Wolf RPG

He returned with the rest of them, on Lasher's lagging heel, but before reaching the forest of gargantuan trees he deviated. Nothing caused him to do this, he simply did it. Followed an errant path down and away from the ridge that led in to the heart of home. The edge of the world beckoned to him - the sea, the bludgeoning beat of the ocean upon the cliffside. It was a humid day and the humidity frizzed the fine hairs of his pelt; the ocean was stupefied, lulling to and fro as if asleep, and the tired boy felt a kinship with it for just a moment.

As Renoir followed the sandbar he stared groggily out at the swatch of blue, and eventually came to a halt next to a half-buried tree. Perhaps it had died and been washed from its home? Perhaps it had fallen from the forest and been rooted anew in the sand. It was upside down, of that he was certain - the roots sprawling overhead where there should have been a great bough. It was sun-bleached and old, the tones upon its stripped body (bare of any bark) was similar to the buttery gold of his own coat. He smiled, and leaned upon it.

At this point, Renoir thought he heard something. A bleating? No - but it was something alive, and he could discern the sound through the groaning of the waves. He lifted himself free of the sand and began to plot a course around the massive upside-down monument, but did not have to go far. Just beyond him, caught among the barnacled slabs of stone, there was a calf. Of what sort he could not identify, as he was not a hunter. But the creature was lodged against the rocks and crying, wailing even, pleading to the fates for freedom.

With the failure of their westward journey hot within his mind, Renoir did not think twice about advancing upon the soaking creature; his teeth shone brightly, and he, juxtaposed and gold against the blue of the ocean, would soon bring the much needed food back to Donnelaith.

she had missed her father when he was gone, and she had missed her newest friend, renoir; but they had returned, bearing bad news--nothing had been untouched. this mattered no more to deirdre, who only saw fortune in their homecoming; she had seen green, and knew soon, they would all smell it, as donnelaith once wore the perfume of the color, if such a thing were possible. she missed every plant, even those of the toxic variety; for they all had their purpose, and they had all been friends dear to her heart. the lovely girl, who appeared, now, as an adult would, moved along the trail of renoir to see how he had faired after his journey.

she caught him during a hunt. did he need her aid? could she give it well? for she remembered the sight of a hunt, but had seen, as of late, failures upon failures given the lack of strength and the great hunger that clung to their bones. still, she had observed successes, too, had she not? and so she moved 'round, observing the waves to see if he needed her aid. she would try her utmost to give it, to help him bring food to those who needed it.

In this desperate time he was acutely aware of his target, and not the angel that had drifted down to witness him. Were he to notice her, surely this venture would fail; no woman should ever be brought before bloodshed, and it would have distracted him enough to give up this precious meal simply to escort her away. Such a thing did not occur, however. The creature's pained begging, though of a foreign tongue, lilted through the air and Renoir knew, acutely, that he was about to save them all. The creature may have once been a deer of some sort, but now it was a creature made of sticks and twigs, its legs like endless branches rooted through hips and shoulders to a boulder of a chest, a neck so thin he could see every puzzle piece connecting it, and a head of sickly large proportion. How this creature survived on nothingness for so long was a mystery, but it would die here. It would feed them, even if all they had were the bones and the marrow.

Renoir was careful of the salted water as he crept closer; his pace was not slow, but somewhat languid, as if he had all the time in the world to do this creature in. His intent was to avoid using too much of his own energy in retrieving this bounty. The massive rocks may have held the creature in place, but it was a desperate beast - and desperation made it dangerous. The closer he got the more he expected a fight. The doe - for he assumed it was female, bearing no crown - watched him with a bug-eyed stare, and briefly he thought, what an ugly beast.

She seemed to urge him closer with the look in her eyes, and did not struggle even as he descended with his teeth to grip her throat. The ocean pulsed against her, spraying him as it thrust itself over them both, and he gripped tightly to her exposed flesh, feeling his gums go numb as they sank in to the chilled skin of her throat. He held her tightly then, and waited. The life slowly drained from the creature's body — Renoir couldn't tell if it struggled for life at the end, or if that was the tossing of the sea as it withdrew for another pass — but soon enough the creature was limp, and all that Renoir had to worry about was dislodging the stuck body from between the rocks.

He pulled back from the sea for a breath of air, tasting the salt on his lips, feeling the chill of the wind as it dragged through his damp chest fur; and that was when he saw the pale girl. How long had she been watching? Had she seen..? It was too late to worry about propriety, yet he worried still. Deirdre, he called over the din of the water's rumble, stay back, stay dry. mwen will come to 'ou — but he was briefly drowned out by the sea, which smucked in to him and, distracted, he tumbled against the stones beside the carcass. Dimly he thought he heard the doe's limp head crack upon the rock, and his mind said, was it her, or was it you?

the white witch only watched; his predatory nature was appealing to her in that feral manner, and she wished for his success, prayed for it--and as the prayer left his lips, he clutched the throat of the creature that would bring them life. he saw something hideous, but she saw the creatures beauty, even past the moment no oxygen left its body. it was then she was noted by him, and he demanded she keep back in a manner she was flattered by; he, as all of donnelaith, wished for her wellbeing. but she was one of them, was she not? even if she were not as adept as a hunter, yet, she was a powerful witch. she felt her own power as she narrowed her eyes with intent, and watched as the strange creature melted from its place. it was no deer; it was dirted with much and grime and was not at all what it was in all its glory. renoir had but freed it, and it stirred when no longer in his grip. but ah! the waves took them both!

deirdre rushed forward and plunged into the cool waters, ignoring completely the creature that lay limply on the shore. she gripped for renoir and found him, and dragged him toward the earth. this was the limit of her energy, and she sprawled atop him at the finish, coughing exhaustedly and feeling the burn of her eyes even beneath their lids. the creature nearby them stirred and hacked a thousand times itself, expelling many fish from it and then making a mad escape. deirdre did not heed it; she, draped atop renoir, looked to his face and nudged his temple, sought his throat to feel for a pulse.

The water pulled him back an inch or two but he did not know. The side of his head smarted with pain, and briefly he forgot all about the prey  he had just been trying to succumb. What he knew was simple: that the stars were suddenly not in their place within the sky, but down here, with him; that his head was aching greatly enough so that he squinted; that he was soaking in salt, and lastly, that a white figure was materializing before him. The hunt was forgotten as he beheld her silhouette, this perfect creature. The light caught upon her and illuminated, and she was positively glowing.

Of course, he was having a bit of a moment, because of his injury. Renoir did not know this. He saw her, saw the face of the girl, saw his sister, felt his love for one and the other and the melding of it, and gasped; his squinted eyes opened and he stared up at her fondly, too fondly perhaps, and then a fresh wave came close to part them. He felt himself lifting slightly because of the sea - or perhaps because of her magnetism - and was glad to be closer. The sea deposited him upon the bank while it swept the half-dead animal out in to the depths to fade away.

She moved to touch him again, to test his pulse, and he smiled up at her. M..net.. he slurred the name, and he lay upon the wet sand for a moment just basking in her brilliance.

deirdre was relieved to feel his movement, to know he was alive, and she thanked the spirits and the gods of olde for their watchfulness o'er him, a man she had come to care for. her love for this one was not so great as 'twas for tachyon, but she adored him nonetheless; for he bantered with her, now and then, in french, and he was always kind and warm toward her. his smile was met with one of her own, a lovely expression even when her features were gaunter than they ever would be were times easy. he spoke, and she rose on wobbly legs to check him for bodily injuries.

your what, renoir? what ails you? she asked of him, all the while investigating his form with a gentle muzzle that poked and prodded to see if any of him moved in a way not proper. she had misunderstood him naming his sister for naming a body part upon him that was injured, and so it was this she sought.

He would stay like this forever if the world would let him. Perhaps to die in her arms - his Monet, his beautiful Monet - but gradually he came back to himself, and he knew this was not her. She tended to him carefully, sweetly, just as his sister might have; and he was pleased by her attention. It did not stop the ebb and flow of the pain in his head, but she collected the stars from his eyes, put them back where they belonged. Her voice was soothing, and gradually Renoir felt as if he was much better. He tried to stand despite her hovering over him; the hustle of his movement brought him very close to her again, and he felt his snout drift through her colorless fur as if to kiss the nearest part. His eyes landed upon the rocks then, and he squinted, confused, until understanding finally returned to him.

The food - he murmured, voice thick, -where, oh, I 'ave failed 'ou, for he saw that the creature was gone. His easy kill was meaningless next to the whims of the sea. Had he realized sooner that the creatures own struggles kept it rooted in place, and that his intervention would cause it to lose grip and be flung out among the depths, he would never have been so aloof about his attempt. He swayed on his feet while stepping closer, sniffing the air, investigating, and sank to his haunch against one of the barnacled boulders.

deirdre heard him speak and worried for him. at the mention of food, she blinked and looked to the distance. no--there are fish! she gasped, and shifted to retrieve them, but paused in her swaying movement. you have not failed me, you could never fail me. can you stand, renoir? do you hurt? for she worried more for his health, and observed him lean against a boulder. he did not yet need her for support, but she offered herself nonetheless. what do you feel? for he had not responded to her gentle touches before, and so she did not think it was his leg or abdomen or chest that bothered him.

He did stand, but swayed, and was so focused on appearing well that he did not heed her words. It wasn't until her final question, hastily sprouting from her fine mouth, that he blurted an answer, Se sèlman gwo lanmou pou ou. He looked from the wet sand at his paws to her fine face, her worried face, and saw Monet there; his smile was genuine as it spread across his own yellowed face, and then he chuckled, realizing what he had said and being drunk from his injury. Yon renmen gwo anpil, paske ou se tankou yon ti fi amann! Yon entelijan, bèl, pafè ti fi - ak yon sèl jou yon amann fanm, oh, mwen santi mwen yon gwo anpil bagay sa yo he teetered, tottered, and went down again as he stepped towards her, loosing another off-kilter laugh as he sagged against her. oop! Ou te men byen bale m'wete pye trè mwen, ou dous ti fi.

young as she was, she did not understand the depth of his words, or that he was quite serious and meaning them in a different way than she knew them. c'est trop mignon, though as he spoke of beauty, she laughed, the sound as elysian as her singing voice. beau! moi? savez-vous qui il est vous parlez? est-ce moi que vous aimez? for deirdre was unaware of how fair she was, that she had blossomed into a woman of such ethereal looks that it would, inevitably, pain her. she lapsed back into english as he slumped against her, and she frowned again. surely he did not know who he was talking to, in this state! it is i, deirdre stella mayfair--do you remember me, renoir? your head... you must have hit your head! the recognition came, as she sorted through what this meant and what she must do.

All thoughts of food were forgotten, for his mind was flooded with her. Images from when he was a child, idyllic rememberings of Monet as she frolicked through the fields or tended to the flowers; she had her face, she had Deirdre's, it did not matter - they were the same, and he loved them the same. Her voice only added to this love of his. The more she spoke the more charmed he felt, and he laughed again, enthralled by her and enamored. Wi, 'ou! Wi,

He staggered but fell in to step beside her, forgetting temporarily all about the hunt and the flood of the sea, and even the half-digested fish that the creature had expounded upon the sand; the smell should have alerted him, but with his proximity to her, Renoir was aflush with her sweet perfume, and his addled mind was in such a state of pleasure that he cared little for food.

Mwen pral renmen ou pou tout tan, dous mwen, flè m'yo, zanj mwen. Yes, he was wounded. There was a small crack in his mind and a bruise upon his head that his plush fur would cover, nothing overt and nothing she could remedy; he was likely concussed but was too enthusiastic in his ramblings to bother listening to her as she tried to tend to him.

Yon jou papa pral eseye pran ou nan men'm, men mwen pa pral kite l'non! Pa tan sa'a, pa nenpòt ki lè - Ah, but he was making no sense at all now. Seeing her, knowing it was her - but thinking of his sister still. A sorrowful note entered his voice then, and gradually his rambling petered out to a dulled groan caused by the distance he felt between himself and his true desire.

deirdre giggled like the girl she was at his words, not understanding the depth and the legitimacy of them--this was but a game to him, was it not? the way that he spoke, the fervor in which he spoke! but then she sucked in a sharp breath; perhaps it was the injury, that made him speak so! he spoke of father, surely her own, taking him away, and she shook her head.

we all love one another here, renoir! donnelaith is the place for it. i love you you, she hummed warmly, i love all of you. my family! she smiled radiantly here, and kept her body upright. she was not the best scaffold, but deirdre could only try. my father would not keep you from me for love; then, he would bar me from all, as i love them. it is natural, for she did love each of donnelaith. her elders were her aunts, her uncles each! and then there was her elder brother and sisters! the newest young ones were of course her cousins, and so this was the logic that came from her lips.

come, you must rest. let us find you a place the tide cannot reach, she encouraged him forward with a coaxing nudge, but did not move away from him in case he could not yet stand surely on all fours.

She spoke and he listened, through this fog of his, and he felt a great stirring of something within. More than the love in his heart, he felt something deeper, he felt a heat spreading through him that was oddly placed, and even more strange was the vivacity of it compared to the chill of the sea water. Everything she spoke only stoked the fire of his love for her, and he laughed. He laughed gaily, and leaned upon her.

Mwen renmen ou plis ak chak moman mwen pase ak ou, ak chak moman mwen panse ke nan ou! Ou se tout bagay sa yo m'monet mwen - Deirdre mwen - flè ti kras mwen, he rambled as they walked, at times cutting through that Deirdre was saying, but he did not notice. He was so fervent in his devotion to her in these moments, his mind swimming with thoughts that spilled from his mouth, they muddied together and made little sense even to him. He moved with her to brace him, wobbled, stumbled, but eventually was free of the rocks and the wet sand and the salt in the water; then, upon the fresh shoots of bleached grass that had begun to pepper the coast-side, he collapsed beside her. M'Fè! Ou se m'yo, nou se ansanm ak nou gen tout renmen an - tèlman bagay ke nou ka fè anyen!

his words were endearing and sweet. she smiled--for he had called her beautiful, and compared her to a thing she found to be such, her friends the flowers! stars are beautiful, renoir, as is the moon! you are speaking funnily. i am yours, as i am donnelaiths! she did not know how he meant the words he spoke; that he was devoted to her, somehow, that his heart longed for her in a way foreign to her.

it was then he fell, and worriedly she moved to his side. come, renoir, lean upon me--we will find somewhere that you can rest. she coaxed him gently, emerald eyes holding him as she prepared her tired figure to do the same.

He laughed as she spoke, hearing the words but not registering them entirely. It did not matter. She could speak of dreadful things, of death, of blood and guts and gore, of the forest fading in to nothingness, and he would love her for it! It mattered not. Her voice was a thing of beauty, and he listened to the syllables more than their intended meaning, and they filled him with great glee. In and out of understanding he went; he followed her, at her side, loving their proximity, becoming drunk off of her. When she mentioned rest, he sighed a great heavy breath from his lungs and, inhaling salt mixed with the earthy aroma of her, he grinned again.

Rest with me, my love. Let us sleep and dream together — and dance, and sing, and love, He rambled even as she led him to a safe place, and murmured quietly as soon as they were situated together. Tucked close to one another, her pale self and his buttery yellow, everything was right again. The fish - the beast by the stones too - were forgotten.