fortune from the grave

Wintersea · 06-08-2011, 01:02 AM

Set in Sunflower Sunsets.

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An old, rickety boat, now half-filled with water, floated slowly across the midnight-laden bay. The waves roved up and down, a sick feeling building in the gut of the raft’s sole passenger as it drifted sluggishly in an indiscriminate direction. There were still many miles to the shore, and the boat would surely sink before it reached the other side. The luperci’s body quivered in anticipation, and her eyes gazed upon the still empty horizon with a quiet prayer for her life. It was dark, she couldn’t see anything. But she’d come this far. Her journey could not end now. Not on this silent night, not in a watery grave.
      Wintersea had lay on the beach for hours, simply breathing. The swim from her sunken ship to the shore had felt like an eternity—but five hours, floating and swimming alternatively, was a small price to pay for a new life. She sat up, shielding her eyes as the sun peeked at her from its resting place, beginning its daily ascent into the calm, summer skies. At least the day wasn’t cold, she thought in morbid optimism.
     Quietly, she began the third leg of her journey. Gathering her belongings, which had been placed meticulously into a bucket, she discarded the thing that had kept her items safe and dry, and she began to fix herself. Tying a small throwing knife to her leg, she wrapped her sarong at her waist and then spent the next hour or so in the rising sunlight, wrapping the old scars on her ribcage with long strips of gauze. They were soggy, disgusting, and ached slightly from marinating in the seawater for so long—this was the best she could do with what she had. After wrapping her chest and skinny ribs tight, she grabbed a brown satchel that contained a book and some other small items, and started walking.
     The lone traveler had walked quite some ways before she needed to rest. She stood at the edge of a sunflower field, nearly blinded by its brilliant, yellow expanse. Unwilling to walk through the stalks, she merely found a tree to rest beneath on the outskirts. There were plenty of birds flittering about, but Winter felt much too tired to hunt then. She merely watched them with a sort of subdued attentiveness, willing one with her stillness to come close enough for her to grab without effort. This wasn’t likely to happen.

table by magic mushroom.

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Lockeheed · 06-08-2011, 08:32 PM

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Word Count → 410 ::

He'd removed himself from the western borders of Anathema earlier that morning, taking care to remark the boundaries before he left as a simple act of confirming his residence here. The majority of his belongings were tucked away in a secure corner of his chosen cave; he carried on him his special dagger (an item that was hardly ever absent from his person), a few hunting tools such as a string, a skinning knife, and other essentials in the event he stumbled across some game. Locke knew he needed to repay the kindness shown to him somehow, so he had hope to find something adequate during this venture.

But the day took him farther and farther from home and with no sign of game, Locke was growing increasingly frustrated. He was not actively searching for any one creature in particular, but he'd at least hoped to chance across something worth his while. And now he was surrounded by a field of towering, vibrant sunflowers; as if they stole the color from the sun itself. The rangy hybrid couldn't find it in himself to stay annoyed for long, and the peaceful beauty of the flowers soothed his disquiet with surprising ease.

As he neared the edge of the expanse, he reached up and carefully parted the stalks before stepping out onto a grassy field. A few trees dotted the landscape, though no where near the thick overgrowth he'd experienced in Anathema's outskirts. His ears perked and followed the startled sound of songbirds as they wheeled away from him, leading his gaze to a pale woman seated beneath the boughs of a shade tree.

Locke was admittedly surprised to find someone out this far from any discernible pack territories, but he didn't let it get the better of his manners. Even though there was a good distance between them, he could see that she was marked, scarred but altogether common in appearance. A sarong, navy and white, was tied around her waist and her hair was loose down her back. Everything about her seemed... frozen. Cold. It was strange, but probably had a lot to do with her chosen garment.

He looked away for the barest of moments before deciding he had nothing better to do. Walking forward, he put on his best smile but maintained a respectful distance. "Fine day, yeah?" He said, one hand resting on his hip as he glanced out over the sunflowers and to the sky beyond.

Wintersea · 06-09-2011, 02:29 AM

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      The peace was disturbed. Her ears flew up from their lax position and her eyes zeroed in on the parting stalks ahead. She didn’t move anything but her eyes and she watched his approach with intense wariness. She kept her itching hand from settling on the hidden knife tied at her thigh, and though she had started to reach for it, her hand smoothly transitioned and instead settled it lightly against her bandaged ribs in an almost protective manner.
      Pausing a safe distance away, he invited conversation with a pointless remark and she blinked her sea-borne eyes slowly, unsure whether she wanted to even entertain his exchange or not. Understandably to a reader, this wasn’t one of Winter’s better days — but she couldn’t have expected him to know what had occurred over the past twenty-four hours. Beautiful, she said finally, turning her eyes away from the tall, sleek man and gazing out into the field of sunflowers. I simply wish I could enjoy it as I should.
      She couldn’t afford to be so cold. She wasn’t in the most appropriate state, and she knew a wrong step with the wrong wolf could lead down a dangerous path. The frigid woman kept her wits about her, but managed to remain calm despite the physical and mental stress she continued to endure. Bringing her eyes back to the stranger, she nodded towards him. I’m Wintersea. Who’re you?

table by magic mushroom.

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Lockeheed · 06-09-2011, 12:47 PM

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Word Count → 302 ::

When it came to social situations, Locke felt completely out of place. It'd been years since he'd been in the constant company of others, so his prowess when it came to socializing was horrifyingly lacking. He knew how, but it was that flighty instinct present in every feral animal that threatened to overcome him with crippling shyness or apathy. But he knew there was no other way to pick up the broken pieces than to try, and try again. But, he thought as his ears canted towards the female again, if she didn't want him hovering around like an awkward walrus, he hoped she would tell him. He was terrible at guessing games, after all.

However his concerns were unfounded as she soon replied, though her tone suggested she had more to bother with than the current weather. As did her appearance. He wanted to ask for sake of slaking his own burning curiosity, but he wasn't a terribly rude individual and as such didn't pressure her further about it. He did keep it in mind in the event their conversation turned sour. It would do neither of them any good for him to be a nosy git.

The rangy hybrid turned his own gaze back on her as she voiced her own query, and his brows rose at the offering of her name. Wintersea. An almost simple name, but with a hint of exotic charm. He bent down into a comfortable crouch, balancing most of his weight on his toes, and nodded. "It's nice to meet you, Wintersea. I'm Locke." He was silent for a beat before motioning to the bandages with an pointed finger. "Get into a scrape with a bad crowd?" Because, honestly, getting into a tussle was far more exciting than falling out of a tree or something.

Wintersea · 06-09-2011, 07:41 PM

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      Locke. She dipped her muzzle in a “well-met” fashion, but didn’t verbally return. The white hybrid couldn’t honestly say that it was a pleasure, given her current state — and she would have rather have been alone in it; but it couldn’t be helped, and she wasn’t about to make enemies simply because her mood wasn’t at its peak. She let the silence draw on, but hardly took her eyes from the tall, gray man, continuously wary about his motive and presence, though he seemed nice enough.
      Not entirely unexpected, he voiced a rather personal question. This privacy breech, Winter very-much considered a test of her current weaknesses. Defensive, her eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t a liar by any means. Something like that, she said, eying him as if she thought he might know about the incident. It happened some time ago — I’ve had to re-bandage them this morning because several hours treading salt-water has made them spongy and disgusting. She thought to tease him with a childish “wanna see?” but Wintersea wasn’t open like that yet.
      Not scouting my weaknesses are you? she asked bluntly, her blue eyes level and patient, and her tone surprisingly light despite the accusation behind it. I can very well hold my own, weakened or not.

table by magic mushroom.

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