01-18-2010, 04:50 PM
[html]OOC: ::Word Count:: 1000+
Even rationality can sometimes feed impulse. This thought had stuck to the pristine-furred female’s memory with unexpected stubbornness and the unwavering will that certain thoughts sometimes have of leaving room for no other worries. While she kept herself occupied, she found that it was easier for her mind to break free of this spell, but so long as she was idling away, her mind went back to its initial focus. This was a new occurrence in the pale Crimson Dreamer’s case, not particularly in the sense that she could hardly concentrate on anything apart from this nagging thought (similar feelings of not being able to part with a particular thought had been almost daily right after her encounter with the Inferni Aquila), but in the fact that it had all started quite recently and abruptly, despite being related to something that had happened some time ago. While her narrow escape from Haku’s merciless jaws had been almost miraculous, especially judging by the few marks she had carried afterwards, she knew that, had the circumstances been any different, her luck would not necessarily have held. Although she was grateful for the chance she had had, she knew that a situation such as that might repeat itself at any given time, and she would be as helpless as in the initial case.
This was a daunting prospect for the pearl femme, who was completely aware of her inadequate build and the subsequent futility of her trying to become a warrior. In all honesty, had she had the proper build and muscle to entertain such an idea, it would have still proved fruitless in the face of her peaceful, tranquility-seeking nature. Unless provoked, and not even always then, Urma was simply not the type of person to go picking for a fight, or even to agree to one that was on the verge of taking place. Violence had the unlucky gift of reminding the blanched she-wolf of her mother’s torment at the hands of her father, and this memory in turn, triggered a repulsed reaction at the recollection of her parents’ relationship. It had done neither her, nor her siblings any good to witness the degradation of their parents, fueled by rage, anger, hatred, spite and the refusal to repent and be forgiven, all results of the same thing: the inevitable fight and its many underlying layers of bickering, reproach and revengefulness.
The ivory Dreamer had witnessed too many fights to ever want to taste the cruelty and deception of a violent nature. She knew all of its forms and manifestations all too well, and that was partly why her ‘too close for comfort’ encounter with the Dahlian Head Scout had failed to awaken more than a dormant fear of not being able to stand up for herself. Indeed, her life had been poisoned by misfortunes that had one way or another had something to do with her poor defensive skills, as a consequence of her lack of training in any sort of technique, even that of avoiding sustaining too much damage during a battle. But fear had never seized her with such force as it had when she had faced Haku. It wasn’t that she had never dealt with any blows to resemble his, both in the damage they inflicted, as well as in the force with which that damage was brought upon the victim; the one thing that Haku could instill far better in an opponent was dread. Seeing poison twinkling in his cerulean orbs sent shivers down your spine, and his open jaws screamed a thousand deaths all at once. Haku was one of the few people Urma had ever encountered to whom inflicting damage was not the main satisfaction, but breaking his victim emotionally and mentally.
Thoughts and memories had become so crowded in the white Crimson Dreamer’s head that she had failed to pick up the scent of Aniwaya, familiar with her through Ember. She slowed down her two-legged pace, involuntarily tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before pushing some of her hair out of her face. Her golden orbs tried to take her surroundings in, knowing that she would become acquainted with these lands so long as what she had set out to do here today succeeded. The colourful beads in her hair clicked against each other rhythmically, like the vague ancestral sound of some primordial drums. The soft breeze caressed her face, easing some of the anticipation her coming here had made her feel.
She was uncertain as to what to expect of this meeting, but the fact that she had even had the courage to seek out this particular male was an encouraging start. Except for his skills in battle, Urma had gathered little else about him. The few details she did possess, however, were related to his sharing the leadership of Aniwaya with Ember. If he proved to be indeed as socially-inclined as Ember, chances were that her plea would not go unheard, despite the fact that it would probably be of little to no significance to him. However, these analogies did not always prove accurate-- it had not happened so long ago that Urma could not remember the striking dissimilarity in manner between Geneva and Jefferson, the leaders of Phoenix Valley.
Knowing that her thoughts would only help her worries grow in magnitude, she sat down, feet folded like a pretzel, a pose she had come to associate with Pilot, and raised her slender head up to the sky to let a single, neutral howl escape her, loud enough for it to be carried a suitable distance in-land. Its distinctive sound held a single name: Dawali Amara. Should he by any means be too busy to be able to respond himself, at least another wolf would know that the call had been made for their male leader and would act on it accordingly. Worst case scenario, another wolf would inform her that their leader was currently unavailable and she would have to return another time, in the hopes of better luck.
Even rationality can sometimes feed impulse. This thought had stuck to the pristine-furred female’s memory with unexpected stubbornness and the unwavering will that certain thoughts sometimes have of leaving room for no other worries. While she kept herself occupied, she found that it was easier for her mind to break free of this spell, but so long as she was idling away, her mind went back to its initial focus. This was a new occurrence in the pale Crimson Dreamer’s case, not particularly in the sense that she could hardly concentrate on anything apart from this nagging thought (similar feelings of not being able to part with a particular thought had been almost daily right after her encounter with the Inferni Aquila), but in the fact that it had all started quite recently and abruptly, despite being related to something that had happened some time ago. While her narrow escape from Haku’s merciless jaws had been almost miraculous, especially judging by the few marks she had carried afterwards, she knew that, had the circumstances been any different, her luck would not necessarily have held. Although she was grateful for the chance she had had, she knew that a situation such as that might repeat itself at any given time, and she would be as helpless as in the initial case.
This was a daunting prospect for the pearl femme, who was completely aware of her inadequate build and the subsequent futility of her trying to become a warrior. In all honesty, had she had the proper build and muscle to entertain such an idea, it would have still proved fruitless in the face of her peaceful, tranquility-seeking nature. Unless provoked, and not even always then, Urma was simply not the type of person to go picking for a fight, or even to agree to one that was on the verge of taking place. Violence had the unlucky gift of reminding the blanched she-wolf of her mother’s torment at the hands of her father, and this memory in turn, triggered a repulsed reaction at the recollection of her parents’ relationship. It had done neither her, nor her siblings any good to witness the degradation of their parents, fueled by rage, anger, hatred, spite and the refusal to repent and be forgiven, all results of the same thing: the inevitable fight and its many underlying layers of bickering, reproach and revengefulness.
The ivory Dreamer had witnessed too many fights to ever want to taste the cruelty and deception of a violent nature. She knew all of its forms and manifestations all too well, and that was partly why her ‘too close for comfort’ encounter with the Dahlian Head Scout had failed to awaken more than a dormant fear of not being able to stand up for herself. Indeed, her life had been poisoned by misfortunes that had one way or another had something to do with her poor defensive skills, as a consequence of her lack of training in any sort of technique, even that of avoiding sustaining too much damage during a battle. But fear had never seized her with such force as it had when she had faced Haku. It wasn’t that she had never dealt with any blows to resemble his, both in the damage they inflicted, as well as in the force with which that damage was brought upon the victim; the one thing that Haku could instill far better in an opponent was dread. Seeing poison twinkling in his cerulean orbs sent shivers down your spine, and his open jaws screamed a thousand deaths all at once. Haku was one of the few people Urma had ever encountered to whom inflicting damage was not the main satisfaction, but breaking his victim emotionally and mentally.
Thoughts and memories had become so crowded in the white Crimson Dreamer’s head that she had failed to pick up the scent of Aniwaya, familiar with her through Ember. She slowed down her two-legged pace, involuntarily tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before pushing some of her hair out of her face. Her golden orbs tried to take her surroundings in, knowing that she would become acquainted with these lands so long as what she had set out to do here today succeeded. The colourful beads in her hair clicked against each other rhythmically, like the vague ancestral sound of some primordial drums. The soft breeze caressed her face, easing some of the anticipation her coming here had made her feel.
She was uncertain as to what to expect of this meeting, but the fact that she had even had the courage to seek out this particular male was an encouraging start. Except for his skills in battle, Urma had gathered little else about him. The few details she did possess, however, were related to his sharing the leadership of Aniwaya with Ember. If he proved to be indeed as socially-inclined as Ember, chances were that her plea would not go unheard, despite the fact that it would probably be of little to no significance to him. However, these analogies did not always prove accurate-- it had not happened so long ago that Urma could not remember the striking dissimilarity in manner between Geneva and Jefferson, the leaders of Phoenix Valley.
Knowing that her thoughts would only help her worries grow in magnitude, she sat down, feet folded like a pretzel, a pose she had come to associate with Pilot, and raised her slender head up to the sky to let a single, neutral howl escape her, loud enough for it to be carried a suitable distance in-land. Its distinctive sound held a single name: Dawali Amara. Should he by any means be too busy to be able to respond himself, at least another wolf would know that the call had been made for their male leader and would act on it accordingly. Worst case scenario, another wolf would inform her that their leader was currently unavailable and she would have to return another time, in the hopes of better luck.
::Word Count:: 600+