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Duck Lake a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Printable Version

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a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Antumbra - July 04, 2016


Thuringwethil woke early in the morning and set off for the day, but not before making sure everything's in place before she goes. While she's kept close to home since the birth of Sleeping Dragon's first litter, her own need to stretch her legs had been prominent. She'd arranged for a nightly guard, should she not return in time, and set to explored further south of her claim. She'd gotten a good map of the territories surrounding her home and even a little of the coastline. Now that Phoenix Maplewood isn't in her path, and the famine is over, she's able to stretch her legs further south than she'd been before.

There's a short break through the woods to make sure nothing in particular is amiss but the next time Thuringwethil comes to a stop is Duke Lake.

Her head drops once she steps along the bank for a long drink of water, looking across the way. A group of ducks have collected further down the bank and her presence sets off an alarming quack from a few of them as they shuffle down the muddy ground. She doesn't pursue them just yet, slate eyes watching from a distance as her tongue clears the water from her fur. Birds have never been much of her forte, often embarrassing herself in the attempt, but the recent shortage makes it difficult to pass up. She stalks them a ways, letting them get comfortable once again and as she becomes become part of the background.


RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Kierkegaard - July 05, 2016

The man stepped away from Rosings without feeling his gut drop. It had been one of his first times since he had overthrown their leader. With the prey having found its way back into the land, and the pack’s recent hunt through their woods, he was growing back into the mountain of a creature he had once been. Though the fur along his neck and spine was still ragged and wispy, and there was a certain serpentine build to his ghostly body, the muscles beneath his coat were taut once more and needed to be worked. So it was a steady lope that lead him across the stretch of terrain and in the direction of the lake. The water, he knew, would be a refreshing change from the thick tangle of trees and foliage of Rosings.
 
Once there, the brute caught sight of a few ducks that splashed about in the water. He drew his tongue across his grizzled muzzle and narrowed his brows on their figures. The ghost had never been proficient at catching birds to eat, but it had been some time since he’d tried them and knew the ducks to be delicious meals. Though momentarily distracted by the birds, the brute does catch sight of an inky figure who seemed to have the same intention. Instead of taking the opportunity himself, the pale man watched from where he stood on the shore.



RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Antumbra - July 05, 2016


Her direct line of sight doesn’t change from the ducks much but when the form of another appears in the surrounding, she offers a fleeting glance. She doesn’t recognize the form but they don’t advance any further, on her or the prey, but now the tension in the air becomes more obvious. She could wait it out, lose the prey—or, worse, lose it to the stranger—or lower her defenses as she pursues a kill. Thuringwethil waits a little while longer, often looking between the two to see who would move first.

The stranger doesn’t advance but the ducks become restless where they’d been sorting through the ground. Her heart beats harder and she hits the ground running. By the time she’s on the ducks, they hadn’t figured it out yet, but work to scramble into the water. Two flew off in the distance and Thuringwethil makes a splash after the ones going water bound. When she sends water all around her, forgetting about the other wolf entirely, she manages to snag a duck by the neck before it takes off.

In a comical splash of water, flailing wings, and her trying to get out of the lake at the same, she stumbles and nearly loses the bird. A hard crunch and a few shakes finally cause the bird to still while she makes it to steady ground, looking around for the stranger and where he’d ended up.


RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Kierkegaard - July 08, 2016

The dark woman eyed him for a moment before she decided that her potential catch was of more importance; the ashen brute did not blame her for the choice she’d made. He watched with a smoldering gaze as she darted toward the ducks, kicking up tufts of sand behind her as she went. A few of the birds took flight and some attempted to head into the water. The woman followed into the shallows and managed to clasp her fangs around the throat of one of the birds, though her footing became unstable and she nearly tumbled in, losing the duck between her fangs. Once she had grounded herself, he watched her pull her body to the shore again and he found the catch an impressive one.
 
It seemed that the inky creature was eyeing the shoreline for his figure, but he had not moved from down the sands. His fiery optics danced as they watched her continue to reach something of higher ground. Without speaking, Kierkegaard lowered his skull towards the damp earth and trotted forward. The long and jagged fur along his neck danced to and fro against the light breeze. The length of his ears were pulled upward so that he could catch any sudden sounds that might have come from ahead of him.  



RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Antumbra - July 08, 2016

The duck dangles and swings as she moves, spotting the ghostly figure in the background. He hasn’t moved much, if at all, and remains there a moment longer. Thuringwethil heaves a few heavy sighs, moving to sturdier ground where she drops the duck and shakes out of fur. The heat water is cool against her skin but her fur weighs it down, making it uncomfortably hot, but for now she focuses on the current threat. She drops her head and scoops up her kill the moment he trots closer.

Thuringwethil chuffs through a mouthful of features as he closes in, growling a low warning the closer he gets. Slate eyes squint through the sunlight and shifts her weight to proportion her stance. Her head remains low to protect her catch but her tail sweeps into a high crescent along her spine.

A moment later, she softens and drops the duck onto the ground again. One eyebrow quirks, with a smile, as she tears at the features and rips into the kill. A little haphazard but as split as she can make it and throws the ass-half toward the male with another chuff.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you alive again.”


RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Kierkegaard - July 08, 2016

The pale brute watched as her fur bristled slightly upon him drawing nearer and he allowed for a smirk to curl the dark of his lips upwards only slightly. The dark woman had always been a vicious warrior; a fighter of all things, and he did not doubt that this would never change. Once familiarity had set in, she tore a chunk of her kill off and tossed it in his direction. The ghost parted his jaws and with a snap, clasped his fangs around the meat. Kierkegaard then lowered his head and tore a chunk away, swallowing it without chewing it. The taste of the bird on his throat was divine, and so he ripped away the remainder of it without pause and wormed it down the back of his throat.
 
Her words struck his ears and the brute drew them forward, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as if looking upon an old friend. “You never gave me the benefit of the doubt before, why should that change?” the great brute teased with a flash of his fiery optics. The Heda looked well enough, but he was surprised to see her in the Teekon Wilds and so far away from her home. Wondering what had drawn her to such an area, the brute lowered his skull somewhat and cast an curious glance toward her.



RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Antumbra - July 08, 2016

Kierkegaard takes the offering and devours it in no more than two bites and she ruffles through the feathers and rips them away, eating the remainder of the kill in just as many. She licks her chops a few times, anticipating his answer with a smirk and a short wave of her tail. It has been some time since she’d seen him, hanging around the outskirts of Seageda. She’d been fairly new to her position as Commander, struggling to keep her grip on her hold.

“Well, if you hadn’t fallen off that cliff, you might have better odds, you're lucky it was into water,” she tells him with a snort. She's quiet a moment, ears cupped forward. All this time later, she feels comfortable enough to laugh about. "The bounty's off your head, though," she adds with an exaggerated motion toward his skull.


RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Kierkegaard - July 08, 2016

The smirk did not fade on his features as she recalled his plummeting from the cliffside into the waters below. There was still a nasty scar along his back haunch from the tumble, but it was one of the many that he considered character building. A rumbling chuckle escaped from his lips as he listened to the dark woman speak of that day, and he found himself longing for the past for only a brief moment. Things had been simpler in those times. “Lucky,” he echoed with a sarcastic tone clasping onto the word. “I planned the whole thing,” he then added with a sly wink, knowing that it was false. That day had been sheer luck on his part, but the ghostly figure always had a penchant for getting himself into trouble and then clumsily getting himself out.
 
In reference to the bounty on his head, the brute lifted his brows and allowed a quiet hmm to slip past his lips. “That is because they believe the sea claimed it. Let’s keep it that way.” Though he was certain that there were several other bounties that had not been claimed in association to him. “How long have you been in the wilds?” the brute then inquired of the Heda with a single quirked brow on his pale face.



RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Antumbra - July 08, 2016

Again, she mockingly snorts. He'd taken quite the rumble but regardless of the other wolves thinking he's dead, Thuringwethil knew the bastard survived the fall. Some simply knew how to get out of trouble with their life in tact and Kierkegaard so far has proven her right. She'd seen him hit the water sometime ago and what she thought was something ghostly in the distance. Only she'd bore witness that time and she'd easily pocketed away for another day.

"Where's the fun in that?" One eyebrow raises, tests him.

His question doesn't surprise her, their banter dying off—at least, temporarily—and she rolls one shoulder as if to say it isn't a big deal. It's not as if she's made life altering (and ending) decisions some months ago...

oh right.

"Seageda is gone," she answers instead, but doesn't hold out for long. "Just before winter, I suppose. And then I found my way here and resettled my claim upon a mountain about halfway through the season and here we are in the middle of summer, still strong."

There aren't too many that might be of her original home but a handful, at least. Enough to make it recognizable. Restarting with next to nothing and getting a return of her own wolves proves she's where she's meant to be. Whatever doubt seeded on the coast back home has been long gone and Thuringwethil has been nothing short of her calling since.


RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Kierkegaard - July 09, 2016

“Humph… since when have you known me to be fun?” he chided of her with a gentle toss of his muzzle and a small flick of his ashen tassel. The nature of their playful banter was something that he had missed; the companionship of another who was as like-minded as he. Having spent a great deal of his time with the Rosings wolves, the brute could not help but to grow tired with the softness of their minds and their bodies. The great ghost was not meant to suffer through the likes of them – he had been destined for greater things than running a pack he had no emotional investment in. Though, truth be told, the Sairensu male had very little emotional investment in anything. There were a few, but admitting it was the first step to being defeated through it. So Kierkegaard locked those feelings away so that only he could look upon them with lust in his vision.
 
The inky woman offered him an explanation that fell from her mouth with a little too much haste. His brows furrowed and the smirk that had lingered on the leather of his lips had vanished in moments; Seageda had fallen. Immediately, the fire of his gaze roamed her figure to check for signs of her being injured, but it seemed that the incident had occurred some time ago, when he was still lost to the wanderings of his blood and heart. Nevertheless, the ghost could not imagine this woman without the ranks of her home and the culture that had surrounded the place.
 
“Gone,” he echoed in disbelief, eyes still roaming her figure. She had spoken of her success, though, in a new pack that existed in the wilds… on a mountain somewhere. The ash-cloaked man turned his vision toward some unseen object and his ears swiveled atop his crown. It was surprising to him how much the famine had kept his wandering figure in a single place for such a long time. So long that he had not even managed to catch the scent of the Heda or her new pack. Many changes had come and fallen on them, but this was one he had never anticipated. “It is hard to imagine you without your Seageda,” he then breathed in a sort of sigh. There was no pity there, but it was merely a thought echoed into words.



RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Antumbra - July 10, 2016

For a long time, Thuringwethil had a hard time believing her home was gone. That she left her wolves in shambles, that she betrayed her former commanders—despite what her dreams translated to—but through it all she came out on the other side. They avoided a war, survived a famine, and now their future is on a ledge, waiting for an answer as a tipping point. With the shift of her home coming in the future, she will eventually be able to see herself without the sea, where it is only Drageda that has her attention.

“It still lives on, just… not in the same way,” she tells him with a shrug of indifference. “Drageda. On a mountain north east of here.” There’s plenty she could say, comfortable enough to give out, but how he’d come to these Wilds all the way from where she’d seen him last, leaves her curious. Where he’d gone after his escape, she’d never been able to find out, and eventually he’d been temporarily forgotten. “What of you? Where are you now?”


RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Kierkegaard - August 11, 2016

If he had been another man, the ghost would have found the disbanding of Seageda to be a melancholy thought. Life had taught him that the rise and fall of packs was commonplace; he had taken part in many of the wars that were fought to disband another group. Thurin was a comrade, and he had been very aware of the meaning behind her home, but it was not a subject that he would do well to dwell upon. If the ghost was permitted to speak of it more thoroughly, he would have taken the form of an apathetic brute… and this was not flattering for either of them. Instead, he listened as she spoke of a new claim within the wilds. His lengthy ears drew forward and he canted his head to the left with a bemused expression.
 
“Drageda,” he repeated with a ghost of a smirk on his dark lips. When the dark warrior went on to inquire of his whereabouts, the pallid brute breathed a sigh. Kierkegaard knew that his time was drawing in to a close on the Rosings pack. “There’s a wood,” he pointed his inky nose in the direction of the forest, “where I have usurped their leader and claimed his rank. I do not wish to remain there for long, though.” The wolves of that forest were meek and he did not want his figure to walk beside them.



RE: a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones - Antumbra - August 14, 2016

The news that Kierkegaard has taken over reign of another pack that hadn’t been his to begin with doesn’t surprise her. The brute has always been and will always be a survivor and she’d seen such a thing first hand. However, stating he does not wish to stay for long gives her an inclination that is inevitable. She does not press for an answer, able to come to her own conclusions on his reasons, so instead she shifts her weight to make herself more comfortable.

“You will always have a home within Drageda,” she says, whether or not he takes the gesture. She doesn’t expect him to give up his kingdom, no matter how temporary, in that instance, but if it’s a matter of survival in his choice, her doors were open to her friend.

It is not much longer they spend together before he needs to return, deciding not to keep him too long and ultimately returning to her own.