Neverwinter Forest haunted by ill angels only

Thank you for joining! ♥ Awkward teenager time!

There was a rhythm to the lonely sentinel’s patrol — mark! dig! rub! — and the constant movement kept him warm. Automatically his thoughts drifted to Rannoch and Lucy — were they warm? Were they safe?

Did they miss him?

Mark! Cypress’ young, sharp teeth closed firmly over a curling piece of healthy bark, and with a swift jerk of his regal skull he ripped it away from the evergreen it clung to and cast it upon the ground — throwing down the proverbial gauntlet to any would-be intruders. The sticky sap left an unpleasant, acidic taste on the boy’s tongue that he tried in vain to stifle with mouthfuls of snow, and he began to hypersalivate at an alarmingly embarrassing rate. Ugh. He wouldn’t be doing that again anytime soon. Still, the garish appearance of the tree’s white flesh was easily visible from a great distance; pleased with himself despite the slimy foam that coated his lower jaw, he lifted his leg to underscore his message.

Dig! A few meters north, he spotted a patch of earth that had not completely frozen over. Dropping his shoulder, he rolled in the snow, in particular rubbing his cheeks and muzzle against the ground to clear his sinister visage of drool — and then he bounded to his paws, cold all over again, to dug deep furrows in the semifrozen ground. Chunks of ice and mud were flung haphazardly behind him, the damp pads of his paws leaving a subtle scent marking along with the visibly striking slashes of upturned soil.

Thud!

Jarred out of his rhythm, the eidolon found himself rather aggressively accosted by a ragged, skulking creature he knew only vaguely. “Maude,” he squeaked out, his voice cracking embarrassingly in his adolescence. “Get — go — ” His lips curled instinctively as the older wolf — a stranger in practically every sense of the word — nuzzled against him, muttering something about there being “no time for personal space.” An uncertain growl bubbled up, churning in his throat as he tried to process the sudden intrusion, but it fizzled out into an indecisive whine. His ears flattened, then sprang forward; his lantern yellow eyes struck pointedly for Maude’s, then skittered away to fix uncomfortably on the boughs of a nearby tree. Kjalarr had called Maude a “friend” — and if Cypress offended her, wouldn’t he offend his brother?

Swallowing his protests, he stood without moving, his skin crawling and hackles bristling at the uninvited contact. There was a small part of him that enjoyed it, simply because Maude’s presence meant he wasn’t alone anymore — and it was “bloody cold” — but for the most part he accepted her only because of her closeness with Kjalarr, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He felt guilty for snarling, but he didn’t feel like apologizing. Working his mouth reflexively, he wracked his brain but came up with nothing.