The Physical Setting of a Dream

Anatole Aston · 09-09-2012, 02:36 PM

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The woman was dark and two legged, with a fidgeting horse that reeked of sweat and fear. Twin impulses tugged at him; this was prey, weakened by its run, but it was a horse in its prime and with hooves capable of cracking his skull in two. Anatole slowed and regarded her with sharp, piercing eyes. They lingered on her knife, recognizing it, knowing that such weapons were as dangerous as teeth and claws.

At her bark of surprise he frowned severely. The fur along his neck bristled, but only there—it was a warning, subtle as it was. They were not deep enough into the territory to warrant more, and by all accounts, she was beyond AniWaya’s borders yet. “It’s a greeting,” he snapped, feeding off the scents and behavior presented to him. A gentle breeze brushed against his fur and Anatole forced out a breath. His temper was still terrible, but he was learning how to better function in situations such as these. They were strange to him yet, as was presenting anything but hostility when it came to strangers.

“You’re close to my Tribe’s land,” he warned her, dark form shifting slightly as his weight rocked back towards his haunches. A sharp cry sounded from above. The eagle’s scream was peculiar; there was a strange sort of tone to it, as if the noise had been carried over some great distance. Anatole’s ears flicked up at the noise and his head turned towards Donoma’s form, perched above them. “Your prey is wounded. You should have made a cleaner strike.”

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