08-30-2009, 01:44 PM
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Her den, ^=^ 700+ The morning was already old when the black wolf emerged from her den. She was silent, her form imperceptible as she stood there unmoving. She was, simply, a shadow cast by the light upon a branch, a leaf even. And she listened as she stood in stillness. The forest was quiet, the air whispering a quiet song as the distant brook sighed upon its way from the spring. The trees breathed deeply, and the warrior breathed with them, her eyes closing as the woad-bound ears searched for the deeper sounds of treading feet. There was a flutter of wings—not the Raven’s, but a softer sound. The birds whistled, and a soft smile graced the woad-bound maw. Her eyes opened. There was no creature in dangerous proximity, and the mother was satisfied. The pups dozed in the safety of the den with their bellies filled with her milk, and the world without was safe. For now. With silent fluidity she stepped from the mouth of the den and shifted. The tenderness of the wound upon her thigh continued to persist. As the shift was completed and the optime form donned, she paused to rub away the discomfort of that wound. Much time was still required to pass before the healing would be complete for the wound was deep and to the bone. It was several moments before the healing wound could be assuaged, and then the warrior moved to the weapons that leaned upon the great, watchful oak. Woad-bound fingers tentatively touched the shaft of the Raven Spear, its song leaping aggressively to life. A soft smile played across her quiet lips, but she did not grasp the weapon. Instead, she moved the Badb and took up the blade. Its song rang with lessened triumph, for it had been that weapon that had seen defeat by Corvus’ hand. Her left hand was placed upon the blade in a soothing manner, and Badb rang with the reassurance. Standing with a distance from the den, she breathed deeply. This place was not as open as the field within which she normally held such practices, but it would suffice. She would not return to that place with the purpose to train until the pups could travel greater distances. Until then, she would wait. The woad warrior’s body remembered the songs and forms of war. She had practiced often since the opening of the twins’ eyes, and already her body had doffed the softness of idleness and had regained the crisp, controlled precision of a practiced warrior. The black fae found that there was less to regain than she had anticipated. Already, nearly all had been regained. But she did not seek to simply stop there. There was much to be learned still, to allow herself to rise above defeat, to rise above weakness. Without her fear of Corvus, for it was that alone which had been gained (or, more properly, relinquished) by her defeat that night nearly three moons ago, there was much to be realized. Several hours of strenuous training had passed before the wound forced her to stop. She paused, th heat rising from her body and her breathing only slightly labored. The white orbs that seemed to exude their own light regarded the blade with approval before she moved slowly to relinquish the blade at its spot beside the Spear. Soft sounds caused her to turn, and she found that the pups had awaken. Chastity’s white and black eyes regarded Honor, who watched his mother, before turning to find Cwmfen. She responded with a silent smile before she strode over, kneeling before them despite the soreness in her thigh. The younglings rolled out of the tunnel and into the soft, welcoming foliage before they approached their mother. Woad bound fingers touched both gently, cupping their small faces affectionately before she sent them silently to play. The boy and girl moved diligently to the nest before playing with each other, soft growls and mewls rising quietly upon the golden afternoon air. Cwmfen sat upon the grass, the white orbs watching her children as she rubbed the thigh once more to alleviate tension. The woad bound ears lifted at the sound of approach, but it was a sound, although different, that she recognized. Without the presence of danger, the warrior’s eyes did not abandon the twins. |