08-20-2009, 02:52 AM
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Dated September 2, 2009 if that is okay with you?
She is at the boarders near ethereal eclipse, if that is okay. Lupus form; pups are not with her.
500+
The heavens thundered, and the skies of days grew dark and dim for the gathered clouds. The rain fell, a soft whispering melody of the earth. The waters sighed as they fed the thirsty earth and hungry rivers, and the world reveled. Thunder sounded again—distant this time, quiet, a whisper, silent. The warmth of summer, however, was not diminished. The air was thick with humidity, carrying well the drowning scents that would soon disperse as the thunder did. And the rain fell, softly and gently as if to bring a warning for later times. The rain was louder than the silence, and yet it was the silence. It was the sound of beautiful solitude, a thing that her soul could only remember. Like the soft sigh of winter, it was a thing she had relinquished with the bearing of these children. It was strange to her to have been given a seed by Onus to bear. Indeed, she had lain with him, but to bear children was not something that she had desired. And yet, she did not regret their bearing, their whelping, and their nurturing. It was as much a gift from him as it was a gift from the gods. While a warrior should not bear life as she had, she was grateful that the twins had been wrought of light and not dark. And understanding peace and cherishing life, she cared for them completely and in silence.
The fluid movements of the black fae had returned, filling her form like a celestial light that shone from those white orbs. The rain was beautiful and took her breath away. Rain, and falling snow, never ceased to take her breath away. A sigh was released, given to the symphony of the dreary, weeping world. But the scents of prey were now diluted, and so her hunt for fresh meat was unyielding. She returned to the felled deer of the prior day, a meal she had hunted with the white fae called Urma. The unfinished contents remained still, eaten marginally by the birds. The black fae paused, the warrior’s orbs turning to the wet earth. There were tracks there of many birds, of crows, and of a raven too. She considered them for a long moment. A Raven. Swiftly, her senses moved about the glade, and yet she found that she was a lone—a brief moment of solitude. Cwmfen was discontent with that answer, but she accepted what the forest had given her. Silently, she returned to the meat, devouring her fill with soft growls of her delight. The meet of deer was like no other meet, just as the flesh of fish was as no other flesh. And when she was satisfied, she did not return to her den, moving as a shadow.
The pups were already a moon old, and they were safer upon their own. She would not leave them for long, but she felt compelled to follow that Raven’s call. Was it but an echo? At times, it was difficult for the Raven Dreamer to discern what was Real and what was Dream, but it was as it should be for Dreamers to be aware of both worlds in that acute, peculiar way. At long last, she found herself upon the Dahlian boarders. The white orbs drank in the landscape that seemed to flow with life that would soon die with the coming of autumn. Pausing, she listened to the sound of the world dying, and yet it was not a somber melody. It was bright still, tranquil and flowing, for death was not eternal. Nothing was eternal save for Time itself, for even the gods could fade from existence. The woad-marked fae took a step forward, silently and toward the boarder. There was a sudden movement—her own movement—as she side stepped with strange calm and fluidity. The woad bound ears lifted at the sound of the sudden, metallic snap, and the metal jaws lay closed at her side. She considered them as if the primal wolf expected those jaws to leap alive once more. But there was nothing save the stillness of her body and the lifelessness of the metal.
She is at the boarders near ethereal eclipse, if that is okay. Lupus form; pups are not with her.
500+
The heavens thundered, and the skies of days grew dark and dim for the gathered clouds. The rain fell, a soft whispering melody of the earth. The waters sighed as they fed the thirsty earth and hungry rivers, and the world reveled. Thunder sounded again—distant this time, quiet, a whisper, silent. The warmth of summer, however, was not diminished. The air was thick with humidity, carrying well the drowning scents that would soon disperse as the thunder did. And the rain fell, softly and gently as if to bring a warning for later times. The rain was louder than the silence, and yet it was the silence. It was the sound of beautiful solitude, a thing that her soul could only remember. Like the soft sigh of winter, it was a thing she had relinquished with the bearing of these children. It was strange to her to have been given a seed by Onus to bear. Indeed, she had lain with him, but to bear children was not something that she had desired. And yet, she did not regret their bearing, their whelping, and their nurturing. It was as much a gift from him as it was a gift from the gods. While a warrior should not bear life as she had, she was grateful that the twins had been wrought of light and not dark. And understanding peace and cherishing life, she cared for them completely and in silence.
The fluid movements of the black fae had returned, filling her form like a celestial light that shone from those white orbs. The rain was beautiful and took her breath away. Rain, and falling snow, never ceased to take her breath away. A sigh was released, given to the symphony of the dreary, weeping world. But the scents of prey were now diluted, and so her hunt for fresh meat was unyielding. She returned to the felled deer of the prior day, a meal she had hunted with the white fae called Urma. The unfinished contents remained still, eaten marginally by the birds. The black fae paused, the warrior’s orbs turning to the wet earth. There were tracks there of many birds, of crows, and of a raven too. She considered them for a long moment. A Raven. Swiftly, her senses moved about the glade, and yet she found that she was a lone—a brief moment of solitude. Cwmfen was discontent with that answer, but she accepted what the forest had given her. Silently, she returned to the meat, devouring her fill with soft growls of her delight. The meet of deer was like no other meet, just as the flesh of fish was as no other flesh. And when she was satisfied, she did not return to her den, moving as a shadow.
The pups were already a moon old, and they were safer upon their own. She would not leave them for long, but she felt compelled to follow that Raven’s call. Was it but an echo? At times, it was difficult for the Raven Dreamer to discern what was Real and what was Dream, but it was as it should be for Dreamers to be aware of both worlds in that acute, peculiar way. At long last, she found herself upon the Dahlian boarders. The white orbs drank in the landscape that seemed to flow with life that would soon die with the coming of autumn. Pausing, she listened to the sound of the world dying, and yet it was not a somber melody. It was bright still, tranquil and flowing, for death was not eternal. Nothing was eternal save for Time itself, for even the gods could fade from existence. The woad-marked fae took a step forward, silently and toward the boarder. There was a sudden movement—her own movement—as she side stepped with strange calm and fluidity. The woad bound ears lifted at the sound of the sudden, metallic snap, and the metal jaws lay closed at her side. She considered them as if the primal wolf expected those jaws to leap alive once more. But there was nothing save the stillness of her body and the lifelessness of the metal.