01-04-2010, 09:28 PM
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510 SSWM
I said rapid fire and I give snail's pace /sigh.
There was a distant crunching noise in the bush, muffled by the closeness of the trees around the redhead. He ignored it and thought nothing of it. It could have been something particularly worrisome, but he doubted anything big enough to harm him would have a hard time navigating at him and if it did, then he could have time to slip between trees away from the noise's source. Strelein crouched, then sat on the brook's bank. His legs were stretched out to touch the other side of the water's bank, easily reaching. The visible soil was cold, half frozen, and the grass was dead beneath the layer of frost. He leaned over, examining the ice on the edges. A piece broke off in his hand, fractures running a few inches beyond the small gap. The shard was thin, much like a piece of shale or some flat, overused blade.
The ice fell from his hand as he yelped. Red briefly swarmed his eye sight before being replaced with stars of pain. His hand rubbed at the place where he had felt something strike. Strel held back tears brought on by sudden pain, and pain alone, by wincing as he rubbed. Something had hit him out of nowhere. Were he under attack? He did not know, ducking down further to plunge a hand into the water and bring it out quickly to press against his head. By now the pain was gone and the area only throbbed from the soreness of a budding bruise. The fur that hid it was a blessing indeed, for the color would distract everyone from the ugly purple thing that would form soon enough there.
"Oh who the bloody hell..," he cursed, rising towards the direction of the shot. Strel saw nothing but the form of a rock that had not been there. Whatever had hurt him must have been beyond the strange new stone. Then, senses returning, he growled at the stone that was nothing but a fallen wolf. The beast seemed young, but that was no excuse not to call the guy out for hitting him with whatever it was the kid had used. The kid himself seemed to be under a year old, only half grown really. That meant even Strel, average as he was, could pick up the youth by the scruff in anger. He did so, though it was rather difficult to maintain, holding him at a height where the dark kid could stand on his own but Strel could still grasp him by the nape.
"Now what was that for?" he said, rather pained. The redhead tried to guilt the boy into an apology. One hand on the boy and the other on his head, Strel gave him a light shake. "I didn't do anythin' to you and you go and smack me with something!" His tone was hardly more than accusatory, not reprimanding. He was more shocked by the attack than anything else; he was no wolf to discipline others when he himself needed to be disciplined sometimes.
I said rapid fire and I give snail's pace /sigh.
There was a distant crunching noise in the bush, muffled by the closeness of the trees around the redhead. He ignored it and thought nothing of it. It could have been something particularly worrisome, but he doubted anything big enough to harm him would have a hard time navigating at him and if it did, then he could have time to slip between trees away from the noise's source. Strelein crouched, then sat on the brook's bank. His legs were stretched out to touch the other side of the water's bank, easily reaching. The visible soil was cold, half frozen, and the grass was dead beneath the layer of frost. He leaned over, examining the ice on the edges. A piece broke off in his hand, fractures running a few inches beyond the small gap. The shard was thin, much like a piece of shale or some flat, overused blade.
The ice fell from his hand as he yelped. Red briefly swarmed his eye sight before being replaced with stars of pain. His hand rubbed at the place where he had felt something strike. Strel held back tears brought on by sudden pain, and pain alone, by wincing as he rubbed. Something had hit him out of nowhere. Were he under attack? He did not know, ducking down further to plunge a hand into the water and bring it out quickly to press against his head. By now the pain was gone and the area only throbbed from the soreness of a budding bruise. The fur that hid it was a blessing indeed, for the color would distract everyone from the ugly purple thing that would form soon enough there.
"Oh who the bloody hell..," he cursed, rising towards the direction of the shot. Strel saw nothing but the form of a rock that had not been there. Whatever had hurt him must have been beyond the strange new stone. Then, senses returning, he growled at the stone that was nothing but a fallen wolf. The beast seemed young, but that was no excuse not to call the guy out for hitting him with whatever it was the kid had used. The kid himself seemed to be under a year old, only half grown really. That meant even Strel, average as he was, could pick up the youth by the scruff in anger. He did so, though it was rather difficult to maintain, holding him at a height where the dark kid could stand on his own but Strel could still grasp him by the nape.
"Now what was that for?" he said, rather pained. The redhead tried to guilt the boy into an apology. One hand on the boy and the other on his head, Strel gave him a light shake. "I didn't do anythin' to you and you go and smack me with something!" His tone was hardly more than accusatory, not reprimanding. He was more shocked by the attack than anything else; he was no wolf to discipline others when he himself needed to be disciplined sometimes.