The Blood on My Jaws is the Blood of My Kin

POSTED: Tue Jul 17, 2012 2:15 am

Sorry about the wait!! Last week I had an exam, and now I have an exam again next week. Summer classes are killer~ XnX

I left her location ambiguous, since I’m not sure where he would enter, but she’s far enough from the sea to not hear it; she may smell it faintly and see it in the distance. Hope it’s okay!
WC: 652

The clouds overhead were thick and brooding, rumbling deeply above the distant seas. The warm, humid air was likewise thick—almost suffocating. But the dark shadow that lingered in only briefly in one place before continuing on, flickering along like a black fire, was accustom to the heat now. Vigorous training had allowed the sinewy, feminine body to acclimatize to the heat. The slave was an athletic creature, her body naturally created, it seemed, to create the powers of taekwondo through the movement of her limbs and sinew. Her high level of training had created a body that was efficient at cooling, so that the body did not overheat when active; the Jindo wolf panted even as she simply trotted, her cooling efficiency such that panting onset was earlier and at a higher rate, just as the act of sweating. In her natural shape, she did not sweat as much as in her humanesque shape—a simple matter of unique body mechanics, it seemed.

The smooth gait slowed to a stop. Golden loop within her septum glinted in the dull afternoon light, as did the fathomless lunar orbs. Without the presence of the ranked ones, her posture was not submissive, but relaxed and neutral. Likewise, without the presence of slaves, her posture had no reason to posture dominance. Her black, damp nose twitched. The air had grown cool, a breeze from the sea cutting through the thick humidity—a premonition of a storm, perhaps. But it was not the cool breeze that caught her attention.

A colt. He lay there in the tall grasses, a newly born. He was wet still from the birthing, and it was that scent of utter vulnerability that had caught the black fae’s attention. The mother stood defensively beside her newborn, but the wolf ignored her. The scent of the colt was one she had smelled before—when Salvia had worked in the stables the season before. But this mare and her colt were not a part of the Salsolan stables. The white orbs glinted. The Korean disliked the creature—prey creatures as they were, and useless. Indeed, many wolves now rode them. But could they not use their own paws and strength to carry them across the distance? The feral creature smelled vulnerability now within the colt, and without the mark of the pack, she cared not for its life. Instinct was allowed to prevail, and within the shattered mind, instinct ruled supreme.

The Korean Jindo-wolf’s hackles rose. White teeth bared as she snarled, a terrible, cold sound. Black, horn-like auricles pressed forth and the black plume lifted in aggression. The mare whinnied, the whites of her eyes showing in fear. The horse’s instinct was to protect its young, and yet stronger still was the instinct of survival. The Slave of the Flame rushed the mare, snapping at the legs. She was swift, avoiding the danger of the hooves. Meanwhile, the colt lay in the grasses, unable to flee. The mare stood her ground, but as the wolf’s strong teeth tore through her flank, the instinct of survival prevailed. The mare fled, abandoning her young. The feral one did not pursue, for that was not her goal. The wolf turned on colt, watching the fear spread through its youthful gaze. The stink of it filled the air, filled her lungs. A thrill rushed through her, and snarl erupted from her throat. Hungry, sanguine jaws snapped about the dorsal neck, a cry of the newborn’s fear and pain echoing in the silence. Virility was nothing without its mother, it seemed. And the slave had taken it, killing it as if it were nothing. The young body thrashed weakly under her jaws, but the black wolf jerked her head, forcing its soft bones in positions within which they did not wish to be placed. The neck snapped and there was silence.

There was lifelessness.

POSTED: Fri Aug 17, 2012 2:15 am

(400)I did not forget this! <333 ILU


art by crypsis

The core of Anatole’s existence was based around his instincts. He was ill-suited for politics and words, and made (and fashioned, by extent) into something that prevailed in the harsh and barren world of the north. Southern living had not stripped him of this prowess, only subjugated it and made him explore other options. Learning to make use of animals he might have killed, for example, was new to him. These were lessons that AniWaya had imposed, and while Anatole had been given clear freedom to live as he chose, the unspoken desire to acclimate and assimilate lived within him. He was not a loner by nature; he obeyed the oldest of all wolf instincts, which was The Pack.

That did not make him incapable of surviving as a loner. In fact, on the journey north his true nature had been allowed to prosper. He traveled in the way of the wolf, sleeping every few hours for bursts at a time and then picking up as quickly as he had stopped. There had been one chance to eat, chasing away some ravens from a half-picked carcass, and while old the meat had filled his belly. It saved him energy, which was what he needed.

By some way or another he had crossed the river, uncertain of his goal, following only his own senses and the less real guidance of the eagle. She was nowhere to be seen, nor had she been for hours. This hardly surprised him. She often vanished during the night hours, though he suspected she didn’t sleep. There was, however, a constant sensation of his destination—it was like a warm breeze, and he used it to gauge himself.

That at least explained, in some way, why he was traveling what felt like out of his way. Anatole’s body was hardly sore, but he was aware that he was moving in a peculiar direction. This doubt had little time to formulate into anything larger because at the very moment that he slowed to a stop the wind carried a heavy, iron-heavy scent with it. His open mouth filled with saliva. Blood.

He moved towards it instinctively, deciding that if it was some scrawny loner’s kill he’d chase them off and take it for his own. The big wolf’s hackles bristled at the thought and while his head was even with his spine, aggression radiated from his body.

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