[html] [lay me down in sheets of linen]
[you had a busy day today]
She was coming back. Minute by minute, hour by hour, a spark was growing in her eyes. That flame had been rekindled. And maybe it was the fact that she had something to throw herself into directly, but it gave her a sense of comfort. She had no downtime to focus on things like her own plights and miserable past; she just had to keep focused and keep going. She was sitting cross legged out in the open sharpening a rock she'd found along the river's edge. So far, it had a good one sided edge that would server her better as a knife than anything but she wanted arrows. She wanted spears. She wanted something that meant they did not have to be near her, touch her, hold her, break her.
Arrow or spear? Spear or arrow? With the spear she could see them die, watch their eyes glaze and their bodies seize...and with the arrow, they wouldn't even have that chance to get anywhere near her. It wouldn't be clean, no death was, but it would satisfy all of that need in her. She needed to see someone else hurt, someone else die. She wanted to transfer all of her anger and her pain out to someone who actually deserved it.
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@$%&Alacrity had been inexplicitly restless lately. Perhaps her restlessness was brought on by unease triggered by the attacks on Dahlia de Mai, or perhaps she was feeling the hints of spring that were beginning to trickle into the landscape. One or the other, or both, drew the African woman outside, even though the air had a brisk edge to it. She donned one of the mottled jackets that Anselm had given her against the chill, and set off along the riverbank, straying from the water’s edge whenever the banks grew more treacherous than her present mood was willing to tackle.
@$%&At one point or another, the painted wolf came across a break in the vegetation. There, in the clearing, a red-hued were sat cross-legged, working with something in her hands. Alacrity hesitated for a moment – she hadn’t met many of the other clan members yet, despite her lengthy stay in the lands – but eventually decided to trust the scent that marked them both as members of the coyote clan. ”What are you making?” she asked pleasantly as she drew near, her English thickly accented but spoken with an air of studied precision.
<3!
[html] HILUFF!
The redhead had braided her hair, tying it into itself at the base where it made it less obvious the missing parts near her temples. They had scarred over, as had her wrists and ankles, her right arm was scared where her break had been, and the scars around her eyes from the claw marks left her definitive proof of her time spent. The approaching canine, a scent unusual on the Meda's nose, caused her to tense. It was the voice, softer spoken than she expected, that caused her to relax and to turn. Her emerald eyes sized up the female who was perhaps the only small creature ot Inferni's claim other than herself and she held out the blade for inspection. "It will be a spear I believe. It's too large for an arrow."
Her eyes ran across the splattered features of the canine again and she could no longer hold her question back. "What are you?" This was presented with a rueful grin, "My Momma was a red wolf coyote mix and my dad....I believe was a bear." Harley after all had been just as large as her brother Mercido and probably four times as large of heart. Once upon a time it would have been said that Fatin had inherited that heart, but for now, it was a cold and empty vessel. [/html]
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@$%&Almost to her surprise, the reddish female seemed to accept her company. So Alacrity settled herself close by on a particularly comfortable-looking tuft of grass, and tried hard to pretend that she hadn’t noticed the fresh scar tissue on the other woman’s face and wrists. “Indeed. A spear makes sense, but I’m not much of an expert,” she said, looking over at the worked stone. Alacrity had encountered all sorts of weapons in her travels across the continents and sea, and at least recognized the different types. Not being a shifter herself, that was where her experience ended. ”Do you prefer to fight with weapons?” she wanted to know. Some did, some didn’t – and some couldn’t.
@$%&Then came the inevitable question, although more charismatically spoken than many similar inquiries. Alacrity laughed and replied with a smile, “You missed the bear genes, yes?” The other female was not tiny, but she was smaller than many of the other shifters Alacrity had encountered. “We call ourselves the Mbwa mwitu. I hail from the savannahs of the African interior.” A place, she found, was an easier way to distinguish her origins than to attempt the explanation humans had concocted. Painted hunting dogs were canines, but only barely – kith to wolves, perhaps, but not quite kin.
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