Hoshor Plains hold my hand

Set directly after this thread.

Diane spent several more days there; dying slowly until something told her to get up...

A drizzle started as the girl, caked in grime and dried blood, began a painfully slow limp across the plains. She had been able to drink but her stomach rumbled in horrible protest of its hunger. The last thing she had eaten was a beaver left to her by Vincent, but that had been days prior, and she was beginning to feel her physical weakness more than her mental one. Especially now since her broken leg prevented her from hunting.

Her other wounds weren't as serious. The claws marks on her chest and shoulder were healing fine, and though the fang marks behind the blades of her shoulder had taken longer to stop bleeding, they had crusted over eventually too. Everything was bruised, and it hurt to move any muscle, but she knew she couldn't stay in that hole anymore. Not if that was where she wanted to die.

Diane lifted her face to the soft rain, breathing in water and cold air in a move that was supposed to be refreshing, but only wound her up in a fit of unflattering coughs.

Set after recent thread, assuming he was injured by Skeet

Novak had left Porcupine Ridge when discovering his only faithfull family member had disappeared, and left Teekon as a whole. It was difficult to roam land he thought to be forgiving to take away all that he had left. Over weeks of aimless roaming he found himself stepping across The Wild's once again, and while doing so had sparred with a charming male, and ended up with a couple wounds himself. A trickle of rain began to hit his fur, he tried his best to stay at least neutral, but slowly he began to fall into an emotional trench. He had been trained his whole life to be soulless, to never dwell, but it seemed lately he was doing the opposite.

While trekking across the now muddy surface, a familiar scent invaded his nose. His pace slowed to a stop, putting thought into whoever owned it. It was rare for him to forget a wolf, but his time here seemed to go by in a blur–he'd barely remember anyone. Putting his foot out, deciding to discover who this wolf was, he began in their direction. 

Soon enough he spotted a rather unkempt fae in the distance, stopping once again, he tried to observe her walk–it seemed unstable and without pattern, were they injured? He sniffed the air, and the easily recognizable smell of blood drifted in the air. Starting up his walk again, he made his way to the hurt girl. 

As space closed between the two, she seemed to grow more and more familiar, and once he was directly behind her, only a few yards away, he remembered exactly who this was. "Diane?" She was the kind wolf who welcomed him to The Ridge, her beautiful fur and glow seemed altered rather dramatically. He had promised to teach the girl how to hunt porcupine once her leg healed, as they had just had a war, sadly he had left before he could. "What the Hell happened to you?"

Why hello thur~ ^__^

The warrior bard was enjoying the prime of his life. Yes the rain came down in a miserable little mist, but Goldhawk was full of light and hope. He hadn't been this way for a while, despite his generally chipper attitude — he'd failed in a rather epic mission a short time ago, and returned home to find that his friend Kyron had vanished — but time was a strong healer. He remained on stellar terms with his Lady and Lord, and had been training with his friends. Good muscle protected the borders of Neverwinter.

But he roamed outside them today, having tracked a handsome hare across the flatlands to the east. He was on his way back home now, golden coat glimmering healthily despite the overcast sky, the hare clamped between his teeth. But something caused him to pause. He dropped the hare, and had a sniff of what was up ahead. Then he became even more stationary, a statue in the cool daylight. There was a scene upon the plains, and Goldhawk moved swiftly towards it.

Ah my sweet little lass... he recognised her with a great leap of his heart. When Goldhawk had first set eyes upon Diane, he had almost melted — so pure and perfect was this kind and generous maiden. After their idyllic first meeting, he had searched many times for her but had not encountered her again, and had known in his heart of hearts that to find her would mean to risk stepping on the borders of another pack, which would be a disrespect to the peace Neverwinter had worked so hard to achieve. And so he'd restrained himself, and resigned himself to the likelihood that he'd never see Diane again.

Yet here she was. Broken. Bleeding. An angel clipped of wings. Yet present also was a male, and Goldhawk's eyes devoured him suspiciously. You there! Big grey chap! he approached, bristling. Face me at once until I know you're a friend, he commanded with a frown and a tall posture. He had no intention of attacking outright — he simply needed to know, immediately, if this stranger had harmed Diane. And if this was indeed a friend, Goldhawk knew he'd want to know the same.

Novak appeared out of her haze, and she regarded him in awe at first, recognizing him at once as a wolf she had once trusted. Then she remembered his abandonment of the Ridge, and Diane shied away from the male, backing away until she had nearly backed into Goldhawk. His voice, a melody from a long lost dream, traveled up her spine, and she whirled to find the reassurance of his aurelian face, just as he turned his suspicions upon Novak. She opened her mouth to protest, to assure her knight in golden armor that the brutish male was not an enemy, but words failed her. Her throat seemed to close, and Diane couldn't find her voice to neither confirm or deny anything in that moment.

She backed away. Novak had not harmed her physically, but emotionally, she realized that she was hurt by his disloyalty; she thought it a curse. Having fled her drowned home, she would forever wander and hope to be loved, hope to find a family and start one of her own, but how could she? She had forsaken the Sea, and she was here now, everywhere, eroding away all the sweet things until she was left with nothing but bitterness and a vast loneliness she felt destined to suffer eternally.

Any love she felt would be taken from her. Never would anyone stay by her, as she had not stayed by her family. Goldhawk, The Wolf, Taggarik, Vuk, Terich-mir, Jhala, Novak, Capriccio, Illea... they would all leave her, if they had not already, or be taken from her, and recent injury and paranoia drained her trust away from herself. She could not have companions. She could not build or keep a life until she had atoned. Atoned for the lives she did not even try to save or search for.

Weak. Nobody could see how weak she was. Everyone seemed to care, and in her delusion she thought this was all a part of the vexation. She would attract all manner of friend to her side, only to lose them through abandonment or worse. Diane feared this course of life, and she began to backpedal, her senses lost to the wind as she stumbled back and then turned to limp furiously in the direction of the river.

Her legs carried her as quickly as they could in her condition. She moved without direction, and with only the intent in mind to distance herself from the potentially bickering males. Ears plastered against her skull, she could see the river ahead, and her heart lept instinctively. Water! I need water! She toddled forward carelessly, cradling her injured foot to her chest and whining as the glistening rush of water hypnotized her and drew her close. Her mouth opened, desperate for a drink, and she fell down the invisible embankment, plunging head-first into the water.

Normally this might have been a simple occurrence, but the injured seawolf was immediately overpowered by the current, and with only three legs it took only six seconds for her to become an uncatchable drift in the river. She struggled, of course, but the strangling liquid was too fast and too cold for her to survive it, and she was taken from the scene, hopefully to be deposited in the ocean, but probably not.

Change of plans! Sorry, Ells, but I started thinking about Diane's future in The Famine and realistically since she can't hunt for herself, she would refuse to take any food because of her personality -- as she sees resources would be better spent on those able to be useful -- and would suffer a slow starvation that I don't feel like going through xD I was already planning on her refusing food for a while, but the dynamics change slightly, now that a plague happened. My sincerest apologies for the traumatization <3

Poor sweet Diane! But I understand entirely~ It's been lovely threading with you anyway! <3 I'll archive this here, as Novak's account is inactive. Thank you, both. :)

What happened then was almost like a fever dream. He was reminded forcibly of when he himself had been dying, frozen by the seaside, before Kyron had come along to save the day. Goldhawk's head had been full of weight and delusion, and of course a prevailing darkness, and he felt all that intensely now as he watched Diane and then became part of her final moments. The broken girl fled, and the bard, startled, ignored the other male completely and moved swiftly after her.

He didn't call out to her because he got an odd (and, again, feverish) impression that she wouldn't hear him. Something had happened to the frightened beauty, and it wasn't just physical. Although Goldhawk was long-legged and strong, and Diane was hurt and limping, she seemed to be pushed by a kind of intense adrenaline and what could be death-defying fear, and so she outran him with surprising ease. He caught up to her just as she fell. It seemed to happen in slow motion: the warrior gasped and reached out with his jaws to grab her, and his teeth grazed the scruff of her neck by a hair's breadth... and then she fell away with the world.

It would take him a while to properly remember what happened next. He ran (he must have) to try and save her, brown eyes flashing desperately in an attempt to keep sight of her. Survival instinct kept him from plunging himself into the water after her, and it was a while before he gave up. He did, though: he gave up. The dream was gone, vanished, swallowed by the water and her own turmoil, and his heart pounded with pain. But he didn't feel loss: he'd never had her. He'd only dreamt her.

Goldhawk sat there alone for a very long time.