beneath the maples
#1
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WARNING This thread contains drug use and/or references starting with the 1st post. Reader discretion is advised.
Thread Information
Date: 6 May

Setting: Sugarwoods

Time: Dusk

Character Form: Optime

Word Count → 343 :: <3

Tawny fur was pressed against the harsh bark as it sprawled upwards hundreds of feet into the air, twisting out into an expanse of budding green that would come to eventually provide a canopy overhead. The maple did not stand alone, for it was accompanied by a forest full of siblings where the Inferni coyote and her white mare had decided to spend the afternoon. While Daisy wandered off on her own, Clover had settled under the particular tree with her guitar at one side and her familiar mason jar and knapsack at the other. In her lap, Clover had made a small platform with one of her many botany books, on which she had a small pile of her marijuana yields and her rolling papers. The hippie child hummed quietly to herself while her fingers busied themselves with pulling the sticky cannabis apart. When she was satisfied, the girl carefully went about rolling her joint.

The sky overhead had begun to face from its bright cornflower blue to deep cobalt. While one edge of the horizon took on a splattering of sorbet pastels, the opposite became tinged with a hint of navy. Soon enough the night would be upon them, and Clover figured she might stick around until the sun had completely faded away before she and Daisy headed back towards Inferni. It had been a rather peaceful day, the two girls alone for most of the hours, and it was perhaps the closest she had felt in a long time to Mother Earth. Perhaps she was reaffirming her faith. It would be nice to no longer find doubt in the teachings of Juniper Peace.

When the rolling was complete, Clover held the joint securely between two fingers to inspect it, smile wide amongst her features. "How lovely," her soft voice sounded, joining the rhythm the crickets made in the background. Straw eyes sought her bag, and Clover reached to find her matches. Only moments later, however, did she realize they had been in the pocket of her denim shorts all along.


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#2
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<3 Apologies, I've been working on other threads and neglecting this one. And I was wrong, I talked to J and they did smoke in our thread for all it's not played out.


Desi sat atop Fuerte, riding him slowly toward AniWaya. She was beginning to feel a bit more stable on him, to feel like she might not be thrown off at the drop of the hat, but since it was getting darker, she did not want to risk breaking one of his legs in a hidden hole as they went through the forest. In fact, before long she planned to stop altogether, lest the worst happen. Meanwhile, she was thinking about the new pack, and the boy that was part of it that she had met the evening prior. She hoped that whatever had caused those scars was far removed from him, because no one deserved that kind of abuse. If not... well, maybe she could help somehow. She would have to meet him again sometime, find out more about him.


She had ridden perhaps twenty yards further through the forest, when the stallion tossed his head and nickered to some unseen creature. Whether it was wolf, coyote, or deer, Desi wasn't sure, but she tugged on his mane, initially resisting approaching too fast. After several more moments, though, Desi gave the horse his head. She had caught a whiff of scent, and it was horse. In all likelihood, the mare had an owner, for mare it was, the colliewolf found as she approached the white rump.


Flipping one leg to join the other, Desi dismounted, sliding down Fuerte's barrel. She was not sure she could get the stallion back but neither did she want to drag him along behind her, so she left him in the company of the white horse. He neighed loudly, his tail flagged, as though he thought to claim the mare. Desi rolled her eyes and walked away, not quite giggling at his display, and spoke as he went: Keep your ballocks to yourself, Fuerte, or I'll have them for my dinner. The indignant stomp from behind her drew a true, full-bodied chuckle.


She had not walked far when she found the coyote woman. She was sitting against an old, tall maple tree, clad in a pair of shorts, a book sitting in front of her, a guitar to one side, a bag and jar to the other. In her tawny fingers, the woman held something somewhat familiar to Desi: a joint, presumably with marijuana in it. The mixed breed did not want to impose on the lady's company, but she could use a hit, she thought, if it were freely given. Evening. The words were soft on Desi's lips, quiet so to not interrupt the natural sounds of the night.


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