Dated for February 4, 2017.
Thirty-eight days had passed since The Razing of Donnelaith.
Thirty-eight — and Lotte had counted every single one of them as the hours crept painfully by.
At first, she had been too ill to concentrate on anything except survival in its most basic form. Every breath had become a separate, individual battle, and when Lotte thought of those days — the sick, mortifying indignity of urinating, defecating, and vomiting where she lay, unable to drag herself free without assistance; of needing to ask Chusi and Arturo for help when she had contributed nothing to the Family thus far; of weeping brokenly before a stranger who evidently spoke the language of her beloved home and could comprehend her weak gibberish — she wanted to drag Dagfinn back to the Enok Tundra with her and forget these lush wilds had ever existed. Maybe she would have, if not for Arturo and Chusi.
The fire and its ensuing maladies had stolen something precious from the soot-stockinged rogue: her confidence. While it would most certainly be restored in time — she was a soturi and her naturally buoyant personality never let her stay down for long — she found it harder to look Arturo in the eye nowadays. His love for her was unmistakable, and the leaping and somersaulting of her heart made it plain that she reciprocated it fully, but Lotte couldn’t help feeling like she hadn’t done enough to actually deserve it. She’d started walking as soon as her paws were healed enough to allow it — about a week after officially becoming Chusi’s äiskä — but getting her lungs to cooperate was another thing entirely. Three weeks after the firestorm and she still hadn’t been able to sing or speak without coughing, let alone travel with her former ease. She wheezed constantly and her endurance was, as some of the cruder soturit liked to say, “shot to shit.”
Even her mind felt foggy, battered by trauma and illness, lack of nourishment due to the nausea that still came and went, and lack of sleep. Her striking colorpoint pelt was loose and ragged due to the weight she’d lost, but the matte, plush fur had mostly grown back. Still, Lotte looked — and felt — awful.
She awoke on this particular morning in an indefinable miasma of feverishness and agitation; the desire to be with Arturo sang hotly through her blood, every nerve awakened to his whereabouts.
She knew where he was — but she kept to herself.
Lotte was blissfully unaware of the telltale perfume that would broadcast her condition to the wolves around her. It seemed that all she could smell anymore was smoke — and although good sense told her that this, too, would heal with time, she was tired of waiting. She’d never been patient. The weather was warmer now, and she wanted a bath, a meal, and a jaunt outside Teaghlaigh — in that order. She made short work of the first thing, traveling south to the hot springs to soak in the heated water with a delicious sigh. Dipping her muzzle, she preened and plucked at her fur, allowing the steam to act as a veritable nebulizer.
Thirty-eight — and Lotte had counted every single one of them as the hours crept painfully by.
At first, she had been too ill to concentrate on anything except survival in its most basic form. Every breath had become a separate, individual battle, and when Lotte thought of those days — the sick, mortifying indignity of urinating, defecating, and vomiting where she lay, unable to drag herself free without assistance; of needing to ask Chusi and Arturo for help when she had contributed nothing to the Family thus far; of weeping brokenly before a stranger who evidently spoke the language of her beloved home and could comprehend her weak gibberish — she wanted to drag Dagfinn back to the Enok Tundra with her and forget these lush wilds had ever existed. Maybe she would have, if not for Arturo and Chusi.
The fire and its ensuing maladies had stolen something precious from the soot-stockinged rogue: her confidence. While it would most certainly be restored in time — she was a soturi and her naturally buoyant personality never let her stay down for long — she found it harder to look Arturo in the eye nowadays. His love for her was unmistakable, and the leaping and somersaulting of her heart made it plain that she reciprocated it fully, but Lotte couldn’t help feeling like she hadn’t done enough to actually deserve it. She’d started walking as soon as her paws were healed enough to allow it — about a week after officially becoming Chusi’s äiskä — but getting her lungs to cooperate was another thing entirely. Three weeks after the firestorm and she still hadn’t been able to sing or speak without coughing, let alone travel with her former ease. She wheezed constantly and her endurance was, as some of the cruder soturit liked to say, “shot to shit.”
Even her mind felt foggy, battered by trauma and illness, lack of nourishment due to the nausea that still came and went, and lack of sleep. Her striking colorpoint pelt was loose and ragged due to the weight she’d lost, but the matte, plush fur had mostly grown back. Still, Lotte looked — and felt — awful.
She awoke on this particular morning in an indefinable miasma of feverishness and agitation; the desire to be with Arturo sang hotly through her blood, every nerve awakened to his whereabouts.
She knew where he was — but she kept to herself.
Lotte was blissfully unaware of the telltale perfume that would broadcast her condition to the wolves around her. It seemed that all she could smell anymore was smoke — and although good sense told her that this, too, would heal with time, she was tired of waiting. She’d never been patient. The weather was warmer now, and she wanted a bath, a meal, and a jaunt outside Teaghlaigh — in that order. She made short work of the first thing, traveling south to the hot springs to soak in the heated water with a delicious sigh. Dipping her muzzle, she preened and plucked at her fur, allowing the steam to act as a veritable nebulizer.
Birk's frostbites were getting worse every day - now not only the tip of his tail was ulcerated and bleeding, his eartips were open, painful wounds now - and when he scratched them (which he did often) - they bled and streaked both sides of his face in reddish tinge. The funny toes had somewhat gone back to normal, but were not perfect either - little too sensitive to touch.
So it was a great relief, when he had reached the hot springs - an area he knew was not far from, where the Poppy girl lived - because he did not know, how much longer he would be able to endure this. Even if she advised to clench his teeth and get through with it by drinking a lot of water - it would still be better than dealing with it on his own and be driven crazy by it.
Though eager to reach her pack as soon as possible, he was too tired to continue today - after all he had walked almost non-stop many, many miles and deserved to rest. Drawn by the warmth of the hot-springs and a chance for few hours nap, he walked over there - only to find out that he was not the only lonely straggler, who had sought a place to reside here. There was a wolf with a dark-fur doing something in the water and curious about - who she was and why was she here (and probably the more pressing - when was she going to leave, because he wanted to rest with no one around) - Birk approached quietly. He had not caught her scent yet, because of the strong fumes of the springs.
So it was a great relief, when he had reached the hot springs - an area he knew was not far from, where the Poppy girl lived - because he did not know, how much longer he would be able to endure this. Even if she advised to clench his teeth and get through with it by drinking a lot of water - it would still be better than dealing with it on his own and be driven crazy by it.
Though eager to reach her pack as soon as possible, he was too tired to continue today - after all he had walked almost non-stop many, many miles and deserved to rest. Drawn by the warmth of the hot-springs and a chance for few hours nap, he walked over there - only to find out that he was not the only lonely straggler, who had sought a place to reside here. There was a wolf with a dark-fur doing something in the water and curious about - who she was and why was she here (and probably the more pressing - when was she going to leave, because he wanted to rest with no one around) - Birk approached quietly. He had not caught her scent yet, because of the strong fumes of the springs.
Lotte worked busily, her teeth and tongue plucking ash, dead fur, and tendrils of leaf litter from her plush pelage. The steam from the pools helped to clear her lungs and sinuses, and she sighed deeply with contentment as she lost herself in the leisurely rhythm of her grooming. Eventually she fell into something of a light doze, her mind ceasing its wild whirring and her movements slowing their frenzied pace.
It was in this state of calm that she regarded the approach of the white wolf; his ears appeared ulcerated and raw, the fur below them streaked with the rust-brown stain of blood, but he appeared healthy otherwise and she did not mind sharing the space with him. In fact, a strange pull of her lower abdominal muscles and a hot churn of her gut seemed to clamor for his nearness — she rose from her relaxed posture and settled her moonbright eyes upon his face with a slow, sultry dip of her long lashes. Lotte didn’t have a willowy, lissome build, but there was something serpentine about her voluptuous musculature and ample curves as she rose to her full height and whined softly to him in greeting, her coal-colored tail waving amicably.
“Rakeet, herra,” she murmured, as inviting as any siren, her alto warm and mellifluous. She wondered idly if he would allow her to help clean the blood from his fur without bothering to ask herself why.
It was in this state of calm that she regarded the approach of the white wolf; his ears appeared ulcerated and raw, the fur below them streaked with the rust-brown stain of blood, but he appeared healthy otherwise and she did not mind sharing the space with him. In fact, a strange pull of her lower abdominal muscles and a hot churn of her gut seemed to clamor for his nearness — she rose from her relaxed posture and settled her moonbright eyes upon his face with a slow, sultry dip of her long lashes. Lotte didn’t have a willowy, lissome build, but there was something serpentine about her voluptuous musculature and ample curves as she rose to her full height and whined softly to him in greeting, her coal-colored tail waving amicably.
“Rakeet, herra,” she murmured, as inviting as any siren, her alto warm and mellifluous. She wondered idly if he would allow her to help clean the blood from his fur without bothering to ask herself why.
February 05, 2017, 01:14 PM
The girl noticed Birk soon after his approach and greeted him in a rather friendly manner, which always was a plus. He returned the smile and wagged his tail few times, but did not proceed further, deciding that his spot was good enough to sit down and talk from. He took a moment to regard her looks with appraisal - she had an unusual smoke colored fur and captivating silver eyes. And since the man was a little near-sighted, any imperfections caused by illness or burns, escaped his attention. She was probably the most beautiful creature he had met so far.
"I don't speak your tongue, but if that was a hello, then hello to you too," he returned in a flow of too many words, where only some would have been enough. But that was Birk - he had no restraint, when it came to talking.
"I don't speak your tongue, but if that was a hello, then hello to you too," he returned in a flow of too many words, where only some would have been enough. But that was Birk - he had no restraint, when it came to talking.
Cruddy post-work post. ♥
Lotte laughed, a low, rich ripple of sound. “I speak yours,” she admitted, “but sometimes my tongue trips over itself and I become mixed up.” Her argent eyes twinkled with merriment as she waded as close to Birk as she dared without leaving her pool, resting her chin on the mossy stone edge. From this closer vantage point, she discerned that the male was not simply white but a mixture of ivory, cream, and a cloudy gray lighter than her own. “I am Lotte,” she said, intrigued by his plain speaking manner and kindly expression. “What may I call you, herra?” She drew her tongue carefully across her lips as she watched him attentively, gauging his reaction to her attempt at continuing their conversation.
February 06, 2017, 02:36 PM
"Oh, that's nice to know," Birk ventured a little closer and then plopped down to his belly so that he and the girl were almost in the same level, while talking. He remembered the time, when he had tried to communicate with one of his distant very Lauren-like relatives. No only had she been gifted with a long and scruffy fur, but she also spoke in guttural "rhhr"s and "argh"s and occasional "umph"s only. Nevertheless Birk believed that their conversation had gone on famously, until the Lauren had launched for his throat and he had had to flee. Long story short - he could talk with anyone - even those, who did not speak the same language as him.
"Nice to meet you, Lotte," he replied. "My name is Birk. So, what are you doing there - swimming in winter is kind of suicidal in my opinion."
"Nice to meet you, Lotte," he replied. "My name is Birk. So, what are you doing there - swimming in winter is kind of suicidal in my opinion."
“Birk,” Lotte repeated, the soft middle consonant rolling luxuriantly off her tongue, “it is nice to meet you, too.” Her moonbright eyes sparkled invitingly as the pale wolf drew nearer; a desire to have him even closer still strummed the strings of her heart’s harp and sent a quivering thrill through her bloodstream. “The water is warm and soft,” she sighed contentedly, her eyes heavy-lidded. “A fire devoured the forest I used to live in, and the steam here seems to help clear my lungs of smoke.”
Boldly Lotte added, “Would you like me to help you bathe your fur? It might feel nice on your wounds. There is room enough for two — and as long as we stay here until we dry, I am sure we will not freeze.” A smile shaped her lips and caused the tip of her bottlebrush tail to wave cheerfully. She didn’t stop to wonder whether she had been too daring; the siren’s call of touch was too alluring to deny.
Boldly Lotte added, “Would you like me to help you bathe your fur? It might feel nice on your wounds. There is room enough for two — and as long as we stay here until we dry, I am sure we will not freeze.” A smile shaped her lips and caused the tip of her bottlebrush tail to wave cheerfully. She didn’t stop to wonder whether she had been too daring; the siren’s call of touch was too alluring to deny.
February 19, 2017, 05:19 PM
Birk still did not think it wise to bath in winter, but - hey - he had not get burned in a forest-fire, so probably this lady knew what was good for her. And he was in no place to argue or point out otherwise. Therefore he nodded and smiled at her sympathetically, feeling sorry that such a spectacular creature had had to suffer so unneccessary.
However, her next comment rang the warning bell and his previously kind and friendly expression turned into one full of bewilderment and growing unease with the situation. While he was comfortable with chatting, flirting and flattering with the girls he met, occasionally engaging in playful and innocent encounters, he did not like his private space breached. He was not comfortable with someone else touching him, unless it was absolutely neccessary.
Therefore he mustered up a weak smile and shuffled a little away from the lady. Should she decide to go through with her offer. "Nah, I am fine, thank you!" he told her, even though his wounds told a different story. "So - where do you live now, since the home you had burned down?"
However, her next comment rang the warning bell and his previously kind and friendly expression turned into one full of bewilderment and growing unease with the situation. While he was comfortable with chatting, flirting and flattering with the girls he met, occasionally engaging in playful and innocent encounters, he did not like his private space breached. He was not comfortable with someone else touching him, unless it was absolutely neccessary.
Therefore he mustered up a weak smile and shuffled a little away from the lady. Should she decide to go through with her offer. "Nah, I am fine, thank you!" he told her, even though his wounds told a different story. "So - where do you live now, since the home you had burned down?"
Lotte was disappointed by the male’s reluctance and wounded by the distance he placed between them, but her better sense appealed to her mere moments later. Why wouldn’t he move away from her? She was practically fawning over him for reasons even she couldn’t understand. Carefully, “I live with my mate and daughter among the sequoias,” she replied with a warm smile, breathing deeply of the tepid, humid air with a contented sigh. She wasn’t altogether certain what was and wasn’t public information about her Family and kept things as vague as she could while continuing to tell the truth. There was no need for subterfuge and misdirection here. “What of you, herra — where is your home?”
March 10, 2017, 08:22 AM
Birk sensed the she-wolf's disappointment and felt bad that he had made her feel, well, bad. But there were matters, where one HAD to be selfish no matter what. Therefore all he could do was give her an apologetic look and a more sincere smile than the last one.
"I come from the Far North, but I have been on my own for quite some time," he replied. "Enjoying freedom and looking for a new purpose in life," Birk paused then, trying to find another subject to bring up and eventually coming up with nothing. Therefore he let silence set between them, hoping that perhaps the girl had more to add.
"I come from the Far North, but I have been on my own for quite some time," he replied. "Enjoying freedom and looking for a new purpose in life," Birk paused then, trying to find another subject to bring up and eventually coming up with nothing. Therefore he let silence set between them, hoping that perhaps the girl had more to add.
I wish Lotte had gotten to meet Osprey! She was one of my favorites. ♥
Melody derived from the soundtrack of Disney’s Moana.
Melody derived from the soundtrack of Disney’s Moana.
Surprise widened the singed female’s eyes and caused her small, bearlike ears to prick with visible interest. “My brothers and I hail from the northern tundra,” she remarked, her tail beginning to wave with prolonged slowness beneath the surface. “We made our home with other soturit in the Enok Tundra but wished to see more of the world.” Tipping her head back, she laughed for the joy of it, the melody of her mirth rusted and tattered at the edges; she cleared her throat with a soft, muffled sound and gushed, “Aren’t trees wonderful?” Her silver eyes sparkled as she recounted, “My äiskä — my mother, she would sketch their silhouettes in the snow when we begged her to explain trees and fields and flowers, but to see them with my own eyes and feel them and smell them…” She breathed deeply, presently unable to smell the sulfur in the air due to her blocked sinuses, and mimed a sign of deep contentment. “It was every bit as wonderful as I dreamed.” In this moment, Lotte shed the tart bossiness that made her seem matronly at times, letting her innocence peek through.
She hummed to herself, thinking of the flower dancer, and her heart warred with itself as she drew a careful breath and wondered whether to cry or laugh. She was certain Starbuck had gotten free of the fire, but had no idea of the little coywolf’s whereabouts. I could have loved her, she thought sadly to herself, and scribbled out a few lyrics while a meandering song spilled at first wordlessly from her lips.
I know a girl from a forest;
I met her beside the stream.
She loved to dance with the flowers;
she loved to sing with our queen.
Now that the fire has swallowed
the sentinels’ hallowed heart,
there is no compass to guide me
where you are.
Without shame she ceased her humming to sing outright:
“You are a girl who loves the flowers.
You are a girl who loved our queen,
lost to me.
My kukka tanssija, where are you now?
Did you escape the inferno’s snare?
Do you still live beside the sea?
Beside me?”
Falling silent, “I am sorry, herra,” Lotte said, amending her melancholic expression with a warm and easy smile. “I was thinking of the flowers — and then I was thinking of a friend who loved them. I have not seen her since the fire.” To distract herself and give the male a chance to talk lest she talk both of his eardrums to pieces, “How do you find life outside the north?” she asked him, genuinely curious.
She hummed to herself, thinking of the flower dancer, and her heart warred with itself as she drew a careful breath and wondered whether to cry or laugh. She was certain Starbuck had gotten free of the fire, but had no idea of the little coywolf’s whereabouts. I could have loved her, she thought sadly to herself, and scribbled out a few lyrics while a meandering song spilled at first wordlessly from her lips.
I know a girl from a forest;
I met her beside the stream.
She loved to dance with the flowers;
she loved to sing with our queen.
Now that the fire has swallowed
the sentinels’ hallowed heart,
there is no compass to guide me
where you are.
Without shame she ceased her humming to sing outright:
“You are a girl who loves the flowers.
You are a girl who loved our queen,
lost to me.
My kukka tanssija, where are you now?
Did you escape the inferno’s snare?
Do you still live beside the sea?
Beside me?”
Falling silent, “I am sorry, herra,” Lotte said, amending her melancholic expression with a warm and easy smile. “I was thinking of the flowers — and then I was thinking of a friend who loved them. I have not seen her since the fire.” To distract herself and give the male a chance to talk lest she talk both of his eardrums to pieces, “How do you find life outside the north?” she asked him, genuinely curious.
April 01, 2017, 02:36 PM
ooc: I apologize for the long wait!
"Then, perhaps, we have not lived very far from each other," Birk noted, thinking about the chances that his pack and hers might have crossed paths with each other in the past. "Can't say that I give much about trees and plants, but I agree - the landscape here is much less mundane than up there."
"So far the only disappointment has been the masive cold wave and some frost bite. Other than that - I am really, really, really looking forward to experience spring and summer here. I hear - that snow actually melts during the warm months," he chuckled.
"Then, perhaps, we have not lived very far from each other," Birk noted, thinking about the chances that his pack and hers might have crossed paths with each other in the past. "Can't say that I give much about trees and plants, but I agree - the landscape here is much less mundane than up there."
"So far the only disappointment has been the masive cold wave and some frost bite. Other than that - I am really, really, really looking forward to experience spring and summer here. I hear - that snow actually melts during the warm months," he chuckled.
No worries! Same for me.
Lotte had to smile at Birk’s response. “It does,” she confirmed joyously. “I arrived in these wilds last summer. I cannot say that I enjoy the heat — it is unpleasant, to say the least — but the green world is a wonder.” Her tail stirred behind her, sending ripples on the water, and she drew a deep, cautious breath that erupted into a wet-sounding cough. Although it was what she’d wanted out of the natural nebulization treatment, it was slightly embarrassing to cough and hack while she was trying to have a conversation with a stranger. She leveled herself out of the water and padded a few paces away, shaking out her fur and turning her back to the male as she coughed up a significant amount of gunk and expelled it inelegantly from her muzzle. When she turned back to him, “I am sorry,” she murmured a bit sheepishly.
She settled on the ledge instead of getting back into the water, allowing the heat from the hot springs to warm her as her coat began the slow drying process. It would take some time given their humid surroundings, but she wasn’t terribly worried about it. “Have you any stories or songs from your home?” she asked him, purely curious, her mind flitting briefly to Day and his digging song.
She settled on the ledge instead of getting back into the water, allowing the heat from the hot springs to warm her as her coat began the slow drying process. It would take some time given their humid surroundings, but she wasn’t terribly worried about it. “Have you any stories or songs from your home?” she asked him, purely curious, her mind flitting briefly to Day and his digging song.
April 09, 2017, 02:44 PM
"If you say so, then I believe you," Birk joyously replied and smiled, trying to imagine, what would it be like to see the landscape change from snowy and barren to something... entirely else.
"Me - sing? You don't want to hear that," he laughed at the very idea. He was the most unmusical guy you could find. The best description of his singing voice would be the one, when nails scratch accross chalkboard. Ear-piercing, eye-popping sound that would make even trolls flee and banshees cover their ears.
"Stories... hmm..." he scratched behind his ears. While he often mentioned the supposedly real creatures from the ice-fields, he did not think that there was a story he could tell from the beginning to end. "... I will have to disappoint you. I like to listen, but I am bad at telling them myself."
"Me - sing? You don't want to hear that," he laughed at the very idea. He was the most unmusical guy you could find. The best description of his singing voice would be the one, when nails scratch accross chalkboard. Ear-piercing, eye-popping sound that would make even trolls flee and banshees cover their ears.
"Stories... hmm..." he scratched behind his ears. While he often mentioned the supposedly real creatures from the ice-fields, he did not think that there was a story he could tell from the beginning to end. "... I will have to disappoint you. I like to listen, but I am bad at telling them myself."
I’m closing up Lotte’s old threads, so would you mind closing after your post? ♥ Thank you for the thread!
I’m running fevers so please excuse how lame this song is.
I’m running fevers so please excuse how lame this song is.
It was disappointing that the wolf didn’t have any songs or stories to share, but Lotte kept a tight lid on her feelings about the matter, maintaining a pleasant expression as she chuckled in turn. “I will tell you some,” she offered eagerly. “They are about a hero called Dagfinn Ansbjørn III — a great adventurer.”
The scratchy pull in her throat had her amending her statement, though. “Maybe just one,” she corrected herself. “As my voice permits.” Clearing her throat, she began her rollicking ode:
“Down in a valley in a land far away,
covered in snow and the shadow of night,
two hunters renowned trailed the tracks of their prey —
one dusky black and one creamy white.
The black wolf was Dagfinn, an adventurer true,
pale star on his chest and a grin on his face;
with the joy of the hunt in his eyes, winter blue,
he and the white wolf set to the chase.”
It wasn’t the best song, but Lotte was basically making it up on the fly.
“The white wolf was Saena, a warrior fierce
with the air of a matron and the look of a maid.
Copper war paint on her eyes and her ears,
her bobbed tail flicked as they entered a glade
inside which a herd stood with one wounded doe.
When the wolves came, they scattered, darting away —
and Saena and Dagfinn leapt ‘cross the snow
to whet their sharp teeth on the hide of their prey.
They thought themselves lucky; their quarry was dead —
but the situation soon became far from sanguine.
From within the underbrush came a glint of blood-red
a thirty-pronged monster with flesh rotted green.
He charged at the hunters, this king of the glade,
hooves whittled to spikes, skin stretched across bones,
a macabre specter with debts to be paid
each deer-death-sin by a wolf-death atoned.
‘Saena!’ cried Dagfinn, avoiding disaster
by shoving the vale queen out of harm’s way.
‘Run home!’ he barked at her, moving still faster
to feint toward the demon hart. As night turned to day,
and the battle for Deerhome greeted the morning,
it was Dagfinn who led the chase wide and awry
for three days he ran with the demon bull’s bellowed warnings
hot on his heels, leaving the Teekons behind.”
Her song came to a close, and she paused dramatically before stating, “Dagfinn returned to the Teekons after the demon bull had faded from sight, but no wolf knows where the deer is now or when he’ll turn up next,” in a hushed undertone. “A wise wolf will always look for him before hunting his lesser brethren, for he appears to be summoned by the deaths of his people — they say the number of prongs grows with his fury.” She smiled a bit devilishly as she rose, shaking out her fur and preparing to take her own leave. A bit hoarse after her song, “I am for home, Birk of the Tundra,” she said. “I wish you well. Should you have need of aid, look to the northern coast.”
The scratchy pull in her throat had her amending her statement, though. “Maybe just one,” she corrected herself. “As my voice permits.” Clearing her throat, she began her rollicking ode:
“Down in a valley in a land far away,
covered in snow and the shadow of night,
two hunters renowned trailed the tracks of their prey —
one dusky black and one creamy white.
The black wolf was Dagfinn, an adventurer true,
pale star on his chest and a grin on his face;
with the joy of the hunt in his eyes, winter blue,
he and the white wolf set to the chase.”
It wasn’t the best song, but Lotte was basically making it up on the fly.
“The white wolf was Saena, a warrior fierce
with the air of a matron and the look of a maid.
Copper war paint on her eyes and her ears,
her bobbed tail flicked as they entered a glade
inside which a herd stood with one wounded doe.
When the wolves came, they scattered, darting away —
and Saena and Dagfinn leapt ‘cross the snow
to whet their sharp teeth on the hide of their prey.
They thought themselves lucky; their quarry was dead —
but the situation soon became far from sanguine.
From within the underbrush came a glint of blood-red
a thirty-pronged monster with flesh rotted green.
He charged at the hunters, this king of the glade,
hooves whittled to spikes, skin stretched across bones,
a macabre specter with debts to be paid
each deer-death-sin by a wolf-death atoned.
‘Saena!’ cried Dagfinn, avoiding disaster
by shoving the vale queen out of harm’s way.
‘Run home!’ he barked at her, moving still faster
to feint toward the demon hart. As night turned to day,
and the battle for Deerhome greeted the morning,
it was Dagfinn who led the chase wide and awry
for three days he ran with the demon bull’s bellowed warnings
hot on his heels, leaving the Teekons behind.”
Her song came to a close, and she paused dramatically before stating, “Dagfinn returned to the Teekons after the demon bull had faded from sight, but no wolf knows where the deer is now or when he’ll turn up next,” in a hushed undertone. “A wise wolf will always look for him before hunting his lesser brethren, for he appears to be summoned by the deaths of his people — they say the number of prongs grows with his fury.” She smiled a bit devilishly as she rose, shaking out her fur and preparing to take her own leave. A bit hoarse after her song, “I am for home, Birk of the Tundra,” she said. “I wish you well. Should you have need of aid, look to the northern coast.”
May 14, 2017, 05:40 PM
ooc: a very nice piece of poetry. :)
"Thank you. That was interesting... and see you, whenever that is destined to happen," Birk told to the she-wolf, before she left him alone at the springs. He stayed there for quite some while after that, thinking over the story she had told him using an odd way of doing so. He was unfamiliar with poetry or anything like it.
After and hour or two he too left the grounds to continue his journey South.
"Thank you. That was interesting... and see you, whenever that is destined to happen," Birk told to the she-wolf, before she left him alone at the springs. He stayed there for quite some while after that, thinking over the story she had told him using an odd way of doing so. He was unfamiliar with poetry or anything like it.
After and hour or two he too left the grounds to continue his journey South.
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