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+--- Thread: Ravensblood Forest You don't own me (/showthread.php?tid=17624)
You don't own me - Aglæca - September 04, 2016
She felt trapped.
And for the sandstorm, that was never a good thing to be. Chusi had vanished, Zephyr too, and she wondered if the two had wandered away on their own, or something more nefarious had happened to the little girl. She was an adequate tracker, but the little girl's trail had been lost to the wind and rain of the shore. As for now, only Zephyr tied her to the coast. And she hated being tied, least of all to one male she herself was unsure of.
And thus, she left. Zephyr could always find her should he choose to, but she doubted the male would show again. The absence of the girl pained her, and she would do well to keep an eye out for her, but there was nothing for her here, not anymore. The nomad set her sights south, planning to traverse down the opposite side of the mountain range she had come. She was in good healthy, but autumn had made it's appearance, and soon winter. She was not looking forward to another winter alone, nor was she willing to tie herself to a pack just yet. Which meant should she wish to find herself a band, she ought to do so quickly.
Now she was here, in the forest, well, it's outskirts. She slipped into the trees with confidence, ignoring but not missing the way the leaves were already touched with autumn's glow. Her expression was cool as she moved, perhaps hoping to meet another face in the trees.
RE: You don't own me - Kjalarr - September 04, 2016
i hope you don't mind me & kja! :-)
Some time had passed since Kjalarr had lost been in Ravensblood Forest. The last time he could recall venturing to the territory that had been sacrosanct to his father, Ragnar, had been during the famine. Before or after he'd resulted to cannibalism was a detail left blurry to the Viking. With Caiaphas' death and all the responsibilities placed upon his shoulders he took comfort in that he was not alone in it. He could lead on his own just fine but knowing that he had a Beta he could count on — especially when he made small excursions like this — left him at ease. A leader must always remain in the Sound. He did not too often leave Saltwinter so this wasn't an issue by any means. The platnium silver and sand stocked male wasn't sure what had drawn him to Ravensblood but he had followed the sudden and griping impulse.
He shrugged through the undergrowth, ducking to avoid low swung branches as he continued on through the forest. Above he heard the cries of a raven though whether it was Huginn or Muninn Kjalarr could not specify. He knew they were watching, regardless. They were always watching and at the end of the day they reported back to the Allfather. In his mind's eye a vision flashed: a platnium silver coated beast, a behemoth in size, with a scarred muzzle identical to his, and a scarred half of his face, ugly and marred in the name of his God, with a flame licking out of his empty eye socket. The memory let out a guttural word. stjórna before it vanished with a shake of Kjalarr's head. The hairs at the nape of his neck rose and a chill slithered it's way down his spine followed by a lick that felt as if it were made by flame: cold and then hot.
He did not ignore it, but instead tucked it off to the side to later analyze late at night in The Grotto while the other wolves of Saltwinter slept. There was the sound of footfalls heading the same way as him and though he did not yet see the woman he let out a low chuff to announce his presence so that he did not startle her.
He shrugged through the undergrowth, ducking to avoid low swung branches as he continued on through the forest. Above he heard the cries of a raven though whether it was Huginn or Muninn Kjalarr could not specify. He knew they were watching, regardless. They were always watching and at the end of the day they reported back to the Allfather. In his mind's eye a vision flashed: a platnium silver coated beast, a behemoth in size, with a scarred muzzle identical to his, and a scarred half of his face, ugly and marred in the name of his God, with a flame licking out of his empty eye socket. The memory let out a guttural word. stjórna before it vanished with a shake of Kjalarr's head. The hairs at the nape of his neck rose and a chill slithered it's way down his spine followed by a lick that felt as if it were made by flame: cold and then hot.
He did not ignore it, but instead tucked it off to the side to later analyze late at night in The Grotto while the other wolves of Saltwinter slept. There was the sound of footfalls heading the same way as him and though he did not yet see the woman he let out a low chuff to announce his presence so that he did not startle her.