Mount Apikuni it's not my time, my soul ain't yours to take

tagging @Asperas!

worripa's quickly lost count of how many days it's been since he slipped out of rivenwood's borders like a thief in the night — without any consideration or regard for those that loved him and likely would worry about what has happened to him ( a page no doubt taken from his mother's book ) ; irregardless, he knows it's been days. a judgement made by the predictable cycle of the new day(s) dawning and the rumble of his stomach.

there was a reason he was kept away from the borders: for the dangers that wandered outside, for the fact that while he could kind of hunt, he was far from being capable of taking care of himself.

the war reaper's effectively blocked out any of those warnings. he is a beastling ruled by wrath and instinct and the restless energy of the commander.

he is drawn towards a clustering copse of trees; not for the shade but for the half rotten corpse — of a deer he would assume but he can't find it in himself to care. it is meat and with the exception of the flies that occupy it like the pests they were: it was his.

he tears at and gulps the meat down without second consideration; eager to fill his belly with his find though it has long since lost the appeal of when it had been fresh.

all manner of strange creatures had flocked to asperas and her spiritblessed companion, the ash-woven @Alduin, since that fateful day in the forest. the exception, it seemed, was large game, though this was perhaps a blessing; neither child yet possessed the skill or the bulk to bring down any animal that might compose a more substantial meal, and so they subsisted on rodents and weasels and other such vermin found in their wanderings. asperas, for her part, had already become rather adept at killing the little things. it was as natural as breathing —
though breathing was not near as painful.
this morning she'd stowed her cursed treasure at the base of a gnarled old tree, tucked among the raised twisting roots and buried under a mass of assorted foliage she'd torn from the ground around it, marked with tufts of navy-black fur and left for the thrill and agony of the hunt with no small amount of trepidation. to lose the skyrock would be the death of her; this, she knew without knowing how she did. she scarce let it out of her sight, and when she did, it was hidden from all others. even her companion.
asperas trusted no one since merrick's betrayal.

she was carrying the fruits of her labor, on her way back to where she'd stored the skyrock, when two scents abruptly cut through the fresh metallic blood-and-meat scent of the weasel in her jaws: boy, and rot. the willful little voidsent could hardly allow this strange combination to pass uninvestigated and unmolested, so asperas changed course immediately, malicious intent already brewing in the bones of her.
but the pain of today's kill had taken much from her. the lines of exhaustion were set deep in her face, and her limbs felt sluggish and clumsy. sleep would serve her better than heckling some desperate boy and his foul meal, surely, and it was this thought that slowed her steps even as another ash-spun pelt winked into view against the mottled olive-and-umber summerscape of the mountainside.
asperas let the weasel fall, and listened to the whispers on the wind. boy, she called when the spirits had whispered their secrets, and said nothing else.

Alduin’s journey with the girl he likes to refer as the shadow has been trying, but still somehow rewarding. He has a purpose right now. He had one before and he finds himself missing his home — the Saints. He doesn’t know how to get back. If he could only find that lake he would know, but alas they haven’t come across it. Still, he misses his parents and brothers. Misses Thyme, Nyra, Arlette too. He knows Thyme is worried sick for him — as well as the rest of them.

He puts it to the back of his mind, it’s hard, but he has another task for now. Riding with this girl, he’s older than her, bigger than her, he can protect her if he has to. So he will do that to the best of his abilities. 

Especially now, as they come across another. Alduin stares his fiery red gaze into the other pup. Another lone pup! What’re the chances? He doesn’t say much either, only watches him gore himself on the less than fresh body as Asperas moves closer to get his attention. It reminds him that he hasn’t had a chance to properly fill his belly in a while. Especially with the small game they’ve been catching. 

So he decides to stay close to her right side as they approach. Not really feeling a strong need to protect her from another pup her age, but he will if necessary. Allowing his imposing puppy form to linger beside her, waiting for the other to respond and resisting the urge to dive into the body as well.

it is easy for the war reaper to lose himself in the simple actions: tearing of meat that smells sickly sweet with decay and tastes far from ideal, to the action of chewing the toughened sinew; to the cracking of bones beneath the strength of his jaw not yet at it's full strength. he does not forget those he left behind in the bypass but he does not waste his waning strength thinking about them, either. if they found him, then they found him; but his job out here in the thick of the wilds was not done.

maybe it would never be done. maybe he would never return until jus drein, jus daun was done. his mother might not've spilled his blood with her abandonment but she might've well have.

hyper focused upon his meal, leaves him exposed and the word that rides the whispering winds to him boy is his first indication that he is not alone. spittle and bits of carrion clinging to his lips fall unattractively from jowls as he munches down the latest bit of half-rotten meat and he lets out a low warning growl. just one.

his food aggression will not allow him to share even this. not with strangers ...not even with his own sisters and milk-mother. not even with vater.

a flash of the gargoyle worripa had unceremoniously come to think of as his father flashes briefly in his mind and he summons the tall, imposing posture ( even if he fails horribly ). his tail lashes behind him and he turns to face them — the two. the girl and the slightly older boy.

what do you want? his body posture communicates; keeping his words: mixtures of tidbits gleamed from mahler and phrases stolen from praimfaya and shared with skaigona close.

asperas cast shadows far larger than herself, it seemed. with alduin at her side, the voidsent felt bolstered in her confidence. the boy's response came in the familiar silent language that was the melonii's birthright, and she warmed to his coldness, reminded of the night queen who had brought her into the world. asperas cast a critical eye over his meal, then over his gunmetal frame and the promise it held. mine, she thought, and relinquished her hard-won prize with a toss of her head. the bloodied weasel corpse thudded near the boy's feet; an offering, that he might grant her a boon in return. you eat, she tilted her head. then, you come. there was a questioning quality to her voice, though she saw no reason for the boy to refuse. thus far, most in asperas's life had bent willingly to her will — but astara had always struck her as the most willful of them, and something in this boy called to mind that same force of will. it was a legacy asperas was proud to claim as her own, even in her self-imposed exile; she would not impose on that same quality in one she desired as a follower.

sorryyyy this took a minute, i have been SO busy. i should be faster now i have more spare time (:

just going to go ahead and wrap this up with my post. <3

worripa studies the bloodied weasel corpse tossed his way; mouth watering at the promise of fresh meat against his better judgement. at first, he wants to turn his nose up at it. not because it doesn't smell appetizing but because he is afraid the offer of meat might come with strings attached. he isn't wrong as she commands him to follow. he takes a long moment to consider before making up his mind on a whim ( which is how worripa seems to live much of his life at the moment ), makes a quick meal of the offered food and follows after her: keeping keen eye on her and her hulking companion.