking system that was different from the one the coyotes used, and all without her ever having to probe for information. She admitted to not knowing the the origins of Inferni's names for its hierarchy, or even the meanings of the titles, only that she was low on the totem pole. If the collection of ranks painted a larger picture, it was not so elegantly or simply themed as Cour des Miracles'. She wondered if the courtly theme meant they also had courtiers, like dukes, duchesses, or earls. Saraqael had little interest in asking about it in spite of her curiosity. Nosiness and espionage had not been her original intentions. What she had been seeking was friendship and familiarity, though she expected nothing to even come close to what Rendall of Phoenix Valley had provided her with: a home for the night and dinner in a warm cabin.
It was obvious that the pale wolf was expecting something, however. At the very least, a query. “Who your leaders are is a place to start,” she began, then added, “And also if you know of anyone who would like to trade. I have hand cut and dyed fur pieces for barter.” There was no sense in not spouting a little sales pitch. Trade was often seen as cement for lasting bonds between packs and had the potential to ease tension if any existed. It was less for actual gain or profit and more as a symbolic gesture of good will. This was how she meant it now, in plain friendship. In her backpack she had brought many worthwhile items, including brightly colored arm bands, anklets, calf warmers, arm warmers, and a top. Some were from her personal wardrobe and others were not, but she would trade whatever was requested of her. As another testament to her willingness, generosity, and harmlessness, she proffered information unasked. “The leaders of Inferni are Kaena Lykoi and Gabriel de le Poer.” It was a harmless enough bit of trivia, for it was not as though their lives were particularly sought after. Their names could also be found nearly anywhere. It was likely that the leadership of Cour des Miracles was well aware of who the hybrid rulers of Inferni were. Niro might have asked them, but that would have defeated the purpose of their current exchange. A more interesting and important question bubbled up in her brain, and she let it flow from her lips. “Does your pack specialize in anything particular concerning trade or services?” It was very practical of her to ask.
While she listened to his responses, she thought it would be appropriate to begin preparing her bed for the night. Dark fingered paws worked to undo the straps of her satchel. The large leather bag tied in three places around her body: above her hips, at her waist, and over her shoulders. As each strap fell away, the pack pulled more heavily on the remaining tethers until they were all loosened, allowing the entire bag to dip gently into the snow. The lid was closed tight, preventing anything from dribbling out of the top and becoming lost in the powdery white mass. Still cross legged in the clearing, she rose slowly away from her belongings, trying to pay little attention to the shadowy figure the native Optime cut in the distance. First she shook many of the branches of all their accumulated snow so that the weight of the night's fall would not cause them to buckle and rain huge slushy piles down onto her. Then, crouching beneath the same pine, Saraqael worked speedily, digging out a small bed underneath the shelter of feathery and fragrant branches. Tonight, she would not be able to dig past all the packed ice to the dirt beneath – simply too many inches had fallen and she would have rubbed her small hands raw before she managed to carve out the space she needed. Instead she settled for twelve inches down. To cut the wind, the loosened snow was packed in edges all around the circle she was forming. Essentially she was fashioning a very crude fort that would provide her with enough cover until the morning. The girl moved in a slow circle, scooping out material and building it up in slices until she was done. The bed ended up being shorted than her length, only four feet, but she scant required more space. She would spend the entire night tucked into her own body for warmth. As she worked, she conversed.
The next thing that needed to be done was to line it, especially since she could not reach the earth which, if she could scrape it bare, would warm at her touch unlike the snow which would only melt and continue cooling, encouraging her form to leech its precious heat. Sweet, thoughtful Rendall, with impressively swift fingers and a large, warm heart, had sewn her a cloak the very night they had stayed together. The blue tinted female never asked for anything in return, and as a selfish, skeptical creature, Saraqael had been quite shocked. But she took the cloak anyway, knowing how much easier it would make travel during the day, and how it would ease nights like this. She retrieved it from her pack. Unfolding it in the shadows, it was only slightly shorter than she was. She carefully tucked it into the bottom of her new sleeping area, mindful not to accidentally knock over any of the built up edges. Then she grabbed the bag and brought it into the circle so that it would be near her the whole night. Normally she used it as a pillow but the pressure of her head, even though it was small, was putting odd creases into the fur clothing stored inside, and she could not have that. It was extremely important to her that her wares be in top condition. A flaw, however small, could break a deal before a potential buyer had ever had the chance to fall in love with a particular color combination or style of cut.
Full darkness had come upon the lands but the village beyond still seemed active, or at least lit. Inferni was much the same. She knew of coyotes that did not go to bed until dawn, being somehow strictly nocturnal. It seemed strange to her, to conduct all one's business in the middle of the night, but she never judged. There were plenty who were more traditional, rising at dawn to hunt or complete chores. It struck her suddenly that she might have been keeping Niro out of his own warm bed, wherever that was, if he even had one. Saraqael hoped not, for she would have been irritated in his place, if that was the case.