08-11-2012, 12:41 AM
Medusa and Ksenija hadn't yet approached the borders of the strange cave pack Anathema, though they had promised each other they would soon. Until then, they had camped close to the border, a respectful distance of approximately ten yards outside. They were cautious, not wanting to anger any of the pack members. The two had put lots of thought and effort into their pack decision, and they didn't want to mess it up. That would be devestatingly disappointing to the women at that point. Medusa didn't know if their tentative trust for each other would hold after another pack hope would be extinguished.
It didn't matter though, as soon they would be able to join. She knew in her heart that they'd be able to get in and it would work out. After all, the golden woman had heard that a horrible bitch of a woman had been able to join despite disrespecting the leaders of the pack. If she could get in with brash rudeness, Ksenija and Medusa would certainly be able to join with a certain sense of suave foreign politeness. It was a simple manner for them.
Stirring a small fire and shivering slightly, Medusa drew her tattered cloak about her, curling within its folds. It was getting chilly, for some reason. She believed the season called for warm weather, but she thought she scented rain on the wind. Shrugging, she put her arms into the good of her cloak and felt the snakes flee to the warmth and safety in her tangled hair and cloak. The cold-blooded creatures they were, all the snakes wanted was to steal a little of her warmth for themselves in a fit to survive. She knew and kept them safe when it was too cold for them to make it on their own, being used to Serbia and the rest of the former Yugoslavia. Once the snakes were safely in the warmth of her neck area, the nimble hands returned to what they were doing, one clutching the cloak and the other poking her meager fire with a stick.
The fire existed because Medusa was learning to make them. She didn't much bother with actually cooking meat, anymore, and she was used to long nights with no fire in the cold. There was often cold, unrelenting drizzle, but no shelter. No companions. Companions like Ksenija, someone beginning to mean a lot to the snake woman. The big Russian woman curled around Medusa's smaller frame at night, an almost irreverent warmth radiating between them. She wanted for it to never end, be a dream life in Anathema.
Of course, they'd need friends as well. Medusa frowned slightly from within the depths of her cowl. She wasn't the best at making friends. The Narrator got in the way far too often. "Oh well," she muttered to herself. "Life of lonely hood is still life, yes?" She scowled. She couldn't lie to herself like that. Being alone was no fun and she knew it.
It didn't matter though, as soon they would be able to join. She knew in her heart that they'd be able to get in and it would work out. After all, the golden woman had heard that a horrible bitch of a woman had been able to join despite disrespecting the leaders of the pack. If she could get in with brash rudeness, Ksenija and Medusa would certainly be able to join with a certain sense of suave foreign politeness. It was a simple manner for them.
Stirring a small fire and shivering slightly, Medusa drew her tattered cloak about her, curling within its folds. It was getting chilly, for some reason. She believed the season called for warm weather, but she thought she scented rain on the wind. Shrugging, she put her arms into the good of her cloak and felt the snakes flee to the warmth and safety in her tangled hair and cloak. The cold-blooded creatures they were, all the snakes wanted was to steal a little of her warmth for themselves in a fit to survive. She knew and kept them safe when it was too cold for them to make it on their own, being used to Serbia and the rest of the former Yugoslavia. Once the snakes were safely in the warmth of her neck area, the nimble hands returned to what they were doing, one clutching the cloak and the other poking her meager fire with a stick.
The fire existed because Medusa was learning to make them. She didn't much bother with actually cooking meat, anymore, and she was used to long nights with no fire in the cold. There was often cold, unrelenting drizzle, but no shelter. No companions. Companions like Ksenija, someone beginning to mean a lot to the snake woman. The big Russian woman curled around Medusa's smaller frame at night, an almost irreverent warmth radiating between them. She wanted for it to never end, be a dream life in Anathema.
Of course, they'd need friends as well. Medusa frowned slightly from within the depths of her cowl. She wasn't the best at making friends. The Narrator got in the way far too often. "Oh well," she muttered to herself. "Life of lonely hood is still life, yes?" She scowled. She couldn't lie to herself like that. Being alone was no fun and she knew it.