07-19-2009, 07:27 PM
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I hope Oberon’s Spring is okay, ^=^ It is near her den~500+
The day grew late and the sky glowed with gold as the bright eye prepared to dip below the horizon once more. The woad marked fae had moved throughout the Dahlian lands, occasionally allowing herself to traverse the more familiar places in the unclaimed territory. But the warrior was careful, and she never lingered long. It seemed as if, with the time of birthing growing near (and though she knew not how long it should take, she could sense the time approaching), she required both more movement and more rest. The warrior grew restless, but she knew that at this point any ill-fated even would be fatal to the unborn litter and perhaps fatal even to herself. And the instinct to survive was stronger than any other thought or urge she experienced. Nevertheless, the woad warrior persistently moved through the lands, traveling easier now and once more with that fluidity. The scars no longer snarled in protest, although her right leg could endure much less than it once could. Now, with the setting sun, she felt the fatigue in that leg and returned to her den, though she did not forget to listen to the songs of dusk and wonder at those strange melodies and colours.
A soft smile moved with indiscernible grace across her quiet lips. She had not entered her den since the day before she had attacked Brennt, and she was still unwilling to move inside; the black female did not think that she could fit into the opening she had dug, not in this optime form. While she missed the quiet and cool comforts of her earthen home, she was more than content with the soft foliage at the tunnel’s mouth. She slept there every night under the silent vigilance of the great tree beneath which she had made her home. And there, she could sleep to the lull of the nighttime songs that sung with quiet whispers, to the soft laughter of the stream and to the benign whisper of the trees. The black fae wondered if the pups within her could hear, for surely the peace of the world could quiet their tenebrous potential.
The left hand went suddenly to her stomach, for one had moved within her suddenly. A soft, quiet sound sang briefly from her throat as she considered the movement inside. Yes, she thought silently, I am not ready to Dream. Fluidly, she moved to place the Raven Spear with its belligerent brothers against the tree’s great trunk, and the soft hum of war fell dormant. The white eyes considered the weapons for a brief moment before she continued along the river, moving with that unhurried grace. The pool opened up before her, its cool and slowed waters gentle and calming, bidding her to enter. The water, she thought, was a most powerful force, one that could teach many to be calm when necessary and violent when called. She knelt upon the ledge, placing her legs into the water. She had sat like this when Onus had fished here several days ago.... A quiet sadness entered those white orbs. With a soft sigh, the woman placed her hands against the earth so that she may slip into the cool embrace of the pool.
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The day grew late and the sky glowed with gold as the bright eye prepared to dip below the horizon once more. The woad marked fae had moved throughout the Dahlian lands, occasionally allowing herself to traverse the more familiar places in the unclaimed territory. But the warrior was careful, and she never lingered long. It seemed as if, with the time of birthing growing near (and though she knew not how long it should take, she could sense the time approaching), she required both more movement and more rest. The warrior grew restless, but she knew that at this point any ill-fated even would be fatal to the unborn litter and perhaps fatal even to herself. And the instinct to survive was stronger than any other thought or urge she experienced. Nevertheless, the woad warrior persistently moved through the lands, traveling easier now and once more with that fluidity. The scars no longer snarled in protest, although her right leg could endure much less than it once could. Now, with the setting sun, she felt the fatigue in that leg and returned to her den, though she did not forget to listen to the songs of dusk and wonder at those strange melodies and colours.
A soft smile moved with indiscernible grace across her quiet lips. She had not entered her den since the day before she had attacked Brennt, and she was still unwilling to move inside; the black female did not think that she could fit into the opening she had dug, not in this optime form. While she missed the quiet and cool comforts of her earthen home, she was more than content with the soft foliage at the tunnel’s mouth. She slept there every night under the silent vigilance of the great tree beneath which she had made her home. And there, she could sleep to the lull of the nighttime songs that sung with quiet whispers, to the soft laughter of the stream and to the benign whisper of the trees. The black fae wondered if the pups within her could hear, for surely the peace of the world could quiet their tenebrous potential.
The left hand went suddenly to her stomach, for one had moved within her suddenly. A soft, quiet sound sang briefly from her throat as she considered the movement inside. Yes, she thought silently, I am not ready to Dream. Fluidly, she moved to place the Raven Spear with its belligerent brothers against the tree’s great trunk, and the soft hum of war fell dormant. The white eyes considered the weapons for a brief moment before she continued along the river, moving with that unhurried grace. The pool opened up before her, its cool and slowed waters gentle and calming, bidding her to enter. The water, she thought, was a most powerful force, one that could teach many to be calm when necessary and violent when called. She knelt upon the ledge, placing her legs into the water. She had sat like this when Onus had fished here several days ago.... A quiet sadness entered those white orbs. With a soft sigh, the woman placed her hands against the earth so that she may slip into the cool embrace of the pool.