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+--- Thread: Lake Rodney crow feathers (/showthread.php?tid=66667)
crow feathers - Falk - December 06, 2025
some time had passed since he and @Tvar last traveled to bearclaw valley. typically, they would return often. it was the closest thing to home falk knew, and he had begun to long for it.
but everytime, father always had that glazed over look in his eyes, quiet and shallow and hurting. very obviously hurting, and falk always failed to figure out how to alleviate it.
he didn’t understand that grief, and truthfully? he hoped he never would.
the yearling picks his way around the furthest edge of the lake with long legs, ranging in long and smooth strides. those large paws of his crunching frost beneath his growing weight as he goes, and his head on a swivel.
scenting at the crisp winter air, there is something oddly familiar drifting from downwind. two scents that tickle his brain in the most confusing of ways, but in the end, it’s nothing that dredges up memories for the boy, and so he ignores it.
his belly grumbles. maybe he would fetch something to eat.
RE: crow feathers - Boreasz - December 09, 2025
This land was splendid! There was so much to it—better than the deserts, at any rate. It was wild here. There were things growing which he had never seen before, and many which were familiar, and still others which Boreasz wished to investigate but found he could not, as the snow had either buried, frozen, or killed what was discovered. He had tried to dig at a particular sour smell, as it reminded him of the sour grapes of home and he was pining for a good drink—but he did not have the patience for it, and abandoned the effort swiftly enough.
Upon abandoning this, Boreasz moved further south and then found an animal trail winding among the pines, leading to a whited-out landscape; there he spied a roaming shadow, which piqued his interest until he focused his eyes beyond them—seeing the shimmering, glassy surface of the lake. He was not much of a fisherman, but he was hungry.
He waited there for the shadow to drift along, and then rounded through the trees and towards the shores of the lake, listening for a moment... Then dropping his chin towards the surface, so he could drink deeply. The rush of ice-water down his throat was a bit painful, then numbing.
RE: crow feathers - Falk - December 11, 2025
falk doesn’t notice the stranger at first. too wrapped up in the sound of his own steps, the crunch of frost beneath his paws, the heavy rhythm of his breath in the cold.
he rounds a bend near the lake’s edge with a low nose and scanning eyes, considering the half-frozen reeds that jut from the shallows. just when he’s about to nudge one with his paw—testing for frogs—there is movement of a pale figure that catches his eye.
falcon's head lifts and his eyes settle on the other male in the distance. as always, curiosity lives beneath that brooding exterior of the youth.
flatly, he speaks—or, yells, given the distance between them now—and sourly, sounds more nervous than he'd like.
are you from around here?
RE: crow feathers - Boreasz - December 11, 2025
Rarely did Boreasz find himself accosted upon the road, as men often kept to themselves and women were not interested in the potential dangers of being alone with a stranger in that way; so as he drank, he presumed the shadow would continue on, to go about his business. The soldier did not have much to his name now—he was no longer aristoi, his father's titles, lands, wealth, none of it made its mark upon him here.
A shout came from around the next bend. Boreasz heard it, but he focused more on the dripping of the ice water from his chin, and as he drew his numbed tongue across his lips, he looked in the direction of the voice—surprised, in the sense that he was vaguely charmed, to find the shadow had not gone away.
He shakes some tension from his shoulders and positions himself to be more visible, flanked by dark trees so that his outline can be plainly seen, before shouting,
No—and neither are you, I presume?He was tempted to call him closer, and cleared his throat... But then decided, no; he would close the distance himself. The grays of his coat rippled dully against the wash of snow around them both.