...but I digress,

Ephraim Fisher · 10-07-2011, 06:04 PM

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Wanted to join this since I need to play Ephy more, and he's a prisoner. :3 He isn't as much of a creeper as he sounds! Sky is probably gonna be pissed off at him; you have my permission to bite or smack him, if ya want. xDD /+5

Ephraim groaned.

The moment the AniWayans had figured out he had skill with a canoe, the Guardians had set him to building a couple. He had been up late the other night, chopping away at the gathered wood, falling into a repetitive rhythm that left his arms and shoulders entirely sore. Since his capture, his scent began to mimic that of the other Tribe members, but at the same time, he was more of a slave than a part of AniWaya. The Guardians who had initially captured him under Maska’s orders had teased him about being part of the Tribe—him, whose blood was tainted by a dirty dog grandparent.

Still, the eunuch remained relatively neutral, even though a nice girl had told him that Maska was a bad guy. While he didn’t quite like how things were being run here, he couldn’t complain much. The other prisoners, those stolen from other packs, were much worse off. And he had something to keep him occupied, so he wasn’t locked away for days and days in the dark cabin like some of the others. As indignant as he had a right to be about the situation, he simply wasn’t.

He was just sore.

The dark grey luperci let out another groan then sat upright on the cot he’d used as a bed since coming here. He’d offered it to the other prisoners once or twice, unsure if they’d had good bedding, though the thing could use several blankets. He’d slept buried in the snow before, so he didn’t really give a damn if he was elevated off the ground or not.

The chatty hybrid twitched his nose as he let his brown eyes adjust. He rarely got up before the sun, but he had no problem with it. His jaws stretched in a yawn, once again carelessly making noise, before he became aware that someone else in the room was awake—besides the persistently stationed Guardians, two very somber and very bored statues overseeing the prisoners.

The young woman—another pack. His sleepy mind worked slowly as he turned his head to see her curled up in the corner. Her name—he’d forgotten it. But she was not in the best physical state, and it was obvious that the Guardians had gone easy on him during his own capture, leaving him with some scratches. Then again, maybe she’d fought; he’d wandered along like a dog on a leash, big-eyed and simpering, hoping to show he wasn’t worth knocking down.

“Precious girl,” Ephraim murmured in her direction, swinging around on the cot so he could face her, his smile disarming. She was, in reality, an adult and not much younger than he was in his middle age. However, her injuries made her look vulnerable—like a puppy, a precious puppy. “Good morning, darling one.” He slowly stood and stepped a little closer to her, crouching and stretching out a hand carefully, not quite touching her. “Oh, if only I were allowed to make some tea. It wouldn’t help those wounds, oh no, but a little tea always made me feel better and cleared the nose.”

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