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+--- Thread: The Sentinels come to my arms, my beamish boy! (/showthread.php?tid=41840)
come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Sugar Glider - June 02, 2020
Dated 6/3. Tags for reference (although you're more than welcome!).
Rain swept the coastline, forcing the party of five to seek shelter. These sparse woods didn't offer much, though they huddled beneath some scraggly shrubs to wait out the rainstorm. It wasn't long before the susurrus sent the weary travelers to sleep, Sugar's head propped protectively over baby "Elwood's" tiny body curled against her chest. He made a fantastic pillow.
When she woke in the evening, the rain had tapered into a light drizzle. Sugar gingerly rose and stretched her aching muscles, plucking the pup from the damp ground and nestling him in beside @Raleska. She sniffed gently at @Stryx and little "Finley," then turned and left their impromptu shelter to answer a pressing call of nature.
After she relieved herself, Sugar decided to stretch her legs and explore a little. She had never seen fire, so she didn't realize this was why the woods looked the way they did. She simply assumed it had something to do with last year's tidal wave. The Sentinels were largely a wreckage, though even in the gloaming, she could see signs of rebirth.
Title from "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Caligula Wolf - June 03, 2020
i hope it is ok for me to slide caligula in here?
even in the dusk, there is something alien about these woods.
it is preferred, in a way – caligula has always found things easier to handle, the farther removed they are from the places of his youth. if this place is still alive, it is only in the smallest of ways; in tiny sprouts amidst the ash and soil, in the young heads of growing trees, in whatever might lurk beneath the ground. there is no canopy and there is no rustle of wind through its leaves; even the crickets are quiet here, among the burnt out husks of trees and the delicate crunch of ash and brittle pine needles.
he has seen fire before, in the briefest snatches; heat and smoke, in its wake only blackened ruin. perhaps not this much of it, sprawled all around him.
it is hard even to see his paws where he places them. the ground is black and wet, clinging to his pads where he walks, and the eerie silence of it all – broken only by pawsteps, by the soft patter of the dying rain – calls him back to the snow, to the long cold months of winter when the forests grow so white they swallow up every sound.
the thought is a sharp thing that bids him pause, and in the long moment it holds him, he hears the echo of steps that are not his.
caligula freezes – he does not think of the action any more than it simply comes upon him – ears now high and angled forth, he waits for the next, and when it comes he turns to follow, the colorless gleam of his eyes just visible in the gloom. the watery light is barely enough to distinguish the silhouette from the surrounding trees, no more visible than he himself.
the louder fraction of him calls for him to run, that there is nothing here for him beyond danger. and for a moment he wishes for nothing more than to heed it. but perhaps it is curiosity that wins out – perhaps nothing more than foolishness – and head lowered, caligula offers a cautious chuff of greeting, and waits.
it is preferred, in a way – caligula has always found things easier to handle, the farther removed they are from the places of his youth. if this place is still alive, it is only in the smallest of ways; in tiny sprouts amidst the ash and soil, in the young heads of growing trees, in whatever might lurk beneath the ground. there is no canopy and there is no rustle of wind through its leaves; even the crickets are quiet here, among the burnt out husks of trees and the delicate crunch of ash and brittle pine needles.
he has seen fire before, in the briefest snatches; heat and smoke, in its wake only blackened ruin. perhaps not this much of it, sprawled all around him.
it is hard even to see his paws where he places them. the ground is black and wet, clinging to his pads where he walks, and the eerie silence of it all – broken only by pawsteps, by the soft patter of the dying rain – calls him back to the snow, to the long cold months of winter when the forests grow so white they swallow up every sound.
the thought is a sharp thing that bids him pause, and in the long moment it holds him, he hears the echo of steps that are not his.
caligula freezes – he does not think of the action any more than it simply comes upon him – ears now high and angled forth, he waits for the next, and when it comes he turns to follow, the colorless gleam of his eyes just visible in the gloom. the watery light is barely enough to distinguish the silhouette from the surrounding trees, no more visible than he himself.
the louder fraction of him calls for him to run, that there is nothing here for him beyond danger. and for a moment he wishes for nothing more than to heed it. but perhaps it is curiosity that wins out – perhaps nothing more than foolishness – and head lowered, caligula offers a cautious chuff of greeting, and waits.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Sugar Glider - June 05, 2020
Absolutely! Thanks for joining.
She paused in her slow step to lower her snout and sniff at a plant with which she was not familiar. There was barely any scent. Sugar considered sticking out her tongue to give it a taste, which was always a risky move, but before she had the chance, she heard the unmistakable woof from somewhere nearby. Sugar froze, black eyes plumbing the darkness, seeking and finding the vague silhouette of another wolf.
"Who's there?" she called out in her quiet voice, angling her small body to face the featureless shadow. She wasn't afraid, just wary, her neck straightening and her ears pressing forward on her crown.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Caligula Wolf - June 05, 2020
that the stranger reacts to his presence should not be surprising, yet caligula still finds himself caught off guard by the demand. her voice is not so much louder than his own, but any noise is loud here; there are not the insects nor the birds to muffle it, there is no sound beyond the wind and the gentlest of rain. there is yet enough light for him to see, though, the other figure turn, ears angling forward in a mirror of his own.
he has already made his presence known; there is no reason for hesitation, only that it has been a long time since he has held any conversation that was not with his only friend. he is afraid he has rather lost touch with the ability.
“i – ah – caligula,” he calls back, unsure whether her words were indeed a request for a name. for a moment that is all that lingers between them, but it does not seem enough, even if caligula is certain he is not treading claimed ground. “i am not…i am just passing by.”
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Sugar Glider - June 08, 2020
A halting reply came, complete with an introduction. Although she couldn't quite make out the details of his face, Sugar heard the hesitation in his timbre. Her head cocked to the left and she took a step toward him as he shared that he was only passing through. She paused again, wondering if he thought this forest was inhabited.
"Me too," she told him. "As far as I can tell, nobody lives here. It doesn't look as though anyone could live here. I was just wondering what might've happened." Sugar took another footstep, now better able to make out some of his features despite the dim and the drizzle. "I'm Sugar. Are you a traveler too?" she wondered.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Caligula Wolf - June 09, 2020
caligula watches. he is very good at watching. settled comfortably into the darkness, he sees the grey figure’s head move, the single step taken in his direction. it is pure instinct that causes him to freeze, that causes the silvery hairs at the naps of his neck to bristle like spines, but when the other begins to speak he settles back down, the wire-tight tension looping through his limbs relaxing like a bowstring finally loosed – still present, simply not at the edge of snapping.
yet caligula still watches her, hawklike, as she speaks. “no, i do not expect…” he starts, voice still a slow and hesitant thing; yet she takes another step forward, another step to him, and caligula’s voice halts as though forcibly stopped in his throat.
he lingers there, ghost-like, for another silent moment, sides not so much as trembling with breath. but when she speaks again, it is not with an accompanying movement, and caligula forces his voice back into working. “as i – i do not expect anyone would want to. it…the forest burned here, but i do not know why.”
caligula is not so familiar with fire beyond its effects, besides the ache in his lungs from the smoke and the smell that clings to fur for days, no matter how long you might spend in the stream to wash it free. he leaves it at that.
“a traveler,” caligula considers, at length. “…yes. i am something like that.” it sounds better than exile; it means less than exile, and it is simpler to frame in those terms. more comfortable.
his voice hangs in the rain, and for a moment caligula shifts, eager to move away. it is a different voice in the back of his head that stops him; a memory, though of course his only friend is not here. this does not stop him from knowing exactly what she would say, seeing him flee from such an innocuous conversation; he sways back and forth and then settles, still watchful as a grounded bird poised to take flight.
“this place is…new to me,” he says. such an admission hardly seems worth the breath it is spoken with but, here, every movement he makes is uncharted territory.
yet caligula still watches her, hawklike, as she speaks. “no, i do not expect…” he starts, voice still a slow and hesitant thing; yet she takes another step forward, another step to him, and caligula’s voice halts as though forcibly stopped in his throat.
he lingers there, ghost-like, for another silent moment, sides not so much as trembling with breath. but when she speaks again, it is not with an accompanying movement, and caligula forces his voice back into working. “as i – i do not expect anyone would want to. it…the forest burned here, but i do not know why.”
caligula is not so familiar with fire beyond its effects, besides the ache in his lungs from the smoke and the smell that clings to fur for days, no matter how long you might spend in the stream to wash it free. he leaves it at that.
“a traveler,” caligula considers, at length. “…yes. i am something like that.” it sounds better than exile; it means less than exile, and it is simpler to frame in those terms. more comfortable.
his voice hangs in the rain, and for a moment caligula shifts, eager to move away. it is a different voice in the back of his head that stops him; a memory, though of course his only friend is not here. this does not stop him from knowing exactly what she would say, seeing him flee from such an innocuous conversation; he sways back and forth and then settles, still watchful as a grounded bird poised to take flight.
“this place is…new to me,” he says. such an admission hardly seems worth the breath it is spoken with but, here, every movement he makes is uncharted territory.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Sugar Glider - June 09, 2020
Her dark eyes had always been stronger in the dark than the light, though Sugar still couldn't make out every detail. She could see the tension around his eyes, which seemed to glow in the dreary damp. There was a rigidity to him, just barely perceptible, and though he answered her questions, he spoke with apprehension in every syllable.
It made her wonder. She was no threat, at least outwardly. Sugar's lips drew into a thin line when she recalled her various spates of blind rage. But she pushed those thoughts from her head quickly and focused on Caligula's response. Burned? she echoed in her mind, eyes actually tearing away from him to sweep the forest, lips parting.
"You're new to the area, you mean?" Sugar guessed, gaze returning to him. "I was born and grew up nearby." But instead of elaborating on any- and everything the Teekon Wilds might offer him, she queried instead, "Are you okay?" It was such a bland question, though her quiet voice was earnest. He didn't appear to be sick or injured, so Sugar wasn't sure she could help him, but she could definitely try if something was amiss.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Caligula Wolf - June 11, 2020
the conversation does not get more comfortable with time, even though by all respects it should. but it has been long months since he has held a conversation with anyone besides himself, and he is a poor conversation partner. not that it was necessary that he be alone with only his thoughts for company to realize such a thing.
you are fine, caligula insists to himself as she turns, sweeping her gaze over the burnt-black forest. it is beyond pathetic now that he struggles with something as simple as a face to face conversation – as simple as a single wolf in the rain, smaller than he, clearly brandishing no more ill-will towards him than a passing insect might have to offer a stray blade of grass. even her speech is earnest.
yet the part of him that has kept him alive this far sees her, and insists that these are the thoughts of a fool. there is no such thing as safety. everyone who smiles must, at the same time, bare their teeth.
caligula takes a breath.
“i am fine,” he pronounces, as though the act of speaking it instead of thinking it will force it to become truth. “i am just…” what was the word… “jumpy.” yes. that was it. “i apologize,” he tries. “i did not expect to find others here, of all places.” there are few things quieter than the aftermath of disaster. caligula does not know how long ago the fires swept this forest, but even in the dark it is clear that there is little beyond char and ash. not a place to find game or shelter; not yet.
he tries offering a wobbly smile that is, at the best, horribly awkward to view; he knows it the moment he feels it curl over his muzzle and abandons it quickly, before it can make things worse than he already has.
“new to the area, yes.” he continues, before the pause can become too awkward. “so i am afraid i do not know much about…how things are here. and i suppose that…” he stops again, briefly, to struggle with the phrasing, “is something you could help with?” ah, the joys of simple and uncomplicated social interaction. nice job.
you are fine, caligula insists to himself as she turns, sweeping her gaze over the burnt-black forest. it is beyond pathetic now that he struggles with something as simple as a face to face conversation – as simple as a single wolf in the rain, smaller than he, clearly brandishing no more ill-will towards him than a passing insect might have to offer a stray blade of grass. even her speech is earnest.
yet the part of him that has kept him alive this far sees her, and insists that these are the thoughts of a fool. there is no such thing as safety. everyone who smiles must, at the same time, bare their teeth.
caligula takes a breath.
“i am fine,” he pronounces, as though the act of speaking it instead of thinking it will force it to become truth. “i am just…” what was the word… “jumpy.” yes. that was it. “i apologize,” he tries. “i did not expect to find others here, of all places.” there are few things quieter than the aftermath of disaster. caligula does not know how long ago the fires swept this forest, but even in the dark it is clear that there is little beyond char and ash. not a place to find game or shelter; not yet.
he tries offering a wobbly smile that is, at the best, horribly awkward to view; he knows it the moment he feels it curl over his muzzle and abandons it quickly, before it can make things worse than he already has.
“new to the area, yes.” he continues, before the pause can become too awkward. “so i am afraid i do not know much about…how things are here. and i suppose that…” he stops again, briefly, to struggle with the phrasing, “is something you could help with?” ah, the joys of simple and uncomplicated social interaction. nice job.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Sugar Glider - June 11, 2020
He described himself as jumpy and, though he didn't say it outright, Sugar inferred that she'd intruded on his solitude. Perhaps apologizing and withdrawing would be the best course, though she remained silent and still, letting him finish. It surprised her a little when he suggested she might be able to help him, which of course she wanted to do, though she wasn't sure exactly what he meant.
"I'm happy to help," she answered, "if I can. Just tell me how." Maybe Caligula just wanted to know a little more about the culture around here or perhaps even just the lay of the land. If so, Sugar would do her best to fill in the blanks, though she was no expert. She wondered if he needed more immersive assistance, something she might've offered, if not for Raleska et al waiting back in the brush. She blinked slowly and waited to see what he might need from her.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Caligula Wolf - June 22, 2020
“oh, it is, ah…nothing too much, i hope.” she seems willing enough to stand and speak with him, even in the rain still drizzling down from the hanging clouds, so he can at least do her the courtesy of presenting his questions, in as clear a tone as he can manage. “as i said, i have not been here long, and i should, i think…know of packs. territories. if there are any who…” he trails off, searching for the words he needs.
it is, after all, not his first meeting in these new wilds. though, perhaps, this time he finds himself less defensive than last, as anxious and awkward as he nonetheless must seem. he takes one breath and, determinedly, continues.
“i have met a…legion.” he forms the word with an underlying distaste, though it is more at the name than the memory. their meeting could have gone worse, as strained as it had been. “i have heard warnings. of people to the south, past the mountains.” an ear flicks in the appropriate direction, head twitching as if to follow before he remembers himself; it swings back the other way.
“i do not like that. the conflict. i would like to avoid it. and it seems the best way to do this would be to ask someone who knows this area.” caligula lowers his head a fraction. “if you are willing to provide such information, of course.”
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Sugar Glider - June 25, 2020
She remained silent as he elaborated. Caligula wanted to know about local packs, perhaps which were friendly and which were best avoided. Before Sugar could even ponder where to start on this subject, he mentioned a Legion, then warned of wolves to the south. He was vague at best, though she was immediately reminded of Huā's words about Rusalka. It seemed there was a lot more conflict around these parts than she'd ever known, which made Sugar realize—even as he asked for her intelligence on the topic—that she knew so little of the regional goings-on.
"I've not heard of a Legion, nor do I know anything about conflicts to the south," she admitted, eyes searching his face in the dusky light, "but what I can tell you is there's a pack almost due south of here, in a territory called Sun Mote Copse. They're the Firebirds and I was born there. They're allies with the Frosthawks, who live a little beyond Silver Creek to the southwest. If you go directly east from there quite a ways, you'll come across another sort of spin-off pack called Triquetra, a few miles south of Serpent Lake and the steppes. They're all good, grassroots packs."
She paused there, collecting her thoughts and gathering her breath before continuing. "I also know of... Yuèlóng, the pack that lives on an island that way." She pointed, through between the drizzle and the gloom, it was impossible to see it right now. "And then there's Rusalka, which resides at Seaside Moors." Mostly for Raleska's pups' sake, she didn't mention current circumstances, just left it at that. "I think those two are at odds, though I don't actually know why. And, um, I've heard of a few other packs, like Moonspear, but I don't know much about them..."
Sugar stopped there, wondering if that had been enough information, perhaps too much. Dimly, she felt a tug back toward Raleska and company. She really should be getting back. But first she wanted to see if any of this knowledge sufficed for Caligula.
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Caligula Wolf - June 28, 2020
caligula is never comfortable. but he does feel less tense, now, if no less nervous. it is not a struggle to sit and listen to someone’s words when he is not desperately searching for an avenue out of the situation – when he is not waiting for some axe to come down upon his head, or at least not expecting its imminent arrival.
firebirds, frosthawks, triquetra, yuelong, rusalka, moonspear…it is fortunate that for all he has left behind, he has retained his excellent memory. …though fortunate is, perhaps, a bad choice of words.
it does not only call back what he needs, after all. it calls back things he would rather not remember –
– no. he flinches away from that line of thought as though drawing away from fire before it can burn, settling instead on the first harmless memory he can pull forth – the legionnaire in the woods, the first person he had spoken to in…quite a while.
“she called him merrick,” caligula says, desperate enough to avoid any of that recollection that it does not register to him how out of the blue the words are. “of ursus.”
it does then. caligula’s mouth snaps shut with a faint click of teeth, and he regards sugar uncomfortably. still, awkward as the introduction is, it feels, perhaps, only right to offer some of his own information in exchange for hers, sparse and unhelpful though it might be.
“the conflict – ah, the pack in the south. if…if that is of any help.” there is something sheepish in the lift of his shoulders. “thank you.”
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Sugar Glider - June 30, 2020
Neither Merrick nor Ursus rang any bells and the statement itself threw Sugar a little. Who'd called him that? What was the context of this remark? She wanted to ask, though she observed the way he seemed to regret saying the words: the click of his teeth as his lips pressed closed and the shifting of his eyes. Her own lips parted as she hesitated, only for Caligula to speak again, adding some context.
She nodded slowly, not really sure what to make of this information other than to file it away. When he thanked her, Sugar realized she was a little relieved. She could get back to her group now. And though she always liked meeting new people and only wished Caligula well, there was a certain tension to this conversation and she would be lying if she said she didn't want to get away from it.
"I hope I've helped. I'll keep your information in mind," Sugar said, dipping her snout. "I'm sorry but I really have to get back now. Take care of yourself, Caligula." Despite the perhaps abrupt closure to the conversation, she did not immediately disembark. Instead, she lingered, eyes eating into his face, wondering if he'd be all right. But ultimately, it was none of her concern; her priorities lay elsewhere, out there in the dark and rainy wilderness.
Thanks for the thread, feel free to wrap and/or archive!
RE: come to my arms, my beamish boy! - Caligula Wolf - July 12, 2020
thank you! :)
whether sugar is as anxious to escape the situation as he is is, truthfully, not something that registers. caligula has spent long enough this way that he simply assumes of everyone how they will react to his presence, an assumption that has existed for so long that to him it is nothing less than a fact.
“yes, i… yes.” even with escape looming, he is not any more coherent. it should not be a surprise, but a little frustration rises in the back of his mind anyways. this has also existed for so long that he should be used to it; somehow, however, searching for words never becomes less frustrating after the panic has drained away.
what is far more alien is her exit. perhaps it is silly to be surprised at such a thing, but caligula has…not been the most sociable creature, to put it lightly, and what sociability he has managed to retain has not been sufficient to make anything in the realm of a positive impression. he blinks as she lingers there, watching him for a moment, too preoccupied for the moment to find the near eye contact uncomfortable; then she is gone, back into the rain.
“thank you,” caligula says again, though the words come long after she has vanished. he stands for a moment longer before turning himself around, on automatic, and padding away into the trees.