11-25-2009, 10:07 PM
[html]ooc: 300+ wc
baaaah delay ruined steady thread. I'm sorry, I've been kinda sick from FOODPOISONING OHNOES, and I am sorry :<
Snug against the backdrop of a magnificent old tree, Strelein pulled at the bolts on the instrument's head. The thing sat plainly in his lap, warm from the heat that his body contained. Every now and then he plucked at a string, then tightened or loosened the corresponding bolt. Grumbles of frustration were escaping him as the lute refused to be properly tuned. He'd be at this for nearly half an hour and the light at the end of the tunnel for the endeavor seemed more like a flickering candle at the bottom of a well.
What on earth is wrong with today? he pondered, recalling the day. He'd gotten up that morning to walk straight into a wall instead of the open door. Then, he couldn't find himself a proper breakfast and had ended up skipping that. When Strel had decided he had wanted lunch, he had to struggle for an hour to catch something. Sure the product was good, but the chase had annoyed him more than he would have cared. And now, his lute simply would not get in tune! What ELSE could possibly happen to make this worse? He grumbled again, smelling the rain on the wind. The wetness in the air was probably keeping the instrument from sounding its most superb. A curse escaped his lips, directed straight at the heavens above. It felt like someone was laughing at him.
Ears suddenly flattened and Strel silenced himself and the musical object. Sniffing the air and ignoring the scent of rain and weak salt, he could smell someone. Someone not of his pack. He almost cringed at the thought of a stranger so far inside the territory, wondering why they had not been found by someone significantly stronger or more important on the Cour's food chain. He was too young to die!
Rising, he gently nestled the lute at the base of the tree. Then, trying to seek out the source of the scent, he shiftily moved as quietly as he could. Strel did not need to go far to find the source. A rather not too terribly threatening source. At least it was a female, someone who looked much more afraid than he was feeling at the moment. Or maybe that was not fear so much as confusion? Perhaps she was lost? Clearing his throat, Strel stepped out into her line of sight, meekly grinning.
"Excuse me, miss? Are you lost?"
baaaah delay ruined steady thread. I'm sorry, I've been kinda sick from FOODPOISONING OHNOES, and I am sorry :<
Snug against the backdrop of a magnificent old tree, Strelein pulled at the bolts on the instrument's head. The thing sat plainly in his lap, warm from the heat that his body contained. Every now and then he plucked at a string, then tightened or loosened the corresponding bolt. Grumbles of frustration were escaping him as the lute refused to be properly tuned. He'd be at this for nearly half an hour and the light at the end of the tunnel for the endeavor seemed more like a flickering candle at the bottom of a well.
What on earth is wrong with today? he pondered, recalling the day. He'd gotten up that morning to walk straight into a wall instead of the open door. Then, he couldn't find himself a proper breakfast and had ended up skipping that. When Strel had decided he had wanted lunch, he had to struggle for an hour to catch something. Sure the product was good, but the chase had annoyed him more than he would have cared. And now, his lute simply would not get in tune! What ELSE could possibly happen to make this worse? He grumbled again, smelling the rain on the wind. The wetness in the air was probably keeping the instrument from sounding its most superb. A curse escaped his lips, directed straight at the heavens above. It felt like someone was laughing at him.
Ears suddenly flattened and Strel silenced himself and the musical object. Sniffing the air and ignoring the scent of rain and weak salt, he could smell someone. Someone not of his pack. He almost cringed at the thought of a stranger so far inside the territory, wondering why they had not been found by someone significantly stronger or more important on the Cour's food chain. He was too young to die!
Rising, he gently nestled the lute at the base of the tree. Then, trying to seek out the source of the scent, he shiftily moved as quietly as he could. Strel did not need to go far to find the source. A rather not too terribly threatening source. At least it was a female, someone who looked much more afraid than he was feeling at the moment. Or maybe that was not fear so much as confusion? Perhaps she was lost? Clearing his throat, Strel stepped out into her line of sight, meekly grinning.
"Excuse me, miss? Are you lost?"