for stjor
She traveled and wandered and walked until she couldn't any more. Her love gone, her hopes gone... all that was left was a husk of herself. The woman sucked in breath, coming to the border of this place. Not knowing the name of it, but knowing it was
occupied. She would need directions eventually, right?
So she lifted her head and echoed the mournfulness in her chest. It called to anyone that sought the shelter here; come one, come all. See the broken woman. See how she failed in life. Unable to stand any longer, the red coated woman slumped. Her rear hit the ground and she just sat there. Useless. Feeling useless.
The call that went up only vaguely interested the man of creams and golds, an ear flicking as he adjusted course to attend and answer the one that sang so sadly. Sorrow was a thing Stjornuati only knew in a distant fashion, having never experienced the emotion to the degree that the unknown woman serenaded the Watch with; his impressions already began to form, however, as he padded along the invisible path to intercept her.
His appearance was silent, maroon eyes taking in the sagging form of the kona that sat upon the edges of his territory. There was little solace to be found from the vikingr that stood so stoically before her, gaze intent upon her as he waited and watched.
A pale man would appear, staring at her like some kinda freaky angel of mercy. She stared back, eyes hooded and slowly... slowly falling shut. Maeve let out a funny little huff before she keeled over. Her shoulder crashed to the ground, aware of the pain it caused but unwilling to move.
Her head went next, smacking against the earth. It ricocheted upward from the impact before falling again. The woman groaned slowly, softly. Her paws were sore from constant travel and wanderings, her voice raw and hurting from calling Ana. No reply was given. Nothing from her mate.
She felt, hey if this is how she died... she wouldn't be so sad about it. Some stranger could pick her off, instead of her dying from loneliness.
Dásamlegt,
The man grumbled as he watched the lifeless and prone form of the woman. How was it that so many wolves fell into the paws of the Watch, always in need of help or care? The young Miwa, Teya, Frost... A small handful, he supposed, but it was at least a semi-frequent occurence. And this wolf before him, was he supposed to drag her into the territory and heal her? Watch over her? Feed her? Would she only take from their stores or would she give back? Frost, at the vary least, seemed to be conscious of his drain on pack resources, and seemed eager to make up for it as he regained his health.
Why a grumbled sigh, Stjornunati moved forward with tentative steps to check on the fallen wolf, sniffing lightly at her body to see if he could scent some sort of sickness that clung to her fur. Finding nothing of note, the blonde male performed his routine checks to form some sort of diagnostic conclusion, following it with a nudge of his nose to her shoulder to see if he could rouse her.