falling u[p]

[Anathra Síle]

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Weakest post evarrrrrrrr. Zacor.
        Anathra made her way lazily along the outskirts of the city, wasting time and singing softly. She hadn't been able to sleep, and hadn't wanted to stay in the boat if Zacor could actually rest. Besides, she would rather pace around the open land than back and forth in the cabin. The city was still, the atmosphere covered in a blanket of oppressive thickness that she couldn't read. It was for this same reason that she didn't travel any further into the city, the stale air more than enough warning to keep her out. The girl sighed, peering up at the clouded sky as she made her decision to turn back 'home'.
        As it usually went, the smoke reached her before she saw the actual fire. Nose wrinkled and she grimaced, pace hurrying as she looked for the source. Looking over her shoulder, back towards the city she was leaving, it didn't take long for the Welsh girl to realize how big the fire was becoming. Ana didn't know how it had started (Who, Where?), but the dense weight of the smoke that hovered over her was enough to tell how it was spreading. She unshouldered her pack and let it drop to the ground, lips pulling back in an uncharacteristic snarl as she shifted. She had been in optime form long enough to lose count, and she had never pushed herself to shift with such haste before. Anathra stopped her shift, staying in secui form as she took off not away from the fire, but towards home.

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[Zacor Sian]

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Herrre I am, at last. :O

___________
Although sleep had not been hard to come by since reaching Bleeding Souls, it seemed that "good sleep" was a matter in and of itself. Z often found himself slipping into cat naps or lazy dazes, but snapping out of them usually came with the urgency of some sordid nightmare or another. Most were variations on the theme of his adoptive father seething, sometimes foaming ridiculously with rage upon discovering that Zacor had left Wales, and other times speaking to him in his dream, demanding that he kill Anathra and return to the pack like any proper prince would. It was all right to throw adolescent temper tantrums in boyish flights of fancy, but now it was time to dispose of that wench and assume the throne of Eidolon. Well, Zacor was no proper prince, and he had no intentions of following through on Zephyrin's whiny pleads that were thinly veiled as fatherly demands. The man was getting old and couldn't keep Eidolon up by himself; no, he needed a younger heir to uphold his (lack of) family values and keep him in good standing as he aged. He had spent so much time rearing Zacor to be that heir, but Zacor just wasn't biting, despite the vibrant color of the hook. And now, time was dwindling away, and Zephryin didn't have enough left to find anyone else.


Just as Zephryin was giving his "Becoming King for Dummies" lecture for the zillionth time in almost a week, the heavy fog of smoke settling over Thunder Island finally struck Z. His eyes fluttered open slowly at first as his father's monologue faded out and the carbon monoxide pushed in, but within a few live-saving seconds, he realized that this wasn't just an elk burnt over a fire back in Wales: NOVA SCOTIA WAS ON FIRE. Adrenaline released itself almost immediately and the tall and awkward Luperci rolled into action, making his way out of the ship by the memory of its inner-workings he had gained from careful study during the last several days. It was a difficult feat, but he eventually made it over the skinny, pebbled land-bridge that separated S.S. Queen Anne's Revenge from the Soul's mainland. Not at all accustomed to the feral life of Canada, he didn't think to shift down to ease his plight. Instead, he forged forwards, calling out into the blur of gray, "Ana? Ana?" Despite his usual apathy, today his voice was ravenous with the want to find her: this was not their dying day.

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[Anathra Síle]

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I NEVER NOTICED
I am lame tonight. And thoroughly distracted. -Cough.- Short post win. For simplicity, all English spoken in here is actually Welsh.

YOU WERE ILLEGAL

        Ears were slicked back against her skull as she ran, eyes only seeing what they had to as she ran, feet following more of an autopilot path. Brain threw thoughts and memories at her as fast as she could process them, albeit doing her best to simply concentrate on getting to Zacor. Ana mentally calculated how the hell to get around being trapped by the fire once she found him; whether it was best to backtrack the way she had come from, or find another route. Dying didn't really come to mind as option. Oh, she knew it was a possibility, but she refused it. Not now, not today. Not this week, even. She was too young, and nor would she let such a fate befall Zacor.


The string of Welsh words were incomprehensible as they rolled off her tongue and into the thick air, front paws tripping over one another as she almost slammed into the very wolf she was searching for. The girl yelped as she stopped herself from completely falling, looking up at Zacor in a brief moment of confusion, before that melded to relief. She would hug him, hadn't she been in this ridiculous form. Zacor. You're okay, she breathed, then shook her head. Why aren't you shifted? There's almost no way to get out of here if we leave as Optime. Although she didn't state this out loud. The random thought occurred to her that she had never actually seen Zacor in any other form but Optime. The girl flinched as she heard the branches of trees cracking, not right next to them but close enough. Let's go, lips pulled back slightly as she whined again, ready to move as soon as he was.

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