[P] Harsh Realities and Beautiful Fiction

Slade Auctor · 10-06-2011, 07:09 PM

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Post-dated to October 10th (tentatively).

A long time ago, a kind and fair wolf had told me that she was going to embark on a journey to a place known as Mosquitobite (or so the place was called in my mind). I haven't seen her in a while but it's hard for me to forget that mysteriously-named Valley with it being called what it is. Having returned from my trek home I've decided to seek out this place and hopefully find her again. But if not... well, then my journeys shall continue as I make my way back to Cercatori d'Arte.

Thus ended the unwritten journal entry. It was late in the evening by the time the coyote reached his destination, and having spent his day dodging anyone who wanted to talk he had managed to arrive before dark. Still, he had cut it awfully close; the sun was beginning to set, bringing down with it the few scraps of warmth that the day had boasted. There was a small breeze blowing about, which barely penetrated Slade's lengthening coat, but nonetheless he could feel that there was a harsh chill to the air.

Slade had no idea what to expect but a passing loner had told him to head east to find his destination. However, nothing stood out to him as he walked along scattered dirt paths. At least if there was a sign somewhere he might be able to decipher the letters, but there seemed to be nothing more than an odd scent around. He stopped walking when he realized that the smell marked the border of a pack's land. Don't tell me I've trespassed....

Fortunately he was far away enough to not be considered a trespasser – or so he hoped – and Slade readied himself to continue on his way. Hm. I never noticed a pack around here before. He shook his head as he began to walk along the boundary, glancing every so often past the invisible lines to see if there was anyone familiar waiting for him, ready to pounce on him and say “Slade, where have you been? I've been waiting for you! Where were you...?”

Gunnar Donte LeStrange · 10-10-2011, 02:22 PM

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Pretending that Odessa has already found him and he's recovering from his fight with Esme. :x Lots of back-dating going on in the near future thanks to this.

Gunnar didn't like walking. He didn't like moving, either. Or breathing. Or living. Or blinking. Blinking hurt. It hurt a surprisingly large amount. So much pain.

So why was it, he'd hitched up some god-awful horse (burrowed from Odessa after much argument), ridden this far already and wasn't ready to stop yet? Because Gunnar hated being naked. He hated being naked because people always poked fun at the curly fur trailing down his stomach, longer than the rest. He hated being naked because now it was cold and poodle curls didn't do much for keeping a person warm.

He hated a lot of things right now, actually.

The horse he rode trotted up towards Anathema's territory, not really caring that every bouncy step rattled poor Gunnar's wounds. He was littered in various deep cuts and even a couple of other stray injuries, though nothing so severe that he couldn't be allowed to travel. It hurt, but it wasn't going to kill him.

Down over a peak of a hill. As he rode along, he noticed something off-key; a strange scent, one that he picked up easily... because it was familliar. He couldn't place a name or a face to it but somehow he knew for a fact that this scent didn't belong to a member of Anathema. He might've been in the process of leaving the cave-dwellers behind for good, but he still knew how to be loyal until he finalized the exchange.

So off he rode towards the scent, a direction his mount and wounds did not appreciate.

As he came around a grove of trees and spotted the 'intruder', not far from the borders but close enough to be within barking range (or questioning, but Gunnar liked calling it 'barking'). He made a sharp whistling noise with his teeth, pulling the horse into a stop (finally!) once he'd ridden close enough to talk.

Do you even realize how close you are to our borders, guy? He croaked, voice still as raspy as it'd been since his first fight with Esme. Anyone with only half a mind would maul you for being this close. You'd best move down wind. A friendly piece of advice. Gunnar didn't feel like fighting this time and this guy was just passing by, nothing to get haughty about. Besides, Gunnar was very obviously wounded and still recovering. It had been a few days ago now but he still felt like shit.

Tends to happen when you tumble off the top of the entrance to the Howling Caverns like he did. The cuts were the least of his worries; the bruises and the cracked rib? Egh.

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