03-31-2009, 06:39 PM
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What time of day is this?
500+
Cwmfen’s body felt as if it had completely healed, as if those mindlessly inflicted wounds of that red-eyed coy had faded into forgetfulness. But the mind did not forget, and it was not fooled. The healing had been drawn out, if only by a week, for her impatience. Haku had been there that day to keep her mind occupied, but he was not here this day. This day, she was alone in that solitude she so cherished. And yet, she would not have minded if some creature had come to share her company. And quietly, almost passively, she hoped that it would be the Lilium again. But the warrior did not dwell long on such thing not worth wasting time over. Simply hoping would not bring him or anyone, and she knew that the others would be occupied with their own business. And she was occupied with her own. Now that her body would allow her to move a little easier once more, she had taken to practicing her bow. But she did not shift down. Not yet.
The black, woad marked fae moved silently through the woods, her movements as fluid and transient as the shadows that fell from the boughs of the trees. And the blue woad broke up the solidity of her tenebrous form, providing camouflage aside from the martial power and protection that were held within them. The white orbs were alert, the only light and trace of her passing presence. The woad bound ears were erected and her nose alerted, searching for any sign of passing. The bow held loosely within her hands sung dimly as it searched, and it hungered for flesh. The warrior was not searching for a wolf, or any canine for that matter. She sought food. The flesh of rabbit or rat or mouse. For the past moon, she had eaten only briefly, relying upon the food that had been provided by those willing, or the scraps that she had managed to scavenge. And the warrior, while thankful for those scraps, tired of scavenging. Today, she meant to hunt.
She paused, her ceasing sudden but fluid, indiscernible from the sylvan setting. Her head lifted in the silence, the ears swiveling as she searched for that movement. She found it again—to her left. The white orbs darted to find the movement, catching it in the distance. And then she was moving again, and it was as if she hunted an enemy. The bow lifted, an arrow already knocked upon the tendon. The black fae was no more than a spear’s length from her quarry when she stopped again, lifting her bow and drawing the tendon back for the kill. But she stopped herself and lowered the bow once more. The shapes were too familiar, but she could not scent them for the wind that drew it away. Silently, the warrior moved in to investigate. And she was glad, for when she identified the creature—or creatures—it turned out to be her packmates. One was Kol Stormbringer, whom she had met only recently and briefly, but whom she had taken a liking to; and she trusted Stormbringer more because Haku did, and he did not trust many. The other was Alexey, the she-wolf that Sankor had sought even when they had first met, but whom she had never had the pleasure of meeting.
The she-wolf gave a short call, something between a bark and a growl, in greeting. But it was not until she had joined them that she realized that there was a severity within the air. As she approached then head on, she slung her bow upon her shoulder, holding the arrow still within her right hand. The white orbs sought those of the other two. "What happened?" The alto melody was soft, but it held a belligerence in it. She hoped that Kol had not been wounded by another packmate. But whoever did do this would be found and dealt with.
What time of day is this?
500+
Cwmfen’s body felt as if it had completely healed, as if those mindlessly inflicted wounds of that red-eyed coy had faded into forgetfulness. But the mind did not forget, and it was not fooled. The healing had been drawn out, if only by a week, for her impatience. Haku had been there that day to keep her mind occupied, but he was not here this day. This day, she was alone in that solitude she so cherished. And yet, she would not have minded if some creature had come to share her company. And quietly, almost passively, she hoped that it would be the Lilium again. But the warrior did not dwell long on such thing not worth wasting time over. Simply hoping would not bring him or anyone, and she knew that the others would be occupied with their own business. And she was occupied with her own. Now that her body would allow her to move a little easier once more, she had taken to practicing her bow. But she did not shift down. Not yet.
The black, woad marked fae moved silently through the woods, her movements as fluid and transient as the shadows that fell from the boughs of the trees. And the blue woad broke up the solidity of her tenebrous form, providing camouflage aside from the martial power and protection that were held within them. The white orbs were alert, the only light and trace of her passing presence. The woad bound ears were erected and her nose alerted, searching for any sign of passing. The bow held loosely within her hands sung dimly as it searched, and it hungered for flesh. The warrior was not searching for a wolf, or any canine for that matter. She sought food. The flesh of rabbit or rat or mouse. For the past moon, she had eaten only briefly, relying upon the food that had been provided by those willing, or the scraps that she had managed to scavenge. And the warrior, while thankful for those scraps, tired of scavenging. Today, she meant to hunt.
She paused, her ceasing sudden but fluid, indiscernible from the sylvan setting. Her head lifted in the silence, the ears swiveling as she searched for that movement. She found it again—to her left. The white orbs darted to find the movement, catching it in the distance. And then she was moving again, and it was as if she hunted an enemy. The bow lifted, an arrow already knocked upon the tendon. The black fae was no more than a spear’s length from her quarry when she stopped again, lifting her bow and drawing the tendon back for the kill. But she stopped herself and lowered the bow once more. The shapes were too familiar, but she could not scent them for the wind that drew it away. Silently, the warrior moved in to investigate. And she was glad, for when she identified the creature—or creatures—it turned out to be her packmates. One was Kol Stormbringer, whom she had met only recently and briefly, but whom she had taken a liking to; and she trusted Stormbringer more because Haku did, and he did not trust many. The other was Alexey, the she-wolf that Sankor had sought even when they had first met, but whom she had never had the pleasure of meeting.
The she-wolf gave a short call, something between a bark and a growl, in greeting. But it was not until she had joined them that she realized that there was a severity within the air. As she approached then head on, she slung her bow upon her shoulder, holding the arrow still within her right hand. The white orbs sought those of the other two. "What happened?" The alto melody was soft, but it held a belligerence in it. She hoped that Kol had not been wounded by another packmate. But whoever did do this would be found and dealt with.