The dawn had broken as Tyulen made his way into the Kildeer Rest, his steps pausing as his sapphire blue gaze took in the foreign landscape, pausing only once to spare a single steeled glance over his shoulder. It wasn't that he thought the Copse would chase after their trash prince but smart guys covered their asses. He'd knew when he went after Anastasia that it would cause enough chaos and panic for him to put as much distance between him and them as he could before they caught on. He wasn't worth their energy, not when they had more immediate and pressing concerns: and they were free of him (and quite vice versa). It had always been ironic to Tyulen how he was only donned with golden laurels and adored during the few months after his birth ...until Czar's death; which resulted in the complete switch flip of his mother's behavior towards him only to abandon him for death. Except Anastasia had been too cruel to give into those wishes.
His lips were a smooth line, his stare impassive as he took a few tentative steps towards a small rock formation. They appeared — a quick glance up was given to confirm — to be scattered through out the territory. The random boulders were ...strange, and there wasn't any sustainable prey scents. Squirrels, and mice, he deduced as he sniffed at the earth, pressing his muzzle against the soft soil delving past the rich fragrance of the earth to analyze the musky aromas of the rodents. Not enough to feed him ...but he consented that it would be enough to keep him from starving, and that was more welcome than anything else at the moment.
Being a one man hunt team meant that his meal options were extremely limited, and though he had never thought he'd think it — in fact it felt verboten to think it — he missed that aspect of Siberia Copse. He always was the last to eat but scraps of venison was better than measly teases of meat that rodents gave him; and frankly if he had to eat another mouse or rat he was going to vomit. Ok, probably not but he had eaten so many of them he was sick of them. He spared a glimpse at his ribs, letting out a soft noise of discontent. He was thin ...always had been thin due to the slim pickings the Copse had left him with but it was more pronounced now than it'd been previously. Idly, he wondered in which ways he might fill out once he got the good food in his belly. Of course, Anastasia couldn't have her little trash prince eating good and becoming as strong as he was meant to be. He was svelte by nature but he remembered flashes of his father whose build he took after: sylph-like didn't mean weak by any sense of the word.
The thought of aspiring to be like his father or to look like him — something he had no control over — made his skin crawl and thus with a lick to his chops Tyulen returned to his investigating, if not a little over eager to distract himself from his thoughts.
His lips were a smooth line, his stare impassive as he took a few tentative steps towards a small rock formation. They appeared — a quick glance up was given to confirm — to be scattered through out the territory. The random boulders were ...strange, and there wasn't any sustainable prey scents. Squirrels, and mice, he deduced as he sniffed at the earth, pressing his muzzle against the soft soil delving past the rich fragrance of the earth to analyze the musky aromas of the rodents. Not enough to feed him ...but he consented that it would be enough to keep him from starving, and that was more welcome than anything else at the moment.
Being a one man hunt team meant that his meal options were extremely limited, and though he had never thought he'd think it — in fact it felt verboten to think it — he missed that aspect of Siberia Copse. He always was the last to eat but scraps of venison was better than measly teases of meat that rodents gave him; and frankly if he had to eat another mouse or rat he was going to vomit. Ok, probably not but he had eaten so many of them he was sick of them. He spared a glimpse at his ribs, letting out a soft noise of discontent. He was thin ...always had been thin due to the slim pickings the Copse had left him with but it was more pronounced now than it'd been previously. Idly, he wondered in which ways he might fill out once he got the good food in his belly. Of course, Anastasia couldn't have her little trash prince eating good and becoming as strong as he was meant to be. He was svelte by nature but he remembered flashes of his father whose build he took after: sylph-like didn't mean weak by any sense of the word.
The thought of aspiring to be like his father or to look like him — something he had no control over — made his skin crawl and thus with a lick to his chops Tyulen returned to his investigating, if not a little over eager to distract himself from his thoughts.
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Messages In This Thread
if the stars start falling - by Tyulen - April 13, 2016, 06:57 PM
RE: if the stars start falling - by Hecate - April 15, 2016, 09:56 AM
RE: if the stars start falling - by Tyulen - April 15, 2016, 04:58 PM
RE: if the stars start falling - by Hecate - April 16, 2016, 05:04 AM
RE: if the stars start falling - by Tyulen - April 16, 2016, 05:21 AM
RE: if the stars start falling - by Hecate - April 16, 2016, 09:16 AM
RE: if the stars start falling - by Tyulen - April 16, 2016, 02:41 PM