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+--- Thread: Northstar Vale folded wings that used to fly (/showthread.php?tid=33687)
folded wings that used to fly - Síff - April 04, 2019
The morning dawned grey and dreary - the light faint and air chilled as it found the healer entangled within her nest of bedding. The drum of raindrops upon the shale shelter drove the pallid woman to wake, blinking optics of sweet cocoa blearily against the dim light. Slender limbs stretched, three pale paws finding the cold floor as her joints pulled and popped with relief - an arthritic ache settling into her left hip in protest of the light spring shower.
The droplets pelted gently against the thick layers of her arctic coat, snaking fingers of cold beneath the hairs to rake against her flesh and raise goosebumps as departed her den and was enclosed within the glen. It was no deterrent; the sylph shivered in delight as the refreshing diluge sharpened her senses and chased away the last remnants of sleep.
Scent and sound were muted, sight limited in the gloom of the Vale's forests - Liri passed by, a pale and mostly unseen spectre as she trailed along the boundaries of their land. Occasionally, she paused in her wanderings to reinforce her scent upon the fringes of the soon-to-be Viking clan's claim or to inspect a promising herb.
The promising scent of prey - gamey and sweet, alluring in its call - drew her attention from the climbing tendrils of a goldenrod plant, pale crown swiveling towards the source. Liri padded to a moss-shrouded boulder, lips parting as her nose lowered to hover over the stone. She breathed deeply, the trail left by the fawn that had brushed against the geode causing her mouth to salivate.
Deer.
The tracker lowered subconsciously to a crouch, the trail growing stronger as Liri crept through the forest. Dark eyes flitted occasionally to the odd track left in the mire underfoot, to the broken twig of a bramble patch. Her search brought her to a young fawn - the shaking of its limbs and the spots upon its hide belaying its youth and misfortune.
Vaguely, Liri wondered where its mother might be as she slunk forward, the sight of her causing the young ungulate to freeze in panic. Perhaps it was a mercy, if the creature had been orphaned by the waif's own kind at such a tender age; it would not survive long alone.
It was almost too easy for the sylph to grasp the youngling deer by the throat and squeeze, squeeze until it stopped struggling.
When its movements had ceased, the fae tipped her speckled muzzle beneath the body. It was about half her size, requiring her to heft and shift it over her shoulders with a grunt of effort.
Leea had recalled a particular copse of trees she had passed recently in her search for the fawn. She returned to this strand of the woods with her burden draped across her back, sheltered from the rain by the canopy of spring leaves overhead.
The pagan acolyte dropped her load upon the forest floor, settling on her haunches with a sigh as her dark gaze fell upon her catch.
Time to get to work.
Stretching out upon the ground with the fawn held between her forepaws, Liri worried through the flesh of the neck with her fangs. She chewed neat rings around the fawn's throat and limbs - splashing her pale face with crimson in the process. Chewing through the underbelly lengthwise was a lengthier process but at last she ripped the hide from the skinned fawn with several harsh tugs - drenched in the lifeblood of the game.
With the fawn skinned it might seem her job was done but it was not so. The healer lay the fawn's fur against the grass, piling ragged strips of venison upon the bloody underside to be transported to her den.
The hide would be washed and tanned in the sunlight beyond her dwelling, where the meat too would be dried before storing it in the caches. The meat would feed her wolves and the fur would warm her babes, should her plans come to fruition in the future.
When all that remained of the fawn was its skeleton - laced with a few remaining stubborn bits of meat that could not be removed - and its head, as well as a few other odds and ends, Leea turned to digging in the soil. She widened a hole, large enough for her to deposit a few of these tidbits within and a choice cut of meat from the pile waiting for transport.
Liri covered this offering in earth, dark gaze at last turning to the storm above.
"Heil," she whispered to Vangard's gods uncertainly, having never addressed them.
"This woman knows not the words to speak with you honourably," she continued in her own native tongue, for she knew only a few words in the Viking's, bowing her head contritely.
"But she would thank you for the guidance that must have led this woman to the Vale, to the man who will teach me your ways," she murmured, tones colored with genuine gratitude.