September 30, 2019, 10:27 AM
things were becoming chaotic in indra’s little corner of the world. @Valette had told them all to come to the circle, and as indra herded along their ragtag group of children, she could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. each passing boom of the distant earthquakes had her standing even more on edge, and this morning a new darkening lurked on the horizon.
indra eyed the choking plume, which even from the hollow, was faintly detectable by a burning scent on the wind. she was instinctively fearful of it; it smelled of destruction and horror. it was yet another black sign in a series of bad omens — first, incessant reverberations from below, then secondly, the utter departure of their bison herd.. and now this blackened storm, which lingered full of hate and ash, like a beast only waiting to head south..
once @Laurel, @Marten, and the kids were situated in their new rendezvous, indra had gone to revisit their nearly depleted cache. she pulled the last of their wares out from the clotted earth, and brought the dismal offering to the group. it was not enough, she noted, to feed them all — after giving each of them what felt a cruel ration, indra announced she would scout for any game she could on the territory’s western edge.
so she went, heading in the direction the fall wind playfully skipped. the snow underfoot made her going difficult, but it was not without virtue. there, set neatly in the crisp white powder, was a series of prints indra could hardly believe.
doe.
the fresh tracks lead her right to easthollow’s borders, and it was here the russet woman stopped — for the tracks ended, and a dark shade moved between the tree line.
the black doe from bearclaw. indra’s mouth opened in surprise as she watched the hind scrape along the snow with slender forelegs, picking thin blades of grass from underneath in quick nips of her dark muzzle.
in the distant past, she had discouraged her bearclaw packmates from pursuing this particular hind. in the distant past she had laughed with blondine under bright pylons of sunshine, watching the doe with her fawnlings, wondering of her future.. and in the distant past she had defended her decision to stigmata, staunchly unafraid of the basilisk’s ire. now was not the time for such scruples; now, her family starved and that fond artifact of her past might be able to save them all.
looking helplessly around her, indra realized her window of opportunity was fast fading. to howl for help would surely blow her cover and send the doe to the thicket — she would have to hunt alone.
determined, indra prowled after the dark apparition. her going was slow, for the black shade was alert — at any rustle of pines or the soft clump of snow the doe stopped, and scanned the world with her soft, scrying liquid eyes. indra kept to the cover of the pines, which gradually lost their familiarity, and became but unknown trees in a muted, snowbound landscape.
all that remained of indra’s passing from easthollow was a single tract of pawprints, their impression clean yet in stark solitude against the whitening frontier.
indra eyed the choking plume, which even from the hollow, was faintly detectable by a burning scent on the wind. she was instinctively fearful of it; it smelled of destruction and horror. it was yet another black sign in a series of bad omens — first, incessant reverberations from below, then secondly, the utter departure of their bison herd.. and now this blackened storm, which lingered full of hate and ash, like a beast only waiting to head south..
once @Laurel, @Marten, and the kids were situated in their new rendezvous, indra had gone to revisit their nearly depleted cache. she pulled the last of their wares out from the clotted earth, and brought the dismal offering to the group. it was not enough, she noted, to feed them all — after giving each of them what felt a cruel ration, indra announced she would scout for any game she could on the territory’s western edge.
so she went, heading in the direction the fall wind playfully skipped. the snow underfoot made her going difficult, but it was not without virtue. there, set neatly in the crisp white powder, was a series of prints indra could hardly believe.
doe.
the fresh tracks lead her right to easthollow’s borders, and it was here the russet woman stopped — for the tracks ended, and a dark shade moved between the tree line.
the black doe from bearclaw. indra’s mouth opened in surprise as she watched the hind scrape along the snow with slender forelegs, picking thin blades of grass from underneath in quick nips of her dark muzzle.
in the distant past, she had discouraged her bearclaw packmates from pursuing this particular hind. in the distant past she had laughed with blondine under bright pylons of sunshine, watching the doe with her fawnlings, wondering of her future.. and in the distant past she had defended her decision to stigmata, staunchly unafraid of the basilisk’s ire. now was not the time for such scruples; now, her family starved and that fond artifact of her past might be able to save them all.
looking helplessly around her, indra realized her window of opportunity was fast fading. to howl for help would surely blow her cover and send the doe to the thicket — she would have to hunt alone.
determined, indra prowled after the dark apparition. her going was slow, for the black shade was alert — at any rustle of pines or the soft clump of snow the doe stopped, and scanned the world with her soft, scrying liquid eyes. indra kept to the cover of the pines, which gradually lost their familiarity, and became but unknown trees in a muted, snowbound landscape.
all that remained of indra’s passing from easthollow was a single tract of pawprints, their impression clean yet in stark solitude against the whitening frontier.