February 27, 2021, 04:57 AM
The herbalist's steps would not slow until she had put some distance between herself and the Spine -- some distance between her thoughts and what had just happened with the stygian warden of the pine. As the sea of grasses, thin and weak with winter, enveloped her in their protective embrace, Aiwëndil felt the last flutters of her heart calm and her gait naturally loosen from a frightened scurry into an easy canter as her pawsteps whispered over the crackle of frost.
This pace would carry her along the tracks of the elk she had smelt in the lowlands of Ouroboros' ring, the shapes of their heavy hooves sunken deep into the earth and hard with the cold. The scents were faded, westbound -- towards the shattered mountains she had not yet seen the ruin of.
The clustering of graceful grazers must have been displaced by the formation of Moonglow's coalition, unnerved at the sudden influx of predators and the canine scent that smothered their lea. Lótë gathered as much from her vantage point through the screen of grass some distance from the herd, lowering herself flat to her belly as jade gems watched vigilantly through the screen of grass.
The Terrace had been touched by the strange storm Sialuk spoke of, however. It was not proper pastureland for the red-deer. Rock had fallen from the skies, tainted the waters and torn at the earth. It would not be fit for the creatures to inhabit very long which gave the dove hope that they might return to the Spine once the clan had established itself and the elk became accustomed to their presence.
Stern as he was, she had faith the hunt master (or so she assumed Raimo to be to Kukutux) wouldn't let their presence in the territory be abused. He would surely ensure that the elk were respected, hunted properly. Or maybe Lótë just hoped this was the case. They could provide a good source of sustenance if utilized properly.
A couple of the cervus had wounded themselves on the sharp rocks, she noted as she continued to observe -- one limping as if it had injured the underside of its hoof on the razor edges of the shale chips of stone littering the ground. Another seemed to have stumbled over one of the larger pieces, the knee of its foreleg soaked in darkblood that discolored the lower half of its leg to a hue of pitch like the sap of the conifers -- the gash invisible in the mess of its lifeblood.
These might make good candidates for a hunt in the near future, the tracker making a note of the two for possible culling -- intending to bring the news back to Raimo.
This pace would carry her along the tracks of the elk she had smelt in the lowlands of Ouroboros' ring, the shapes of their heavy hooves sunken deep into the earth and hard with the cold. The scents were faded, westbound -- towards the shattered mountains she had not yet seen the ruin of.
The clustering of graceful grazers must have been displaced by the formation of Moonglow's coalition, unnerved at the sudden influx of predators and the canine scent that smothered their lea. Lótë gathered as much from her vantage point through the screen of grass some distance from the herd, lowering herself flat to her belly as jade gems watched vigilantly through the screen of grass.
The Terrace had been touched by the strange storm Sialuk spoke of, however. It was not proper pastureland for the red-deer. Rock had fallen from the skies, tainted the waters and torn at the earth. It would not be fit for the creatures to inhabit very long which gave the dove hope that they might return to the Spine once the clan had established itself and the elk became accustomed to their presence.
Stern as he was, she had faith the hunt master (or so she assumed Raimo to be to Kukutux) wouldn't let their presence in the territory be abused. He would surely ensure that the elk were respected, hunted properly. Or maybe Lótë just hoped this was the case. They could provide a good source of sustenance if utilized properly.
A couple of the cervus had wounded themselves on the sharp rocks, she noted as she continued to observe -- one limping as if it had injured the underside of its hoof on the razor edges of the shale chips of stone littering the ground. Another seemed to have stumbled over one of the larger pieces, the knee of its foreleg soaked in darkblood that discolored the lower half of its leg to a hue of pitch like the sap of the conifers -- the gash invisible in the mess of its lifeblood.
These might make good candidates for a hunt in the near future, the tracker making a note of the two for possible culling -- intending to bring the news back to Raimo.