Cedar Sweep .not_human

@Grace — sorry it's short! i'm still getting used to writing again omg <3

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hunger lingers as a longtime companion, sharp nails stabbing and stretching the skin from within; famine, sister to pestilence. malnutrition yet waits, this stirring still only a trivial matter, but charmaigne is not the type to wait for weakness to strike, not the type to bow to nature's course. most would resort to wolf-flesh only if no other were available, yet the de mercy found herself in something of the inverse situation — lowering herself to the wire of small game in absence of easy kin. beneath shadow of towering cedars prowls the ghoul, pale snout carving a path for over-long limbs to follow, creeping low to the ground as nostrils flare. though focus appears directed solely to the mission that is hunting, that is tracking down a meal in lands yet unknown, still aggravatingly unfamiliar, dark ears are aggressively alert. she can find no reason to trust these wilds, resorts instead to hyper-awareness, to a taut frame that s i n g s with tension. ( a strung bow, ready to snap ) 

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Grace again found herself wandering away from home, limping between towering cedars, sniffing along for any herbs to collect and bring home for her stores. She'd put off exploring the Silver Creek pack until later - but still she ran into others. The scent of another female was close, and Grace was on high alert as she stalked forward, ears swiveling nervously with low hanging head and tail. Had she not been so soft faced and rounded, one might mistake her for some sort of coyote. 

The nervous girl kept walking, on high alert, but did not seek out this wolf. Partially because she was nervous, but mostly because of the clump of Thyme that claimed her attention. Humming joyously in her chest, Grace settled back on her haunches, leg jutting out awkwardly from underneath her to start gently digging around the roots. If she could, she would bring the entire plant back home - once there, she would not only replant it, but thin out the leaves and gather roots and seeds to expand her garden should it not survive.

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@Grace

the scent of another was undeniable even as charmaigne crept through the undergrowth, ears swivelling to try and pick up foreign woman's course as nose did its best to focus on the woodchuck's trail. ( the scent of something larger, something tastier and unwanted distraction ) as much as the ghoul did agree with her stomach on what would make for better prey, these lands were still too much an unknown to go picking off wolves. there was no telling what packs lived within these wilds, what dignitary she might accidentally d e v o u r; without her siblings to defend against such cruelties as a vengeful mob, it was best not to go finding out. that might be her fault too though. apparently making a point by eating your brother was bad for family relations. 

non, chides the rational corner of her mind, shaking away dreams of a more sentient meal — she had a woodchuck to track down. they would become rare enough soon, chased into hibernation by the cold and it would be a waste to throw away such an opportunity for a meal. ( so how is it then, that the pale wraith finds herself hovering behind a broad trunk on those spindly limbs, sage gaze tracing the hobbled girl's awkward but determined movements ) mesh of whites and creams and greys has straightened out now, tall and inherently proud, staring down long snout with unnerving lack of emotion: a scientist observing a specimen. cold. a dark ear flicked at the faint thrum of the other's humming, mind whirring in time. ( did this land then not have w a r ? ) mused the pale ghoul, toes twisting into the soft earth; the darker wolf seemed more naturally skittish than anything else, and otherwise too ... cheerful. though, it was possible such misplaced cheer and accompanied skittishness were the result of the plant the scarred wolf was digging up — herbs had always been corinth's weakness; charmaigne had taken advantage of that.

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Grace set to her work carefully, ensuring she didn't break any roots that the plant needed to survive or any of the precious leaves she so sought out. The other woman was not far from her mind - her ears were flickering around, ready to pick up the slightest noise, and when the figure straightened out behind the stump Grace'd passed to get here, the russet girl's face turned to seek out friend or foe from where she sat. It was hard to see her from here, considering she only had one eye with full vision capacity, but it was good enough. The red fur on her spine raised in anxiety, and her golden gaze seemed to question if Charmaigne wanted to hurt her. Zaavier and the other Strath wolves were but a howl away should she need them - but for now there was no need to call to them.

Her gaze rested on the pale medley of the stranger for a good couple of seconds before Grace tentatively called out to her. Her singsong voice carried on the wind, and to her credit it only trembled a little. 

                    "C-Can I help you?"

@Grace — sorry for the wait! uni got busy D: <3

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it's easy to forget that war is not a staple in the lives of all, that the bittersweet iron of wolf's blood was unfamiliar to some. easier still when the last such (named and identified) flavour to grace charmaigne's tongue had been that of her frère's – those sampled since were ­strangers, irrelevant enough to be forgotten before their flesh had passed through the ghoul's digestive tract. sage eyes blink slowly, frame shuddering with an inhale as the woman was reminded of how long ago her last proper meal had been. as white lids snap open again, it's to evidence of having been spotted and furs of mottled grey rise along the youth's spine in instinctive rebuttal, skin prickling uncomfortably at the sensation. behind sealed lips, pale tongue runs the length of each tooth in idle contemplation: waiting, to see if gold eye's silent query would be matched with any sort of verbal accompaniment.

 

charmaigne wasn't left to wonder overly long; a quavering call set an end to the quiet stare-down, leaving the pale she-wolf to mull over a feeling that might've been disappointment. ( silent conversations tended to be that much more ­visceral, open to interpretation; she'd have to find someone else in these wilds to play charades with ) – regardless, asking if there was any way she could be helped certainly amused the draugr, eyes sparking with a chaotic light. it was tempting to ask directly for dinner to go, but given that a single nasty rumour could lead to all sorts of luck, the canadian settled for a more roundabout method of hunting – " are any of the clans warring? " the gangly cretin didn't move from her position, rather appreciating the dominant shadow the cedar offered, but hackles settled a little, face adopting a more neutral shade of hollow. ( if nothing else, the russet girl had stroked charmaigne's ego )

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