Crabs?! Giant crabs?! That definitely sounded like a creature from his worst nightmares, ranking right up there with ponies and Bambi.
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Ooc — Bryndel
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Driftwood's paws were sore and his eyes a bit bleary as he placed a small knot of his namesake down along the edge of the woodpile. He nudged it gently with his nose to align it just so and make it take its place in the patterned border he had created around the woodstack. He stepped back to consider its aligment with a small frown, tilting his head a little as his eyes roved across the tableau. His tail quirked upward and gave a tired little wag as he spotted the small smooth orange shell he thought especially fine, and the larger pink one that he'd actually fought off a crab for. Well, sort-of. And only a little crab—but still, he thought he deserved extra credit on that one.
It had been some days since he had seen @Moorhen. There was some sort of trip she had departed on, off to the mainland on some quest whose details Driftwood himself was quite fuzzy on. But she was due to return before too long, supposedly, and in the meantime he had hit upon this as a way to help keep his fretful self occupied. He didn't much like her disappearing on him like this, but was pretty certain that she'd take his trying to control her movements or go stalking after her even worse than their last disagreeable meeting over that stranger what's-his-face, uuuhhhh, right—Teleklos, thought Driftwood with some venom. And Driftwood found it increasingly important for some reason to do his best to make certain he stayed on her good side. He had some trouble explaining this urge even to himself, still, feeling her leadership somehow not quite satisfactory enough of an explanation, but nonetheless, it had kept his paws pretty firmly on the island side of the bridge save for a few quite brief anxious ventures across. (And that one notable time he'd found that orange shell along the landbridge's length). He hoped she would like what he'd done with the place, in her absence... He'd been all over the island's perimeter, even venturing close to the edge of the horses' turf on his little treasure hunt, and was proud to note that now his finds of only the best seashells and flotsam had managed to encircle themselves around the woodpile entirely.
As he turned to plod across the beach once again, stepping right back onto the latest several skeins of tracks the tide had not yet washed away, the wind changed and stopped him short. Driftwood raised his nose and took several deep drafts of the breeze's offerings. He'd managed to fool himself into thinking he'd caught wind of Moorhen or one of her companions several times before over the last several days, but though he gave his head a brisk shake to try and clear the cobwebs and only-half-awake dreamhazes from it, this time even as the breeze died back again he thought he could catch a distinct whiff of the female's scent. The weary droop faded from his posture as he straightened up and took another deeper yet inhalation to try and make certain. He licked his lips anxiously, debating the wisdom of his next move, and then let out a small, low howl that quavered out his internal questioning of whether or not Moorhen could possibly be present once again.
It had been some days since he had seen @Moorhen. There was some sort of trip she had departed on, off to the mainland on some quest whose details Driftwood himself was quite fuzzy on. But she was due to return before too long, supposedly, and in the meantime he had hit upon this as a way to help keep his fretful self occupied. He didn't much like her disappearing on him like this, but was pretty certain that she'd take his trying to control her movements or go stalking after her even worse than their last disagreeable meeting over that stranger what's-his-face, uuuhhhh, right—Teleklos, thought Driftwood with some venom. And Driftwood found it increasingly important for some reason to do his best to make certain he stayed on her good side. He had some trouble explaining this urge even to himself, still, feeling her leadership somehow not quite satisfactory enough of an explanation, but nonetheless, it had kept his paws pretty firmly on the island side of the bridge save for a few quite brief anxious ventures across. (And that one notable time he'd found that orange shell along the landbridge's length). He hoped she would like what he'd done with the place, in her absence... He'd been all over the island's perimeter, even venturing close to the edge of the horses' turf on his little treasure hunt, and was proud to note that now his finds of only the best seashells and flotsam had managed to encircle themselves around the woodpile entirely.
As he turned to plod across the beach once again, stepping right back onto the latest several skeins of tracks the tide had not yet washed away, the wind changed and stopped him short. Driftwood raised his nose and took several deep drafts of the breeze's offerings. He'd managed to fool himself into thinking he'd caught wind of Moorhen or one of her companions several times before over the last several days, but though he gave his head a brisk shake to try and clear the cobwebs and only-half-awake dreamhazes from it, this time even as the breeze died back again he thought he could catch a distinct whiff of the female's scent. The weary droop faded from his posture as he straightened up and took another deeper yet inhalation to try and make certain. He licked his lips anxiously, debating the wisdom of his next move, and then let out a small, low howl that quavered out his internal questioning of whether or not Moorhen could possibly be present once again.
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Messages In This Thread
There's a Fine, Fine Line - by Driftwood - March 03, 2019, 11:21 PM
RE: There's a Fine, Fine Line - by Moor - March 18, 2019, 03:02 PM
RE: There's a Fine, Fine Line - by Driftwood - March 22, 2019, 02:46 AM