Far From Home

Saraqael · 01-12-2011, 12:14 AM

OOC: Sorry for the length. It was a personal challenge and it certainly helps with my SSWM count! XD Word Count: 1509.

IC:
The coast stretched out forever in front of her. The water was like most water anywhere in the north in the dead of winter: gray. The color of tempests and sheep's wool, accentuated like those storm clouds with light linings, bleached at the roots like the sheep's shaggy hair. Its surface was alive with eruptions, every one wearing a frothy cap of foam. Winking at her with a million white eyelash eyes, Saraqael could only blink back in astonishment. Rocking and churning, the liquid folded over itself forever. Riding in, pulled by invisible chariots, rolling waves collided with the rise in the sand and were forced to crest, demanded to rise and fall, beating at the shore wildly. Each one disturbed the sand before it died, fading away in a blurry, grit filled foam, back from whence it came. From where she walked, a dark line of fine powder limned the tip of the basin and above that, pure, glowing white stretched upward indefinitely in a solid blanket of snow. The smell of the sea traveled easily for the wind was high at its back and both were everywhere, two factors that allowed its peculiar perfume to claim a dominant hold on the territories closest to it. Wetness was indeed a smell that was significantly present but it was not the same brand as the clear, weightless wet of free rain or untamed streams. It was a wetness deepened by the taint of salt which was slightly unpleasant to her senses. Perhaps it was not the salt but the debris that soured her olfactory sense to distaste. She was sure that weeds and carcasses were tossed like unwanted rag dolls onto land, left to swelter in the sun, decaying in their own juices. Dead things rarely reminded her of anything they had smelled like when they were yet alive, instead possessing the sharp tang of bacterial waste as the cells of the deceased were systematically atrophied, stripped of nutrients, then expelled as shit belonging to the world's lowest but most important and numerous life forms. Even from far away, the ocean had its own special feel, a texture that polluted every particle of the air with its presence. To breathe, the air was heavy, water diffusing into it with ease. At first it felt cumbersome in her organs and then it soothed, becoming almost preferable to the cold, dry bite of Nova Scotia's harshest season. It was sticky on her fur. Breezes literally whisked small layers of liquid off the top and shooed them inshore, and before the water could evaporate completely to leave the salt behind, it crashed into her pelt. On contact, the solution clung to her, making her pelt feel tacky at first but then crusty as the liquid dried up and left, hard salt the only thing remaining. She feared she would be trapped in a crystal cell of the stuff if she did not bathe or leave soon. The air was so thick with it that she tasted it on her tongue just from inhaling. After a time it made her mouth cottony, the tongue and roof less and less willing to separate because they were more and more glued together. Smacking her lips in an effort to distract herself from the discomfort and the strange sensation, she sighed gently. So this was what coastal life was like. At least the ocean's sound was redeeming. Whispering soothingly, it rasped in rhythmic time, singing a song of its own accord. It was a tune that would have put her to sleep or soothed her worry to calmness. It was as though nature itself was cooing a lullaby for all its creatures, singing them to sleep with the pulse and throb of the earth's life blood, the sound of its steadily beating heart. At least there was that.

The sky was inspired by its counterpart, the sea. It was slate and muddied like watercolor with puffy, dark clouds. They were spewing snow, a thing she minded only because of the constant bombardment of sticky moisture from the side. The combination was overbearing. However, when the flakes melted, she could pretend that the fresh and the brackish water were at war. The two toned creature hoped that the former would win ultimately. It had been days since she had bathed, a habit she had procured from her mother who did so frequently to help lift the colors she used to dye her furs from her own pelt. Though Saraqael's hands were blacker than a starless night, she acted based on what she observed and had been washing since she was a babe. Her brother and father did not engage in the same habit. Her sibling wrought metal for weapons and jewelry, even armor occasionally, and her father crafted knives with delicate precision, often taking the antlers or other large bones of animals and working them until they were smooth and deadly. In her pack, which clung to her small bodice by a series of straps, was one such knife modeled after modern buck knives. He was an excellent craftsman who made fine work. If she had stayed with them, she could have learned his art form, too. In fact, he would have been glad to teach her. Fortunately, the skill would not die. Her brother knew, had been trained and apprenticed under Mauriel but gave it up in favor of something new, different, and more strange. Smithing was not akin to her unique variation on their mother, Sylvan's techniques. It was modern and dangerous, dealing with fire, one of the most primitive forms of technology but also the greatest, perhaps the single source and inspiration for their rapid advancement across the globe. It was by far the most deviant thing ever done in the history of their family line, her own physical appearance coming in at a close and uncontrollable second. She did not think anything could mar her fondness for Azazel, her unruly, year older companion and partner in crime. She missed his quirky face almost every day, so much like hers but in color instead of black and white. It was like him to be so advanced.

It would have been a blessing to have him along for the ride she had embarked on. He was fearless, and though he probably would not mate with a wolf for life, he was certainly not afraid to bed them. The large male knew their ways and customs and trusted that they would not cause him harm for the most part. He had always made her feel safe in their midst, a faithful body guard in a vast swath of potential enemies. Of course, it helped immensely that he was constantly armed to the teeth. Azazel draped himself in constricting clothing, but not without reason – it was because he always had numerous daggers, knives, and knuckled coverings hidden on his person. Their mother, a competent seamstress, made the outfit for him because he trusted no one else to execute it as finely. His faith was not misplaced, for she even stitched hidden compartments on the insides. He practiced drawing weapons regularly from the slots and was lightning fast. His other skill was throwing daggers, a talent that could dispatch an opponent in seconds. Rarely, things came to that, but it never stopped him from being ready.

Saraqael was proud of herself for continuing her mission instead of turning back at Phoenix Valley. She walked from dawn until the light faded to nothing and the ocean was no longer visible, the sky blacked out by rugs of water vapor floating in the atmosphere. The scent of a border cropped up with surprising swiftness. The frail girl halted at it, considering her situation. It was the middle of the night, and she did not know anything about the pack and had never met any of its members judging by her lack of familiarity with the smell. With her impressive night vision, she could make out several dwellings by torchlight though many of them were quite far and tucked deep into the territory. The border seemed to stretch in a long line in both directions, the pack claiming a large coastal region for their own. It did not have the quaint gracefulness of their compact mansion, or the rawness of Inferni's cave system. From what she could make out, they were more advanced than that. There were hutches, cabins and huts. Surely someone was out and about, desiring to keep their land safe from dangerous intruders, though not from Saraqael. She stood at a grand four feet, ten inches, a measurement impressive for its startling inadequacy. The dark masked fae heard of jackals who were smaller but had not had the pleasure of meeting any, and doubted she would find one there. Opting to take a seat, she walked a few steps back away from the line of scent and then crouched, easing herself down into the snow, ignoring the cold and hoping to hear the crunch of encroaching footsteps.

Niro Takekuro · 01-13-2011, 09:16 PM

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WC:462 (3 Points) OOC: I hope you don’t mind me popping in <3

He had troubles sleeping that night, his leg wasn’t feeling too good, it had to be from the cold weather. The only thing that seemed to make him feel any better was walking, it was a strange thought, but that was what did it for him. His hand hurt sometimes, and he had phantom pains where his pinky use to be… he flexed his hand… the stupid moose crushed the pinky with her hoof… he had been in his lupus form at the time… It did no good to dwell on the past. Niro was able to see from what moonlight came through the clouds. He knew the lands so well now… he wondered if he caught anything in his bait trap… it was the only one he left out over night, the only safe one to do so. He moved to where the bird trap was placed, and it was empty except for the sleeping rabbit… which had woken to Niro’s footsteps and was shuddering, though it took a few sniffs and looked at Niro expectantly. He had nothing to feed it so moved on his way. He kind of wished that he hadn’t left Marahute asleep in the cave with Amaranth, but he didn’t want to make any commotions as his mate was finally sleeping so much better than she had been many nights. He decided to let his feet keep moving a little further from his cave. The night was cold, but that was what he liked. He was made for this weather, though he was still getting use to the snow, he’d grown up in the snow free south, but it was nice. He actually bent down and picked up some, making a snowball with said snow. This made him think about Orin… and their first snowfall here, his heart ached now more than his leg… which was now forgotten except to lift up and set down.

He moved slowly, not even sure where he was going, and soon found himself close to the borders. All was still, and it seemed he was expecting someone… did he really think Orin would come running out to meet him? Especially at this time of night? He missed his sister dearly, and he knew it was because of the separation. They had never left each other’s sides until now… when she met that stupid wolf…. He threw his snowball in disgust, in no particular direction for no particular reason. He wanted to scream at Orin for all the pain she had put him through… that was when he saw movement and he stood stock still, waiting to run. He may have a leg that was not entirely healed to its fullest but he was a good runner. A really good one.

Saraqael · 01-13-2011, 11:41 PM

OOC: Yay! Hello. Big Grin

Thanks for responding. ^_^ Word Count: 1027.

IC:
It plopped wetly, falling apart on top of more of itself. She watched it crumble, cracks severing it into large chunks that fell away to tiny bits. The pieces lay in the darkness, lit by the moon and viewed easily by her extremely light sensitive eyes. Her first instinct was to search for its maker, the person who had tossed it so carelessly, but its image distracted her mind. The snowball brought her back to a place she had not been for a long time, to her childhood memories. Though they were not actually too far back, Saraqael being barely out of her first year of life, she had spent much of her youth trying to grow up as fast as possible. Her big brother had been her partial inspiration for that. Nearly a year her elder, he was strong, intelligent, accomplished, wild, and most importantly, free. Not that her parents ever put too many restrictions on her, but she was their baby, their tiny, fragile daughter, and even if they never imposed a strict will upon her, she had always been subjected to the worry in their eyes, the notes of concern in their voices. The tiny coy was oh so breakable, her heart a sacred thing to be guarded, her body prone to shatter at the first touch of another. At first, it had made her fearful of others but then she resented her parents and began to think in terms of what she wanted, which was essentially to life the life of a dirty hedonist. Her paranoia, suspicion, and skittishness checked her, preventing her from spiraling out of control too quickly, but she managed always to come back from the edge of insanity. The girl's primary source of enjoyment was sensory stimulation to the point where she experienced brief bouts of synethesia, mistaking textures for tastes, sounds for colors, or any number of other combinations, though it was fitful, leaving her primarily to experience the world like everyone else. That, she never dreamed of limiting herself with – she lived a solitary life and would take advantage of new opportunities to touch, taste, hear, see, or smell things whenever she was able. The drugs and the sex, when they happened, were casual and temporary, certainly not a defining characteristic of her lifestyle. The characters surrounding those actvities were often too unsavory for her with the exception of the Lykoi girls, of which she remembered Sage most fondly. The tawny wood nymph was a soft, sweet girl, curious in her examination of such an interesting and freakish specimen of coyote such as Saraqael but accepting nonetheless. It was rare that she was ever soothed by a person, but Sage's vibe did it for her. Despite that it was in direct opposition to everything she was at core, the pot smoking, free loving creature somehow demanded her implicit trust and made her feel at peace in her mind and in her heart. Few had ever had that effect on her before and it was a strange thing to admit, even to herself who readily enjoyed the company and pleasures of the hybrid.

But someone had thrown the blob of snow in her general direction. She wondered if he had trouble seeing her based on the fact that he did not approach. From her perspective, his ear piercings gave him away. Right ear glittering in the faint light still persisting through the night, it allowed her to pinpoint his location and guess his size from the distance between them and the space between the ground and line of shiny lights. He was medium sized which meant that he would tower over her when they neared, she being only four feet and ten inches. Her species was naturally small, but she was still slightly undersized, a weak version of what she might have been if she had taken after her mother more. Instead she resembled closely her father, wickedly edged and thin like a finely made dagger. Large, almond shaped eyes slanted in her face, wide in the middle but pointed at both edges, lending her a faerie look. Her thinness was impressive and her colors were shocking to many because they were both extremes of blankest white and darkest black. Purposefully she moved away from any trees at her back, bringing herself into easier view. It was a risky, bold behavior for one that expected to be picked off by wolves by whatever means they deemed necessary: bows, ambush, traps, slingshots. Exposing herself so blatantly was difficult and fear inducing. Still, she had come for a reason – to meet them, to know who they were, and most importantly, to prove to herself that not all wolves in the area wanted to kill her regardless of their numbers and the inherent superiority she assumed them all to feel.

Softly, she called out in a clear, high voice. “Hello out there. I do not know if you see me, but I see you. My name is Saraqael Destroying Angel Kanga. I hail from Inferni. I traveled here from a place called Phoenix Valley. I do not seek trouble, only to meet with you and learn about your pack.” It would have been ideal if they made friends but she never counted on anything. All she knew was that he was male and that he smelled quite like the borders that she had not dared to cross. Again, she had put her self, possibly her life, at risk by fully revealing her location and wasting time speaking instead of hiding. For all she knew, he now had a great bead on her and was planning to shoot her straight through the throat. Knowing nothing about the surrounding packs left her at a huge disadvantage. Considering Inferni's hostile policies, there was no telling what sort of visiting rules this pack had. It was possible that their groups were enemies, though it would have been wise of Kaena to have let her know who they were and were not friends with on the day she had been accepted. The coyote waited in the darkness, expectant, hopeful, and suppressing her fear.

Niro Takekuro · 01-14-2011, 04:01 PM

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304+3 OOC: 

Things were quiet for some time after he threw the snowball. He knew someone had been there, but they made no move… but then the person spoke, their name, and their pack they lived in. and the reason she was here… though it seemed oddly suspicious, why do this in the middle of the night? He had heard where she was speaking from and was now looking in her direction, finally seeing the shine of her eyes. Then he could see some of the outline of her pelt, his ears were forward, erect, and he took a tentative step forward. Inferni had been briefly explained to him, as a pack that had a bit of animosity against wolves. So he wasn’t sure what she wanted with anyone in this pack so late at night.

My name is Niro this is Cour des Miracles, why have you come at such a late time?

He asked, moving a little closer to the border, but was ready to run in case the female decided to do anything, he was sure he could take her on, but fighting was not his plan for a good start of the day… or was it end of the night? Whatever the case he wasn’t ready to fight, though he would if he had no choice. Her words seemed rather neutral but that did not let him let down his guard. He could see her slightly clearer, though it was still so dark, so not all of her features would show, just like some of his, though he knew he was light in color… then again so was the snow that was around him, maybe that would be good enough if an escape was needed. Whatever the case may be he was still there, curious with the presense of the other canine.

Saraqael · 01-14-2011, 11:33 PM

OOC: Word Count: 1454.

IC:
His voice was hostile. She could tell by the way he rushed his speech, by how he had asked her why she had arrived so late in the day. The male suspected ill of her immediately, and again, she could not blame him. Their kinds were taught to dislike one another, and it would have been unfair of her to expect him to suspect anything else. Because she was the one encroaching upon their territory, the one attempting to extend her feelers in search of something, that placed the burden of explanation on her. What she was in search of, the girl could not exactly say. On the surface of her intentions, she moved out of curiosity, seeking to make her face known throughout all the lands as a sort of ambassador, though Sepirah already held the official position in their ranks at Inferni. On a separate level, she thought she searched for peace within herself, and that could only be accomplished if she could prove that wolves were not all bad.

It was difficult, clearly, for both her and Niro to approach one another. Mistrust tainted the air, hanging between them in the darkness. The lack of light was a real life metaphor for their confusion and murkiness, their inability to see one another for who they really were. Saraqael knew she had to make the first move. “I did not mean to upset your people, and as you could tell, I did not purposefully disturb anyone. I did not call with my voice. If no one came upon me, I would have slept quietly at the borders. I traveled when it suited and have been walking a long time. From my last destination, I estimated that I might arrive here during early night and then sleep until dawn to meet with someone or travel again.” Simple practicality had dictated that she finish her trek to Cour des Miracles that evening. She could have camped somewhere else along the way, but why when a few more hours would have brought her where she needed to be, in position to begin a new day, a new quest?

Indecision froze her to inaction. Part of her was tempted to edge in further but he might perceive that as a threat. If she stayed in the shadows, he might also fear she was plotting something. Torn between the two, Saraqael did something that was quite foreign to her but was becoming more and more useful as she extended herself to become acquainted with the packs surrounding Inferni. She would attempt to use reason, and he would have to trust that what she told him was not a lie. “As I said before, I have just come from Phoenix Valley. I met wolves named Noah and Rendall. If I had done them wrong or started trouble, it is unlikely I would be standing before you right now, let alone made more than a half day's travel to come see your territory.” Honesty felt strange on her lips. She was learning that telling the truth was the best policy if you never changed locations, if you led a stationary life. Her former life had been that of a traveler's which afforded her the ability to spin pretty tales to faces she would never again see. Falsehoods would never come back to bite her if they could not be proven. By tying herself to Inferni, however, she had set down traceable roots, and if she dared tell someone that those roots took a different course than they had in actuality, they could easily discover the truth by asking around. Simply by existing and interacting with others, she planted seeds of evidence everywhere. Good liars knew when it was too dangerous to make a bluff, and now was one of those times. If he became too uncomfortable with their situation and chose to fight her, she would flee, and if he chose to flee, she would wait until the morning to prove her honesty to someone else, exactly where he left her. In that case, she probably would not sleep in case he sent for his pack mates to dispatch her in the heart of night. Inferni would assume she had disappeared or run off, for who would come checking for bodies near the lands of Cour des Miracles? No one. In retrospect, it had been foolish of her to keep her business to herself. Someone should have known her plans and motivations so that in the worst case scenario, retribution for her death could have been carried out.

As it could have been expected from her, the tiny coyote decided to err on the side of caution. She valued her life too highly and her intense sense of self-preservation demanded her not to take any more chances in her speech or movements. Instead of standing, she stayed seated, keeping herself as unimposing as possible. She almost regretting having spoken now. Normally, strangers mistook her for a youth and looked upon her as a creature to be helped or aided in whatever way she required. She even lacked proper breasts which might have given her away as an adult. The only thing that had betrayed her true age was her voice, which was not the sickly sweet tone of a child's but that of a full-grown woman's.

Because Niro was back lit by the faint light emanating from his village, the snowy fae trusted him not to have any long distance weapons raised. Noticing the distinct pose of an Optime with an arrow cocked was not a problem for her since such an image was fresh in her mind. Recalling Rendall, the arrow pointer in question, the face of a peculiar but kind bluish gray wolfess drifted across her memory and she felt a little better. That lass had been suspicious in the beginning as well, or had mistaken her for an odd winter creature with a desirable pelt. Upon discovering her identity and origin, she then offered a hand of friendship and support. Unfortunately Niro was by far the most suspicious wolf she had encountered yet. Even Noah, who was soft spoken and quiet, had warmed to her after she made her intentions clear and had proved not to want to attack him or their lands. That male had approached her boldly. If the Cour des Miracles canine kept up their stalemate of stillness any longer and never came forward, she would probably be forced to move on to another part of the borders and wait for a fresh face. The male was still in the darkness, a hard statue of indecision.

Thinking only of him and their predicament was setting her nerves to intense agitation. In an attempt to distract her fragile mind, she considered the world around her, taking care to pay attention to each one of her senses. It was a game she played with herself to turn her thoughts from whatever was bothering her toward something unrelated. Touch was the sense she connected to most strongly and tactile exploration elicited the most profound reactions from her. Because it was easily available, Saraqael plunged her hands into the snow. At first she did not notice cold, only the feeling of hard beads rolling over the top of her fur. As her comparative warmth collided with the freezing temperatures, the crystals began to melt, changing into water that could penetrate the guard of follicles gracing her skin. Wetness ensued, somehow increasingly cold, the ice and the water intensifying one another until her hands were numb. At that point, she turned to sound. The night was absolutely alive. It twittered and hooted violently if she truly tuned into it. There was a war going on in the forest between the hunter and the hunted, and it was the prey that made all the commotion as fear indicated to them that their lives were coming to an end. The foxes and owls were silent killers, their sounds no more indistinguishable from the sound of wind through trees than her two hands were from each other. In her mouth, she tasted the day's tang in the form of a pasty, salty grit, unpleasant and unimportant. Her nose told the story of much activity, from campfires to recent snow fall. She began to pick apart the various scents at the border, each one unique but all combining to create the perfume of Cour des Miracles. Vision was the only uncooperative sense. Many times she tried to focus it on the sliver of moon, the twinkle of stars in the endless abyss above, the way distant fire light made snow glisten. She could not. All she saw was the silhouette of Niro.

Niro Takekuro · 01-16-2011, 05:24 PM

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WC: 244 OOC: Cannot match such long posts !!!

He in no way had any sort of animosity towards the coyote at all, he didn’t dislike anyone for what they were either, though he was feeling quite timid due to the fact it was the middle of the night. He listened to her words, and believed them, she seemed as timid as him, though he could feel a strain in her voice. So she had come from Phoenix Valley. His whole demeanor was quite stiff mostly because it was purely dark. He barely knew who or what he talked to besides the smell of her that drifted off to him. That was all he knew.

What would you like to know about the court?

He asked, he wasn’t going to tell her anything that she didn’t need to know but innocent things like the leaders name possibly, or something like that, but not how everything worked in their pack. He decided that he should take some of the initiative now… especially since he knew that she was here. He moved slightly closer to the borders, in less of a need to hurry away if she came after him. His thoughts were, if something were to really happen he knew how to defend himself. He was sure that she was here for neutral reasons, maybe if she got a little information from him, he could figure out Inferni a little more… kind of like the game him and Naryu had played a while back.

Saraqael · 01-17-2011, 11:22 PM

OOC: No pressure to match, ever. Smile

Word Count: 1219.

IC:
What did she want to know? In reality, that the residents of this place were not going to snap her up like a hare in their larger, wolven jaws. So far, so good – Niro had shown no aggression. As far as she could perceive, the two canines out in the dark snowscape were equally cautious of one another. When he next spoke, the male already told her that their pack was also a “court,” implying royalty, or some strange ranking system that was different from the one the coyotes used, and all without her ever having to probe for information. She admitted to not knowing the the origins of Inferni's names for its hierarchy, or even the meanings of the titles, only that she was low on the totem pole. If the collection of ranks painted a larger picture, it was not so elegantly or simply themed as Cour des Miracles'. She wondered if the courtly theme meant they also had courtiers, like dukes, duchesses, or earls. Saraqael had little interest in asking about it in spite of her curiosity. Nosiness and espionage had not been her original intentions. What she had been seeking was friendship and familiarity, though she expected nothing to even come close to what Rendall of Phoenix Valley had provided her with: a home for the night and dinner in a warm cabin.

It was obvious that the pale wolf was expecting something, however. At the very least, a query. “Who your leaders are is a place to start,” she began, then added, “And also if you know of anyone who would like to trade. I have hand cut and dyed fur pieces for barter.” There was no sense in not spouting a little sales pitch. Trade was often seen as cement for lasting bonds between packs and had the potential to ease tension if any existed. It was less for actual gain or profit and more as a symbolic gesture of good will. This was how she meant it now, in plain friendship. In her backpack she had brought many worthwhile items, including brightly colored arm bands, anklets, calf warmers, arm warmers, and a top. Some were from her personal wardrobe and others were not, but she would trade whatever was requested of her. As another testament to her willingness, generosity, and harmlessness, she proffered information unasked. “The leaders of Inferni are Kaena Lykoi and Gabriel de le Poer.” It was a harmless enough bit of trivia, for it was not as though their lives were particularly sought after. Their names could also be found nearly anywhere. It was likely that the leadership of Cour des Miracles was well aware of who the hybrid rulers of Inferni were. Niro might have asked them, but that would have defeated the purpose of their current exchange. A more interesting and important question bubbled up in her brain, and she let it flow from her lips. “Does your pack specialize in anything particular concerning trade or services?” It was very practical of her to ask.

While she listened to his responses, she thought it would be appropriate to begin preparing her bed for the night. Dark fingered paws worked to undo the straps of her satchel. The large leather bag tied in three places around her body: above her hips, at her waist, and over her shoulders. As each strap fell away, the pack pulled more heavily on the remaining tethers until they were all loosened, allowing the entire bag to dip gently into the snow. The lid was closed tight, preventing anything from dribbling out of the top and becoming lost in the powdery white mass. Still cross legged in the clearing, she rose slowly away from her belongings, trying to pay little attention to the shadowy figure the native Optime cut in the distance. First she shook many of the branches of all their accumulated snow so that the weight of the night's fall would not cause them to buckle and rain huge slushy piles down onto her. Then, crouching beneath the same pine, Saraqael worked speedily, digging out a small bed underneath the shelter of feathery and fragrant branches. Tonight, she would not be able to dig past all the packed ice to the dirt beneath – simply too many inches had fallen and she would have rubbed her small hands raw before she managed to carve out the space she needed. Instead she settled for twelve inches down. To cut the wind, the loosened snow was packed in edges all around the circle she was forming. Essentially she was fashioning a very crude fort that would provide her with enough cover until the morning. The girl moved in a slow circle, scooping out material and building it up in slices until she was done. The bed ended up being shorted than her length, only four feet, but she scant required more space. She would spend the entire night tucked into her own body for warmth. As she worked, she conversed.

The next thing that needed to be done was to line it, especially since she could not reach the earth which, if she could scrape it bare, would warm at her touch unlike the snow which would only melt and continue cooling, encouraging her form to leech its precious heat. Sweet, thoughtful Rendall, with impressively swift fingers and a large, warm heart, had sewn her a cloak the very night they had stayed together. The blue tinted female never asked for anything in return, and as a selfish, skeptical creature, Saraqael had been quite shocked. But she took the cloak anyway, knowing how much easier it would make travel during the day, and how it would ease nights like this. She retrieved it from her pack. Unfolding it in the shadows, it was only slightly shorter than she was. She carefully tucked it into the bottom of her new sleeping area, mindful not to accidentally knock over any of the built up edges. Then she grabbed the bag and brought it into the circle so that it would be near her the whole night. Normally she used it as a pillow but the pressure of her head, even though it was small, was putting odd creases into the fur clothing stored inside, and she could not have that. It was extremely important to her that her wares be in top condition. A flaw, however small, could break a deal before a potential buyer had ever had the chance to fall in love with a particular color combination or style of cut.

Full darkness had come upon the lands but the village beyond still seemed active, or at least lit. Inferni was much the same. She knew of coyotes that did not go to bed until dawn, being somehow strictly nocturnal. It seemed strange to her, to conduct all one's business in the middle of the night, but she never judged. There were plenty who were more traditional, rising at dawn to hunt or complete chores. It struck her suddenly that she might have been keeping Niro out of his own warm bed, wherever that was, if he even had one. Saraqael hoped not, for she would have been irritated in his place, if that was the case.

Niro Takekuro · 01-20-2011, 06:53 PM

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+3 OOC: if you want we can continue as though it is the next day or you can decline, whichever you feel is best for your char ^^

Niro hesitated for a second, but thought it wasn’t going to hurt anything to give him the name of his alpha, after all he was known to most every pack. Then he heard trade and figured it would be fine. Niro loved trading, it did help strengthen bonds between packs, and he did seem very interested cut and dyed leather, not to mention that they had few pack relations with Inferni.

Viigilante Haskel is our leader. Trading is always welcome, though if possible I will be more up to trading with you in the morning.

He said, hopeful that the female would still be interested in such a thing. He heard her speak of her own leaders he had not known the names, so he was glad to hear them. Her next question had to make Niro think.

I think so, but no one has been so interested in such things. I do trading when I get the opportunity and I’m sure the rest of my packmates do as well, especially if it is something they are interested in.

He said as he heard her shuffling around. It sounded harmless enough though he was not sure that she was going to spring out and attack him, it seemed any hostility was at an end, and he was glad for that. He was not one who enjoyed fighting. He may be a hunter, but he enjoyed the hunt… not the fight. He was feeling tired himself but he wanted to get an answer from her before he decided to go back to his warm bed with his mate, though he was sure she would kick him out of the bed for being so cold. He didn’t mind though, he would have to sit by his fire to warm up and mull things over before finally getting some sleep.

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