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Sorry for the crap! I just wanted to get this up before I get swamped with hw tomorrow, TT^TT
300+
The warrior carried the limp form in her arms, and as she travelled, she was keenly aware of the broken bones, aware that with every stride, the boy probably felt as if he were dying. And the female didn’t tell him that he would die if she didn’t find someone quickly, for she knew that hopelessness was just as merciless a killer as Death. The white orbs occasionally looked down to meet the boy’s gaze, to offer him a reminder that he wasn’t alone. And the warrior would not let him die. That was why he would have to suffer for these long moments more until she reached the boarders of his home. The black fae admitted that she had never been near these boarders, and she hoped now that someone would be there. She prayed silently to her gods, especially the goddess, that there would be someone there.
The procession of skulls that haunted the boarders did not make a strong impression upon her; she was neither heeding them with the proper attention, nor was she unfamiliar with such practices. But she could not admit that she had felt a cold passing upon her morals as she deliberately crossed the boarder, and the white orbs scanned this unfamiliar territory as she went. Then she let out a howl, raising her maw and pausing only slightly as she sent that brief call into the air. As a Dahlian, the warrior would have felt the full impact of the transgression she now made. But as a friend and mentor of the boy in her arms, the female was not so concerned. The woad bound fingers gripped the boy’s fur as she finally allowed herself to cease, unwilling to acknowledge her angry scars but willing to acknowledge her lack of knowledge of these lands.
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Though it was remarkably late, the Aquila was neither sleeping nor in his den. Instead, the doggish male was seated on the beach, amber eyes burning in the darkness. The thought of her body washing ashore had begun to claw at his mind, to whisper and question and refuse to give him a moment of peace. Marlowe had returned with no news, but even this did not settle the hybrid’s mind. Conscious of this, the raven had stayed up and discussed the matter with the three year old at length.
Unable to settle, even after their talk, Gabriel had elected to go to the sea. Unwilling to leave his friend, the raven had traveled by the moonlight, however difficult this was for him. Gabriel appreciated the gesture, and had killed a large and slow-moving crab for the raven. So for a time there had been no noise outside of the cracking shells and ocean, which was perfectly all right for Gabriel.
That was until an unfamiliar and wolfish voice broke through his thoughts. The urgency of the call perturbed him, and instantly the hair along his spine rose. Without hesitation the Aquila was moving, running from the shore and towards the source of the disturbance. Marlowe was forgotten until the bird passed over him, keeping low to the ground and several yards ahead of the hybrid. He let out only one noise, and this was a loud call that alerted Gabriel to the source—which he soon smelt. Blood.
A thousand possibilities raced through his mind, but what he soon beheld caused a wave of horror to crash in his belly. Before him a white-eyed woman was carrying his son, battered and bloodied. What felt like fire began to rush through his blood, and Gabriel was conscious of nothing but the holy fervor that had come the night he had seen Talitha ruined, or the day his siblings had nearly been killed. His face cracked into a vicious snarl, but he did not attack the woman (even though impulse demanded such), instead riding that holy rage and using it to twist his body. Optime, long hair tumbling around his face, the man did not hesitate to close the distance and gingerly touch his son’s face, reassuring himself the boy was alive. Ezekiel managed a weak smile but then lost consciousness, which was just as well by Gabriel.
His eyes shot to the woman, amber-gold burning and vicious in the moonlight. “Come with me,” he ordered. Marlowe settled on the shoulder of the hybrid, who began moving north. They were too far from the mansion, and the beach would offer a smoother and safer path for their journey.
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500+
The body in her arms was warm, and it was a sign that the boy was still alive. Her own body was exhausted, but the woman was accustom to pushing it beyond the physical restraints and even into death. Surely that had been the case when she had been attacked by Hybrid. And those wounds now brought her greater exhaustion. Her shoulder and hip and back were under the stress of making the journey swiftly and carefully with the young coyote carried in her arms, and they were remembering that day. But the female tried not to as she stood there, anxious for an answer from someone—anyone, even if it would be Hybrid, for she believed that, if anything, at least the boy would gain the much needed aid. The woad bound ears pressed forward urgently, attempting to gain the sign of anyone’s approach. They swiveled slowly when there was nothing, moving again when still there was nothing until she had scanned the entire area. But then, after what seemed like an eternity but what had most likely been a long moment, she thought she heard someone coming.
At first, it seemed as if a dog were approaching, but then it changed quite suddenly and approached with equal speed. The anger that the Infernian radiated through those golden eyes struck the female, and for a moment she feared that he would use that anger against her. Her legs shifted instinctively as she prepared for such an attack, her arms still carefully relaxed to hold the body with gentle care. But the man did not do such a thing, and as he came near to touch the boy, she noticed a similarity in that scent. She wondered if this man were Gabriel de le Poer or perhaps the boy’s uncle, but she did not have time to ask. Nor was it the time to ask. There would be enough of that for later. The man’s gaze lifted from the boy as she felt the body go limp, and those golden orbs shone with a ferocity that was impressed upon the warrior. And she followed instinctively the command he gave.
As the guest within these lands, the warrior followed the hybrid, following the trail he made directly behind him. But her feet were quick and light as she followed at his heels. They moved north, and whatever familiarity there seemed to be of the landscape now escaped her. As she was silent, the white orbs fell to the black bird that rode upon his shoulder, and the warrior wondered suddenly where the pied Raven had gone. There was a quiet dread lingering within her gut, but she tried to push it aside. And then, almost as if on cue, the warrior’s Dream called from above. But that did not explain where the bird had been before. Normally, she would not have troubled herself with such a thing, but under the current predicament, such a worry seemed necessary. Returning her gaze to the man ahead, she told him, "His ribs are broken, but I don’t know what else may have been damaged," and the alto melody wanted to urge them forward, but they already moved quickly and could do no more.
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The moonlight broke behind gray-black clouds, illuminating the trio. Gabriel’s pace was solid and steady, and he walked without seeing the ground below him. On his shoulder, Marlowe was uncharacteristically silent. Even if he had been speaking, the Aquila would not have heard him. His mind was full of blood and fire, and he could not see beyond these things. Someone had hurt his son, as they had hurt his daughter. It was unacceptable.
Behind him the she-wolf spoke, and his ears turned back swiftly. Broken ribs. A growl reverberated through his chest. There wasn’t much to be done without Corona, but he would have to wait till dawn to find her. There was no use in waking the rest of the clan and giving them reason to panic. It was a tactical thought, one that he had learned from his mother.
He had also learnt of war. “What happened?” His tone was short, vicious. Gabriel turned from the sand and began to ascend the sloping hill.
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500+
He responded immediately to her words. The ears swiveled back as he growled, though she felt that it was not directed at her. The urgent anger radiating from the male told the woman that he must be related to the boy in some way, in a close way, and she knew that her earlier assumption had been correct. However, she was still unsure as to the actual relation, and the white orbs studied the back of the male in silence. Of course, the golden hues of the boy in her arms was not reflected within the darker earth tones of this man, but that curiosity that could find its way beyond in the urgency of her movements that could be pushed no further was perpetually seeking the answers of the world in its own, diluted way.
The man’s voice, cutting through the air violently, caught her immediate attention; she could not help but notice the way in which the male spoke and moved, but before she over analyzed her surroundings, the warrior gave willingly to this male of Inferni her reply. "He must have been attacked—the one who did it is a black male with the white upon his upper torso." Like a pied crow. Like her Raven. Such obvious similarities had never escaped the warrior. "Ezekiel would not have attacked first—he was on his way home." The woman had only just left his side, for they had partaken in one of their regular meetings. The sparring had been particularly exciting for the woman, and she felt that the boy was improving with surprising celerity. But such skill would have meant nothing to the pied wolf. She was not even sure if she could or would kill him. There was an irrational conflict within her soul; this matter should be as simple as the matter of killing upon the battlefield, of seeing only the enemy and taking it down. But it was not so in this case, and she did not know why.
Silently, the warrior turned with the leading male, following him up the hill. Her movements were tireless, but her body was not. The wounds that had only just healed made her sore, and a light sheen of perspiration was worked up in the cool night. The warrior pulled up to walk abreast the man, but held a certain amount of distance; she was not entirely sure what this clan member thought of her, and she could not push her limits simply because she held a son of Inferni within her arms. The white orbs turned from the Raven in the heavens, to the bird upon the shoulder, and finally to the face of the dog-like male. "I’m sorry," the alto melody apologized. "The one who attacked Ezekiel is my father...." Somehow, she felt as if this were upon her own conscience, for it had been her that her father had sought. Ezekiel had simply been at the wrong place in the wrong time—or perhaps it was her scent upon him that had moved her father to do such a thing.
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Each note was taken in blood, as Gabriel intended to see all too soon. His mouth was open, swallowing the cold air and washing the taste of iron from it, but he could not forget. Both of his children had been made to suffer, and even now, even with the fury of a father demanding retribution, he knew that this was God’s Will. Through suffering came enlightenment. Gabriel had been taught this, and he knew this as well as he could still feel the holy fire that drove the stigmata through his palm.
Her face met his, and he was struck for a moment by her peculiar eyes, but the words meant more. The Aquila’s teeth flashed in the darkness, but he turned from her and moved up another shallow slope. “In here.” While his den was no longer full of family members, it was large enough to boast such. Soft grass, animal pelts, and numerous odds and ends softened the cave’s appearance. “Put him down there,” he motioned to the pile, but continued moving. Scarred hands dug through a pile, tossing to the side books, drawings, and eventually setting on ragged bandages. He could not treat the boy completely, but he could do this until his sister saw to him.
Turning, the Aquila eyed the girl and frowned, eyes darkening at her words. “I think you need to explain what’s going on.” Not a question, but a demand. He moved to his son’s side and began to gingerly test his side.
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500+
Cwmfen paused momentarily as the male turned, his golden eyes holding her gaze for a moment before flashing his teeth and turning away. The warrior began to move once more, pushing her body into motion. She could not deny that the boy’s weight grew heavy in her arms. But she was accustom to working through such things and was able to endure far longer than her body would have liked. The black fae was sure that she would begin to feel it most keenly within the shoulder that had been torn by Hybrid, but for now it could easily be ignored. And so she followed him in silence once more, trotting up the hill as the dog-like male led her to a cave. Pausing upon the threshold, she hesitated, memories of her childhood flitting through her as the wings of bats move through the nighttime air. Her mind, with marginal difficulty, pushed these thoughts away that so easily surfaced with the knowledge of her father’s presence. The woad warrior passed into the cave.
The air was thick with the male’s scent. White orbs flickered about, drinking in the details of this place in which she stood. It was quite different from the cave in which her childhood was spent if only because there were things besides herself that filled the dark space. It was almost welcoming if she disregarded the fact that this home was the home of a stranger from a rival clan. Suddenly, the male was ordering her, and she was drawn away from the simple scene. Swiftly, the warrior moved to the pile having been indicated. Kneeling with great care (for herself but especially for the boy within her arms), she traded the boy, offering him to that pile of grasses and pelts. Ezekiel was lain upon his side where the female believed the damage was less. Before she stepped back to allow the male to tend to him, Cwmfen touched his ear in a curious manner; the affection she felt for the boy, however, was not lost.
The white orbs lifted as the male spoke. She stood there for a moment in silence, unwilling to sit unbidden in this strange place. "My father...I left my homelands because of him. I thought I thought that I was safe from him, that I had lost him when I had crossed the lands of ice." The arctic was the place of which she spoke, but she knew not the name of that land. "He must have smelled me on Ezekiel," the alto melody continued, but it was obvious that she was unsure of what had moved the crow wolf to attack. "I did not intend for this to happen," the warrior assured, and there was a certain amount of sadness in her voice. And then she fell silent, quite aware that the male could take it upon himself to deal with her. She could have continued, but she would not have known that Ezekiel had not informed his clanmembers of their regular meets.
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There were at least three ribs broken that Gabriel could feel. Corona would have to look him over, given that her medicinal knowledge outweighed his own. Field-training had only offered him so much. Blonde-black hair fell around his face as the Aquila worked, listening silently to the woman beside him. She explained enough to give him a culprit, but what his son had been doing with the painted woman the hybrid did not understand.
Without looking her in the face, the scarred man continued to treat his son. “What were you two doing?” Both hands moved with a soldier’s training; what he did know had been learnt on the battlefield. It would be enough to hold until dawn, when Marlowe could find Corona. Seemingly aware of this, the raven had left the Aquila’s shoulder and taken to studying the damage—something Gabriel was only mildly perturbed by. Despite his trust for the bird, he could not help but recognize the look of a scavenger.
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The white orbs watched quietly as the dog-like male worked upon the unconscious boy. There was a certain amount of curiosity as she wondered if that was what the black, blue eyed wolf had done to her. She had learned very little of the healing arts and she knew that she should have been more familiar with such things. But she had begun her life quite alone, learning only a little from her mother and the crow wolf before she had escaped into that world of solitude. The herbs she knew how to use she had seen used by others, and memorizing the scent of each plant she had learned to apply them to herself; of course, it had been a difficult thing for the female to do as she had not been aware of her ability to shift, and often she had resorted to limping on or stopping until the wounds, usually relatively superficial, had healed. But the man’s hands were steady and certain, knowing what it was that was being done and what must be done. And so she simply watched, hoping to take away from this experience what she could.
The woad bound ears flickered as he spoke and her eyes lifted to gaze upon the back of his head. For a moment she was silent, unable to recognize the implication of the clan member’s inquiry. "We were practicing—the arts of war," the alto melody clarified immediately. "We have met regularly for such practices since a moon ago," she estimated. "From the moment I met him, I recognized great potential not only in his physical endeavors, but his mental endeavors as well." The warrior felt suddenly that she had to explain to this male if not because he demanded to know then to simply elaborate upon the question that implied that the golden boy had not informed others of his pack. Of course, she herself had not informed her pack members, but such things had never emerged within conversation. Perhaps the same case had been that of the boy.
Cwmfen’s eyes shifted momentarily to the coal black Raven, transfixed by the bird’s image. Deep within, the woad warrior was on edge, for she had never expected to find her father. She thought that she could hear the pied Raven of her Dreams calling from with out, but she was unsure whether that sound had been real or merely the echo of her Dreaming. And the warrior could not explain the fear that she felt for the Korean, for she felt that such a fear should be absent; she feared very little, and she feared nothing in the way she feared her father. Quietly, the woman took a quiet breath, momentarily sending her fears away as she took a step closer, he gaze shifting to the boy and to the hands of the man that worked. "How is he?" The alto melody was quiet so as to not disturb the man’s concentration. They shifted slowly to the man’s face, wondering quietly of this man’s history and identity but too reserved and respectful to delve into such topics with the male who held himself so highly.
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They will hurt you.
Gabriel’s ears twitched. He could hear her voice even now, and no longer doubted his mother had been right all along. It was not as simple as them and us, but it was close. What few exceptions there were (and on both sides, he was sure) did not excuse the majority. All of those lessons swam through his head; from Kaena, from Ahren, from the dead woman, from his commander, and he knew that what they spoke was the truth. Now long dead, some longer then others, he saw their paths and purpose in his life.
The hybrid’s jaw tightened. She spoke of war, and of her role as his son’s teacher. That explained far too much. Ezekiel had been doing a poor job at hiding his bruises and sore muscles. How his son had found this woman, and more importantly, why the Dahlian had taken to him, were questions for a later time. She explained this only slightly; it still left his head ringing with doubt. Why an Inferni member? Why not her own pack, and not the one Haku sought to destroy?
He looked up at her once his hands settled. Ezekiel’s damaged body would need his sister’s expert hand; while Gabriel had wrapped his torso, it was not enough. The woman, with her painted bands and peculiar eyes, remained standing. She intrigued him; if this had been any other member of Dahlia de Mai, he doubted they would have resisted the urge to attack him. After all, as best he could tell, they believed him the devil—just as Gabriel saw Haku. The fresh scars on her body told him more; she had to be the one Hybrid had attacked. Why, then, she had taken Inferni’s prince as her apprentice he could not fathom.
“He’ll be fine,” Gabriel offered, and shifted his weight from his knees. His right hand, stigmata scar clear, motioned for her to sit. “Given he’s been training with both of us, I’m sure his body will recover from this.”
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500+
The man’s jaw tightened and the black fae thought that there may have been distrust in that single movement. Once more the warrior was reminded of the potential danger of her situation and made herself alert. She was on enemy territory, some might say, and it would not have mattered whether she had carried their prince from danger. If the male should choose, he would be able to overcome her, for her body was still only recently put into motion. Her own training would have to be done rigorously if she were to obtain the same efficiency that had been mastered in her muscles a moon ago. But the woad marked fae was relying upon the truce between her pack and his clan to keep the air between them calm and unruffled. She was not intentionally creating a situation between the two factions; she simply had become involved in the matter of a friend. Such a thing had brought her here and she would not deny that danger could be involved.
And yet the male continued to be amiable—relatively speaking. It seemed as if his work had been complete as he turned to look at her for the first time since he had begun. There was a brief silence between them as he considered her before it was broken by his reply. There was relief within the female’s mind, and a soft smile graced her lips. It was simply a relief that Death was not at his heels. When the male motioned for her to sit, the scar upon his hand struck her with a great force, its symbolic value holding her with a profundity. There was no doubt within the warrior’s mind of the male’s religious affiliation. Her mind wandered to Bane for a brief moment before she silently accepted his offer. She lowered herself to her knees in a single, fluid motion, finding it easier to support her tired body in that position. The woad tipped tail swept the cave’s floor behind her as it came to rest at her side.
His next comment caught her attention, and the white orbs shifted to the golden eyes before drifting slightly to the side. She felt as if she knew the name of this man. "Gabriel de le Poer...?" The name was spoken quietly in a question, and it was clear that she was not certain of who the male was. Yet, she felt that this was the leader of Inferni, considering the way in which he carried himself, and also the father of the boy. She did not really know what to do with such information; the stories of this male went from ‘just’ to ‘monster’. And perhaps he was both; for now she could live with ‘just’ if only because Ezekiel lived here. And the warrior could do nothing but retain that ever moving mind in case hostility would arise. In the silence, the white orbs shifted to the boy’s body behind the dark hued male before they returned to him. Then, formally, the woman introduced herself.
"I’m Cwmfen nic Graine, Adonis and Head Warrior of Dahlia de Mai." The woman’s voice danced quietly in the air as she sat opposite the man that was said to lead the enemy of her pack. The white orbs held the ferocity of a warrior, but there was no challenge within them, for she knew that she had broken the truce by crossing the boarders to deliver the body of Ezekiel. And so she was silent, uncertain as to what path would be taken now that all the smoke had cleared.
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She knew his name, something which did not surprise him as it once had. After leading Inferni for so long, after all the de le Poer house had done, they were no longer nothing. Perhaps that was what his ancestors had wanted. His father certainly had not, despite the fact he had been so cursed with children. How many now survived here, in this savage land? Two sons and a daughter. Two out of the eight, one of who knew how many. Gabriel did not doubt that Jasper would not survive long without his father—he would likely not survive long without Corona watching him so dutifully.
Lord knew Gabriel had subjected his wards, his own children, to all the brimstone and holy fire of an angry God. That was how things had to be. Salvation through suffering. Blood and fire. He inhaled her voice and let the facts settle until they were stale in his lungs. “I am,” he revealed, and pushed his hair behind one torn ear. “Thank you for bringing him home, Cwmfen.” He pronounced her name slowly, a foreign word that he refused to mutilate. For whatever else he was, Gabriel understood the rules of dignity, just as he understood the rules (and lack thereof) of war.
“I’ll be honest,” he added, amber eyes narrowing slightly, sharpening. “I’m quite surprised you did such a thing.”
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As the male before her confirmed his identity, the warrior dipped her maw in respect. Whatever the male was to her, he was her superior. Resting her hands upon her knees, the black fae watched the male quietly, listening as his voice formed the sounds of her name. A light smile flickered across the woman’s maw. She enjoyed hearing others say it; each person said it a little differently, creating a new sound and colour and shape that she found was quite identifiable. She explored the world in this way. When she was young, the wolf had watched the clear waters of a stream move over a black pebble, its surface smooth and gleaming as it lay beyond her reach. The meaning of her name in each individual’s voice was likewise unreachable, but the presence was there nonetheless for her to see and feel in the mind’s eye.
Cwmfen received his thanks with a soft, warm smile. "I only hope that I have not broken the truce that lies between our packs." Technically, the Adonis was responsible for trespassing onto the Inferni boarders. She had penetrated deep into the lands, a thing that she herself did not tolerate within Dahlia de Mai. Yet, she had had a good enough reason, having carried that golden prince to return him to his clan. She knew that Gabriel de le Poer’s gratitude must have been genuine, especially because Ezekiel was his son, and so she hoped that her transgression could be overlooked. Of course, as a warrior, she would be able to understand if he chose to raise the charges against her. The boy had at least been delivered from her father’s jaws; that would be enough for now. The woman hoped, however, that their meetings would not be stopped in the future. If they did meet again, she would have to go a little easy regarding his injures—but not too much.
Woad bound ears flickered forward at the sudden change of tone. The white orbs thought that she saw something dangerous in that gaze, and she knew that the tales of this leader would be true—indeed the display of skulls at the boarders would have been enough. "A warrior can distinguish between a friend and an enemy, even if they should be a single entity." The alto melody was soft in the cave as something dark flickered within the white orbs. "Your son is not my enemy," that soft alto assured. "Inferni does not have to remain in conflict with Dahlia; personal disputes can be left in that manner." Of course, for the warrior this talk of peace was only a layer of her reasoning behind her bond with the boy. As a warrior, she required war and almost promoted it. But she knew that peace must exist as well, and she knew what Cercelee wanted for Dahlia. Haku may not have agreed, but such trouble that was caused by individuals did not have to raise war. Of course, such thoughts could have been naïve. She was not a diplomat.
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A chunk of black-blonde hair fell into his face, obscuring his vision. “You came without ill intent,” he justified, and lifted his scarred hand to pushed the hair from his face. Regardless of whether or not she was the indirect cause of his son’s condition, she had not been the one to raise arms against him. Indeed, he saw this explained in her body and in her face. She had not, as her co-leader had, taken him lightly. She understood what he was because she was very much the same; though they had come from two very different worlds.
For this reason and this reason alone, he overlooked her title, pack, and even breed—for the time being, at least. Her talk of peace struck him as peculiar, but she was young. She had not yet been so involved in all that came from the strife and conflict of this place. “There is no way to approach a dispute without making it personal,” he reminded her, and offered her a faint smile. “For tonight, you are welcome in my home. Tomorrow I’ll escort you to our borders.” That was the least he could offer her.
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End here? ^=^
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The woman replied to his reminder with a light smile. What he said was true—it had been a slip on her part to assume otherwise. Of course, now that she did consider the matter in such light, she could see why the two packs remained in perpetual conflict. It was a shame, however, that it had to be so. Once long ago her mother had told her that her people fought often with the other tribes and packs. It was simply a lifestyle. At times individuals partook in duels, duels that were a simple display of strength. Of course, more often than not, the males would become offended and the fight would be real. Some ended in death. But it had never started the resentment she now experienced between this clan and her pack. It was a curious thing, but perhaps it was a thing that she should respect if only because it would be a cultural difference. The warrior understood that not all creatures were the same, and because she now lived within that culture, she could only respect that.
"I thank you," the soft melody responded quietly, her register formal and respectful of the leader in whose presence she was. The woad marked fae bowed her head respectfully, dipping her maw deeply before rising again. "That’s already more than I should be permitted." The least she could do, if matters of peace would not be expressed (and surely that had not been the purpose of her arrival within these lands), was to represent Dahlia de Mai to the best of her abilities. And as Adonis, she recognized that that was now a part of her responsibility. The white orbs considered the Inferni leader as if seeking to understand him. If he had required it, she could have left that night. The warrior was a little uncomfortable remaining in his presence if only because she was unfamiliar with him. While she had grown as a social creature, she was still not the social butterflies that others could be, but she did not think that the dog-like leader would judge her for that.
Her gaze shifted momentarily from the leader to the injured boy. That gaze lingered there for a moment, but the reason for that lingering was ambiguous. Finally she returned her gaze to the man, finally feeling the full effects of the long day and the trek to the lands in which she now sat. Silently, the woman dismissed herself, refraining from turning her back on him. It was something that her father had taught her to do in his presence, but it was something that the woman could make sense of. While a gesture of respect, it was also one of caution. The warrior did not forget where she was or in whose house she was a guest. She retreated to the cave’s mouth and proceeded to shift down, returning to her lupus form. Tomorrow she would return to Dahlia de Mai alone, and she would not require the bipedal form—it would be faster to travel on all fours anyway. And sleeping upon the stone would be easier as well. Curling herself up, the warrior made herself as comfortable as possible, unwilling to disrespect the leader’s word by keeping her defenses. Nevertheless she slept lightly, ready to rise early in the coming morning.
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