03-10-2009, 08:06 PM
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500+
Cwmfen walked slowly through the packlands, and she felt her body healing, not dying, all around her. The warrior was eager for the healing process to be finished, and while she knew that she could not practice the arts of war without undoing her progress, she needed to keep her body moving, if only to keep herself busy.
Suddenly, there was an overwhelming scent of blood. The female’s ears pricked forward—she thought she could hear someone. The female quickened her pace, but only slightly, for in her state she could only push herself so far before she would undo the painstakingly slow progress. Yet, even for her wounds, the female’s movement retained their grace, and the warrior seemingly moved through the trees as she had once did. Only the urgency in her face belied her leisurely progress. The scene that unfolded before her was not something that she had expected, but, having entered from where the attacker had left, the female caught the scent, but did not recognize it. She tucked that information into the back of her mind—it would not be hard to find the perpetrator later, for the scent of the pack lingered in that smell. Another Dahlian had done this. This greatly displeased the warrior. Such bickering among the pack should not be present, and this outcome was inacceptable. But for now, the injured warrior turned her attention to one who had lost much more than she had.
Haku was already there, attempting to calm the hysterical youth. But she had rejected his aid, a mistake on her part. And when the hands that held her eyes moved to reveal what had been done to her eyes, the warrior understood the hysteria of the dark red female. Despite the sympathy the female could muster for Svara’s sufferings, she could not help but feel that Svara had only brought this upon herself. Perhaps she was quick to judge, but there was no doubt what offense that girl’s mouth would do. It had obviously drove someone to this end. And while she may not be deserving of such an end, perhaps she could see the wrongs of her character and use this lesson to better herself. Or perhaps the warrior was alone on such a thing. The female approached slowly, meeting the gaze of the Lilium briefly before turning her white eyes to the bloodied mess.
“Svara,” the alto melody called, and her voice was not made soft, but remained as it usually was, for she did not wish to provoke the other anymore with trifles. She paused to let the girl recognize her. “You need to accept his help.” Reaching down, she lifted the fallen dagger from the earth. The female had told herself that she would revoke that freely given gift should it be put to fowl use, and while she did not know exactly what had happened, she would not be lenient. For now, she would keep it with her, in case Svara should use it against herself.
Cwmfen walked slowly through the packlands, and she felt her body healing, not dying, all around her. The warrior was eager for the healing process to be finished, and while she knew that she could not practice the arts of war without undoing her progress, she needed to keep her body moving, if only to keep herself busy.
Suddenly, there was an overwhelming scent of blood. The female’s ears pricked forward—she thought she could hear someone. The female quickened her pace, but only slightly, for in her state she could only push herself so far before she would undo the painstakingly slow progress. Yet, even for her wounds, the female’s movement retained their grace, and the warrior seemingly moved through the trees as she had once did. Only the urgency in her face belied her leisurely progress. The scene that unfolded before her was not something that she had expected, but, having entered from where the attacker had left, the female caught the scent, but did not recognize it. She tucked that information into the back of her mind—it would not be hard to find the perpetrator later, for the scent of the pack lingered in that smell. Another Dahlian had done this. This greatly displeased the warrior. Such bickering among the pack should not be present, and this outcome was inacceptable. But for now, the injured warrior turned her attention to one who had lost much more than she had.
Haku was already there, attempting to calm the hysterical youth. But she had rejected his aid, a mistake on her part. And when the hands that held her eyes moved to reveal what had been done to her eyes, the warrior understood the hysteria of the dark red female. Despite the sympathy the female could muster for Svara’s sufferings, she could not help but feel that Svara had only brought this upon herself. Perhaps she was quick to judge, but there was no doubt what offense that girl’s mouth would do. It had obviously drove someone to this end. And while she may not be deserving of such an end, perhaps she could see the wrongs of her character and use this lesson to better herself. Or perhaps the warrior was alone on such a thing. The female approached slowly, meeting the gaze of the Lilium briefly before turning her white eyes to the bloodied mess.
“Svara,” the alto melody called, and her voice was not made soft, but remained as it usually was, for she did not wish to provoke the other anymore with trifles. She paused to let the girl recognize her. “You need to accept his help.” Reaching down, she lifted the fallen dagger from the earth. The female had told herself that she would revoke that freely given gift should it be put to fowl use, and while she did not know exactly what had happened, she would not be lenient. For now, she would keep it with her, in case Svara should use it against herself.