(867) this is dated whenever you need it dated, my love. :I <3 near the whisper beach / that one river area; tell me if you need anything changed! (and don't mind the long post, i just felt like getting into Alyssum's character. xD)[/html]
The clouds were heavily pressed against the sky, refusing to let an ounce of sunlight through. While the magpie was not in favor of leaving the courthouse, Alyssum was less precautious. "Aly be careful. Don't want more than wet feathers to happen," the bird had warned in his trilly voice, and while she listened with peace, she rolled her eyes once her back was turned. The clouds were nothing more than gray intimidators; she did not sense that the weather could get any worse. Yet, she hoped that she was not wrong. Worse come to worse, though, she could always return to the Fort if the sky were to start trembling.
Even the mare was not comfortable with the idea of leaving the stables, which was a first. Antebellum, the one who would complain in her tongue of how horrible it was being cooped up in the stall, stood firmly whenever Alyssum tried to lead her out. The woman did not try to reason with the horse as she had done with the bird, and allowed her to have her way for once, since she did not want to cause unnecessary stress for the proud creature. With game bag empty, waiting to be filled, and quiver filled with arrows, she set out from Kingsbury on her own.
She decided to head a bit more south than her usual eastward route, for a change of pace. The trees were more widely placed, and the small slopes more occurring. It felt strange to be in these neck of the woods, but other than being less familiar, she felt no different, nor did she have a reason to. She tred the floor softly, though she was lax as usual, until a strong scent waved to her. She crouched lower to the ground to get a better smell, and smiled as she rose and began to follow the rabbit trail. She drew out an arrow as the scent became stronger, and positioned the end so that it can be drawn quickly enough to shoot the fleet-footed game.
But, when she rounded a group of trees, she was quick to turn back on her heels and conceal herself behind a tree that was just rounded enough to hide her. With breath caught in her throat, she slowly crept around the trunk just enough to take a second look. What she had stumbled upon was something bigger than the rabbit she was tracking. In fact, the rabbit fell into the Fates' hands and the thing's paws. It was feline, long tail and narrowed eyes, but it was far larger than the ordinary house cat, and what it was, she did not know. This was a definate first for her.
Deciding quickly that the rabbit was lost game, already half of it gone, she slid back around to walk away quietly without disturbing the creature. But, as if luck was against her itself, she promptly stepped on something--a twig, decayed leaves, who knew--that caused the slightest of noises, and bought the cat's attention quickly. Hissing mixed with feral growls echoed from beyond the tree, and the woman herself hissed a curse at the gods. Alyssum calmly stepped away from the little safety the tree gave her, and faced the thing with bow and arrow drawn.
The cat's yellow gaze was far more than angered, as if was personally scorned by the canine before it. It advanced slowly, clearly unafraid and unimpress at what she pointed at it. But, the coywolf showed no emotion as well, though burrowed in her chest was a pounding heart. The cat did not stop, and with lips curled over teeth, knew they was no reasoning, only instinct. And her supposed instinct, or perhaps foolish pride, told her to rise to the challenge.
An arrow was loosed, and soon planted itself into the creature's foreleg. With a terrible yowl of pain, it screeched wordlessly at the woman and pounce forward unexpectantly, both paws lashing out to grip her. Alyssum backed out, but not quick enough. She howled as one set of claws made its mark upon her right arm. She dropped the bow on the impact, and it was all she could do to get away before the other paw took a swipe at her.
Once she stumbled away, she drew out the dagger she kept at her side, but awkwardly so--her right hand, the favored one, hung limp at her side as the equipped left tried to quell the blood flow. Already tan fingers were stained red, and the beast slowly approached her again, though this time with a limp. She backed away every step it took, but she knew she'd never outrun it. Bleeding, nearly weaponless, all she could think to do was to avoid his claws until what? Until she bled to death? Macbeth was not here to save her, to go get help. She was too far from the Fort to yell, and she feared to howl, as well not wanting to get someone killed because of her. Her breath quickened and eyes became wider, yet she snarled right back at the growling cat, like an animal trapped and refusing to go down without a fight.
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