Ghost Lion Crag. Artaax didn't know the name of the canyon he'd taken up residence in, so he never realized how incredibly perfect of a place it was for him to wind up. It had likely been named for the mountain lions that called the area home, but it didn't suit them the way that it did the feisripa. He was the lion, once proud and strong with a brilliant future ahead of him. And now he was a ghost, haunting this ugly scar in the mountains, hiding away from the world. A mere shadow of his former self.
He awoke early that morning - or was it late at night? - and crept into the inky black before down to hunt. He had made his peace with the whole remaining alive thing, though that didn't necessarily mean he was pleased with it. It had eventually occurred to him how little sense it made for him to be angry with Thuringwethil for taking her own life and then turn around and cost himself his. The pain of losing her was still agony, but every day, he grew a little more numb to it. Or maybe he was just used to feeling terrible.
He spent an hour or two hunting and eventually had a nice, fat grouse, dead in his jaws. Artaax didn't bother carrying it somewhere safe before he dug in (being at peace with staying alive also didn't mean he would go out of his way to remain so). It seemed likely the scent of fresh meat would draw one of the other cats that haunted the area, but he wasn't too concerned about this. He was more interested in sating his hunger and then crawling back into his hole to get back to withering away in solitude.
He awoke early that morning - or was it late at night? - and crept into the inky black before down to hunt. He had made his peace with the whole remaining alive thing, though that didn't necessarily mean he was pleased with it. It had eventually occurred to him how little sense it made for him to be angry with Thuringwethil for taking her own life and then turn around and cost himself his. The pain of losing her was still agony, but every day, he grew a little more numb to it. Or maybe he was just used to feeling terrible.
He spent an hour or two hunting and eventually had a nice, fat grouse, dead in his jaws. Artaax didn't bother carrying it somewhere safe before he dug in (being at peace with staying alive also didn't mean he would go out of his way to remain so). It seemed likely the scent of fresh meat would draw one of the other cats that haunted the area, but he wasn't too concerned about this. He was more interested in sating his hunger and then crawling back into his hole to get back to withering away in solitude.
February 23, 2019, 01:51 PM
Wraen did not know, if the smell of blood and meat had caught the attention of any ghost lions, but it surely had attracted her. After her meeting with Charon she had happened to return to the same place, now with the knowledge of her parents' passing weighing heavily on her shoulders. She rarely cried and by now she had come to terms with the thought that Dante and Osprey weren't alive anymore, but occasionally she needed to be away from the others to contemplate in solitude.
However, today she did not have much time to spend on the latter, because of the smell. Though she did not have any illusions about having an easy meal, she still wanted to check out. In part because there was a tiny percentage of luck and in part of wanting to see, who had caught it. If it was any of the packmates, she could always politely ask to share. It was not - an unfamiliar white pelted male was having a lunch. Not wishing to disturb him just yet (because some people could get grumpy, if their meal was interrupted), she took a seat and observed him from the distance.
However, today she did not have much time to spend on the latter, because of the smell. Though she did not have any illusions about having an easy meal, she still wanted to check out. In part because there was a tiny percentage of luck and in part of wanting to see, who had caught it. If it was any of the packmates, she could always politely ask to share. It was not - an unfamiliar white pelted male was having a lunch. Not wishing to disturb him just yet (because some people could get grumpy, if their meal was interrupted), she took a seat and observed him from the distance.
February 25, 2019, 06:07 PM
The attention he drew didn't appear to be a threat. At least, that's what Artaax decided instantly upon glimpsing the stranger in the distance. His eyes flashed across her and were away again in half a second later. Truthfully, he couldn't even be sure he'd even seen someone there. But he didn't care enough to check again, so he went right on eating.
With a loud snap, he wrenched a wing free and tossed it aside. He'd hunted enough birds to know they didn't have enough meat on them to be worth the trouble, and shortly he'd ripped off the other and threw it over to join the pile. He began plucking away at the feathers on its plump breast then, nonchalantly shifting so that his shoulder was to the stranger.
With a loud snap, he wrenched a wing free and tossed it aside. He'd hunted enough birds to know they didn't have enough meat on them to be worth the trouble, and shortly he'd ripped off the other and threw it over to join the pile. He began plucking away at the feathers on its plump breast then, nonchalantly shifting so that his shoulder was to the stranger.
March 03, 2019, 08:45 AM
The fellow acknowledged her presence, but a moment later he continued to dismember the bird and eat it piece by piece. Wraen was not very sure, what she should do and going away seemed like the best option. She got to her feet, prepared to leave, when a loud crushing sound somewhere above their heads made her stop and look up. There - atop the cliff was a cloud of smoke forming and as the first little pieces of ice and little stones showered the ground, the she-wolf, who knew, what was coming, made a hasty exit. The last avalanche she had experience had been horrible enough, she had no interest in finding out, what another would be like.
We can either continue or, if Artaax runs the opposite way, then we can conclude.
March 09, 2019, 07:44 AM
Artaax's ears twitched as he too heard the shifting of the rock and snow overhead. He glanced up to see the woman darting away before turning to look at the cloud of snow billowing above. He heavily considered remaining right where he was and seeing what happened. Maybe the whole mountain would collapse and bury him under it - wouldn't that be a fitting end? He was already buried deep enough under his misery to knock on death's door, why not be physically buried as well as metaphorically?
In the end, instinct kicked in and he moved - taking his bird and crawling back up into his hole on the opposite cliffs of the mountain where he was safe from the onslaught. He stepped out the next morning to peer down at the detris, thinking about how it could've been his grave if he could've just been more of a coward and let himself die. Why was it never that easy?
In the end, instinct kicked in and he moved - taking his bird and crawling back up into his hole on the opposite cliffs of the mountain where he was safe from the onslaught. He stepped out the next morning to peer down at the detris, thinking about how it could've been his grave if he could've just been more of a coward and let himself die. Why was it never that easy?
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