11-19-2008, 07:28 PM
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700
Cwmfen nodded occasionally as the blue-eyed Rosea spoke. She was surprised to find that, even with Slay holding the leading rank of the hunters, he did not preside over who came under his command. Perhaps her surprise was due to her preconception of pack structures, but she let it fall easily. She trusted that such a system worked within a pack. Indeed, as she thought it through, the concept made more sense. To allow wolves to choose avoided the biases of nepotism; yet, she wondered what would occur if one should fail at efficiently carrying out required tasks. But as the white woman continued, such a question was answered. And the black female concluded that should a wolf be deficient in one area, the wolf would be able to decide to move to another profession—if not, she supposed that that was what the leaders were for. The woad-marked female knew, however, that she mustn’t assume too much, but quiet observation and experience would make her wiser.
"Thank you," came the reply of the silver toned alto. The young fae wagged her tail cheerfully and a lighthearted smile widened upon her woad-bound maw. She was glad that Cercelee thought her fit for such a task. Indeed, while Cwmfen herself had never hunted with another (even her father or mother), the prospect of a coordinated hunt excited her. Perhaps it was over romanticized, but she felt that should she be hunt with even one other, the relationship between them would grow in a away that only combat could allow, and hunting she considered to be a type of combat. There was a new urgency in the back of her mind that desired to meet this Slay, and to meet also the characters of his trade.
Cercelee’s next explanation did not disappoint the fae, nor did she judge. She did not necessarily expect another place—this pack had a territory, dens, and a meeting place. The she-wolf could think of nothing that could be added, but perhaps that would come later; she did not voice her thoughts because she knew of her ignorance. She considered the topic of a house or den for several moments. In the end, she decided that she had no use of one. The wild fae was accustom to sleeping in the open, and she found that when confined to the wall of a house, she felt trapped or somehow bound down. Should she need shelter from the weather, a house would be nice, but there were vacant buildings; she had shared a similar building with the hybrid DaVinci during a rain storm, and that was all she could handle from an edifice.
"Traditions?" she found herself repeating. "Unfortunately when I was a pup—my mother—" She struggled for a moment as she fought for the right words. The resurfacing of the past caused her great disturbance in the soul. But taking a deep breath, she tried to sort the chaos threatening to break forth. "My father kept my mother and me from associating with the other packs—or other wolves, for that matter. Much of the traditions of my culture are lost on me...for lack of exposure...." The soft alto trailed off, and the white orbs seemed to watch a distant memory. She shook her head, returning to the present. "As you say, there is much potential—the harbor and vineyard, and the library too. They all seem to be places rich in knowledge." Knowledge of working things in ones hand or mind. She herself was curious of such things, and she thought that perhaps the place to start would be the library, as it would hold things of the past. But she could not decipher any sort of cipher. In the harbor, she could see a military advantage, but it was peace that was stressed in these days, and she tried not to force hostility. "Perhaps there should be a common den...? If there was extreme weather, perhaps a place for the entire pack to den would be ideal.... It would definitely allow for getting acquainted with each other." The woad-marked fae smiled lightly. She wanted to get to know all the pack members some day.
700
Cwmfen nodded occasionally as the blue-eyed Rosea spoke. She was surprised to find that, even with Slay holding the leading rank of the hunters, he did not preside over who came under his command. Perhaps her surprise was due to her preconception of pack structures, but she let it fall easily. She trusted that such a system worked within a pack. Indeed, as she thought it through, the concept made more sense. To allow wolves to choose avoided the biases of nepotism; yet, she wondered what would occur if one should fail at efficiently carrying out required tasks. But as the white woman continued, such a question was answered. And the black female concluded that should a wolf be deficient in one area, the wolf would be able to decide to move to another profession—if not, she supposed that that was what the leaders were for. The woad-marked female knew, however, that she mustn’t assume too much, but quiet observation and experience would make her wiser.
"Thank you," came the reply of the silver toned alto. The young fae wagged her tail cheerfully and a lighthearted smile widened upon her woad-bound maw. She was glad that Cercelee thought her fit for such a task. Indeed, while Cwmfen herself had never hunted with another (even her father or mother), the prospect of a coordinated hunt excited her. Perhaps it was over romanticized, but she felt that should she be hunt with even one other, the relationship between them would grow in a away that only combat could allow, and hunting she considered to be a type of combat. There was a new urgency in the back of her mind that desired to meet this Slay, and to meet also the characters of his trade.
Cercelee’s next explanation did not disappoint the fae, nor did she judge. She did not necessarily expect another place—this pack had a territory, dens, and a meeting place. The she-wolf could think of nothing that could be added, but perhaps that would come later; she did not voice her thoughts because she knew of her ignorance. She considered the topic of a house or den for several moments. In the end, she decided that she had no use of one. The wild fae was accustom to sleeping in the open, and she found that when confined to the wall of a house, she felt trapped or somehow bound down. Should she need shelter from the weather, a house would be nice, but there were vacant buildings; she had shared a similar building with the hybrid DaVinci during a rain storm, and that was all she could handle from an edifice.
"Traditions?" she found herself repeating. "Unfortunately when I was a pup—my mother—" She struggled for a moment as she fought for the right words. The resurfacing of the past caused her great disturbance in the soul. But taking a deep breath, she tried to sort the chaos threatening to break forth. "My father kept my mother and me from associating with the other packs—or other wolves, for that matter. Much of the traditions of my culture are lost on me...for lack of exposure...." The soft alto trailed off, and the white orbs seemed to watch a distant memory. She shook her head, returning to the present. "As you say, there is much potential—the harbor and vineyard, and the library too. They all seem to be places rich in knowledge." Knowledge of working things in ones hand or mind. She herself was curious of such things, and she thought that perhaps the place to start would be the library, as it would hold things of the past. But she could not decipher any sort of cipher. In the harbor, she could see a military advantage, but it was peace that was stressed in these days, and she tried not to force hostility. "Perhaps there should be a common den...? If there was extreme weather, perhaps a place for the entire pack to den would be ideal.... It would definitely allow for getting acquainted with each other." The woad-marked fae smiled lightly. She wanted to get to know all the pack members some day.