07-20-2009, 07:42 PM
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Post-dated to the 21st~ Somewhere in the forest, ^=^;;
500+
The black fae rolled her shoulders, testing the soreness of her muscles and of the wound upon her neck. The pain wasn’t severe, and she knew that she had not caused any serious damage to herself. Nevertheless, she would not push herself. This had not been the first time that her impatience had brought harm upon herself. With a wry amusement, she recalled the day she had attempted to shift down after several long weeks of healing from the near-fatal attack. It was strange, then, because it had been Haku who had found her, licking her wounds. She couldn’t say why that thought made her feel the strangeness; perhaps it was because such a thing would not happen again.... This time, however, no blood had been spilt. She would simply relinquish the use of her bow and rely upon her Spear.
The pregnant female moved silently and slowly through the woods, her ears lifted and her eyes alert. Occasionally, she would wave the woad-bound maw through the air, catching the faint scent trails that hung like fine powder in the air. Occasionally, the woad-tipped tail would move behind her with sinuous paths, adjusting to the change in balance as she moved along the uneven floor of the forest. Golden light filtered through the summertime canopy, and the birds sang along with the songs of the world. But the black female passed through the beauty of the golden woods as a shadow wreathed in lesser silver, with a softer, darker song singing from her soul. And yet, it was not unbecoming of the female, for it was not unlike the guise she had assumed upon her arrival to these lands many moons ago. And yet, this time there was a dimness to the light of her eyes, its intensity only slowly returning with the passing of time.
She paused, a sudden and yet gradual movement, as if she were simply a part of the forest. Her ears pressed forward as her maw twitched. The Raven Spear sang with approval. She had found another meal. With slow and careful steps, the warrior stalked her unseen prey, creating a large and sweeping circle as her senses searched for her meal. Then she saw it, lying in a sun-lit patch of grass and soft foliage. The white orbs watched it as if in challenge, the fierce intensity holding it there. Slowly, her right arm lifted, her grip adjusting upon the Spear’s decorated shaft, and she held it there above her shoulder, listening to the soft hum. Listening... The song moved like silver glass through her soul—and then it rose up and the Spear flew from her hand, thrown with a speed and accuracy that could not be escaped, that could not be matched. Even with her state, her form was perfect, and she held her stance even as the blade pierced the body. The rabbit’s cry of Death rose up like the wailing of a child, causing the birds to scatter.
When the world had grown quiet once more, the black wolf moved forward and grasped the Spear, pulling its blade from the earth now damp with blood. The scent was warm and fresh as she breathed it in. And the woman had prepared to kneel, to feed upon the meal she had hunted, when a sound caught her attention. She spun, perhaps a little to quickly for comfort, and her left hand went to support her belly that acted as a counterweight, the Spear rising in her grasp once more, ready to fly, ready to feed.
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500+
The black fae rolled her shoulders, testing the soreness of her muscles and of the wound upon her neck. The pain wasn’t severe, and she knew that she had not caused any serious damage to herself. Nevertheless, she would not push herself. This had not been the first time that her impatience had brought harm upon herself. With a wry amusement, she recalled the day she had attempted to shift down after several long weeks of healing from the near-fatal attack. It was strange, then, because it had been Haku who had found her, licking her wounds. She couldn’t say why that thought made her feel the strangeness; perhaps it was because such a thing would not happen again.... This time, however, no blood had been spilt. She would simply relinquish the use of her bow and rely upon her Spear.
The pregnant female moved silently and slowly through the woods, her ears lifted and her eyes alert. Occasionally, she would wave the woad-bound maw through the air, catching the faint scent trails that hung like fine powder in the air. Occasionally, the woad-tipped tail would move behind her with sinuous paths, adjusting to the change in balance as she moved along the uneven floor of the forest. Golden light filtered through the summertime canopy, and the birds sang along with the songs of the world. But the black female passed through the beauty of the golden woods as a shadow wreathed in lesser silver, with a softer, darker song singing from her soul. And yet, it was not unbecoming of the female, for it was not unlike the guise she had assumed upon her arrival to these lands many moons ago. And yet, this time there was a dimness to the light of her eyes, its intensity only slowly returning with the passing of time.
She paused, a sudden and yet gradual movement, as if she were simply a part of the forest. Her ears pressed forward as her maw twitched. The Raven Spear sang with approval. She had found another meal. With slow and careful steps, the warrior stalked her unseen prey, creating a large and sweeping circle as her senses searched for her meal. Then she saw it, lying in a sun-lit patch of grass and soft foliage. The white orbs watched it as if in challenge, the fierce intensity holding it there. Slowly, her right arm lifted, her grip adjusting upon the Spear’s decorated shaft, and she held it there above her shoulder, listening to the soft hum. Listening... The song moved like silver glass through her soul—and then it rose up and the Spear flew from her hand, thrown with a speed and accuracy that could not be escaped, that could not be matched. Even with her state, her form was perfect, and she held her stance even as the blade pierced the body. The rabbit’s cry of Death rose up like the wailing of a child, causing the birds to scatter.
When the world had grown quiet once more, the black wolf moved forward and grasped the Spear, pulling its blade from the earth now damp with blood. The scent was warm and fresh as she breathed it in. And the woman had prepared to kneel, to feed upon the meal she had hunted, when a sound caught her attention. She spun, perhaps a little to quickly for comfort, and her left hand went to support her belly that acted as a counterweight, the Spear rising in her grasp once more, ready to fly, ready to feed.