Otter Creek among the chestnut trees of Mamre

being vague because her thread at MH is still ongoing. i want to get her moving towards RS asap though - so this is a transit thread. open to anyone though, as always. set between otter creek and DB in case anyone from DB wants to encounter her. i'd prefer to spree this! but i'm game for anything.

it should not have been like this. the tales of priests entering the lands of damnation and returning - not only unscathed, but prosperous, with heathens converted and the afflicted excorcised of their evils - perhaps they had spoiled her. she was no priest; yet the lord was with her, always. the lord had beckoned for her to go there, to test her. and she had failed. had she always been so corruptible? the fear was with her now, filling her, running through her veins with the adrenaline and causing an ignorance in hosannah -- she felt no pain as she coursed across the land, only terror, and somewhere deep inside her mind a sadness. she was weak. she did not deserve the love of the daystar, her mind screamed.

around her there were trees; there was meadow; there was burning sky and then darkness - and still she ran. when the sound of running water finally penetrated her mind, her pace lessened until she was sagging weakly against the trunk of a tree. she could not see the water; the sound of it reminded her of the magical feeling from before. of the image of light cascading through the river. her lungs burned -- and she fought to stay conscious. the poison caused by veritas' blunted claws ran its course through her; she had no way of knowing if the end was coming. if the light of her life would be snuffed out so quickly and mercilessly by a mere scratch. it was horrifying.

On the opposite side of the creek roamed the habitual aggressor. His heavy head was held loosely, bent just slightly from the line of broad shoulders. The pace he kept was slow and deliberate, his appetite staved for the time being by a goat carcass left up in the cliffs. His westward venture was superficial. He knew he would return east soon, finding the further inland he traveled, the warmer it became. The sound of water drew stout ears flickering upward, thick nostrils flaring as he tasted the condensing water on the air. Warbone angled his body and strengthened his lope.

At the creek, he padded away a thin crystal of ice layering the water (which nearly broke the entire stream free of winter's spell), and the wolf began taking large gulps of the refreshingly chilling sustenance. He swallowed thickly, breathing harshly out of his mouth as the cold hit his belly and stung his temples and clung painfully to his teeth. Licking his chops, he went in for several more swallows before the scent of another gave him pause. Ever on The Hunt, Warbone detached himself from his crouched drinking position, and trudged in great splashes across the creek.

Perhaps half a mile down, he found the she-wolf supporting herself against a corpse of trees. She was small and thin; injured, or just perhaps exhausted, and Warbone could not help the feeling of detachment he felt towards it all. Still, maybe out of morbid curiosity, he approached.

she thought she had stabilized herself firmly against the tree trunk, yet the longer she sat there, the more gradual her decline. it was very slow at first - but once gravity held her, it brought her down. she collapsed in to the damp grass, a few pine needles jabbing at her throat. for a moment she just sat there, waiting for death. then, when she had rested for a minute, hosannah pulled her body around. she contorted so that she could inspect the wound on her rear end, oblivious to the stranger that now lurked in her periphery. he approached just as she began to duck her head, twisting and bending so that she could look at the bloodied remnant of her once beautiful tail. 

where the wolves had bitten at it, there was some seepage of blood; where the end had been torn free, she thought she could see exposed bone and tattered flesh among the red of her coat and the crimson of the rest. the effort involved in bending to the right angle was one thing - but the wave of nausea and bitterness which hit her after was a whole different thing entirely. she almost wretched right then and there; her jaw dropped and tongue curled, and she coughed dryly, uncoiling herself in such a spasm that one would have to wonder if she had been injured at all. she braced herself above the soil as her gag reflex continued - but nothing came of it, and she sank down again, exhausted.

She didn't notice him, sinking completely to the ground and lying prone for her demise. The wolf regarded her at a distance, but as he scented no disease, he ventured forward more deliberately. His nose twitched, trying to decide where the scent of her blood was coming from, but he could find no source to speak of. He came near enough to be heard without raising his voice, and he breathed to the frost and sorrel she-wolf: "I can free you of your misery. If that is what you wish."

not long after she settled physically, hosannah began to feel a more immediate stress upon her system - it was likely the poison, she thought. but her body was strong, even with a piece missing. she was forged out of the light of the lord, and though she had tarnished herself with her folly, he would not abandon his child to such a wretched demise. still, her chest began to ache, and she felt the budding of fire in her veins; it was not so uncomfortable that she feared it outright, yet it was a strange sensation that the girl had never felt before. the poison was in her blood - her circulatory system - and her body fought it as best it could while weakened by blood loss.

and as she sat there, presumably dying, a voice called out to her. she was weary and growing despondent; the voice offered her a reprieve from all the terrors of a painful, slow death. fear and cowardice were both a sin to her people. she had fallen prey to fear already, but she would not be so cowardly now. death was not the end -- and after a lengthy pause, she shook her head. hosannah knew she could not die here. raas would not allow a servant to rot away to nothing like this, not unless the daystar wished to punish her.

i have done wrong, but nothing so wrong to... to accept this. she poke openly, the poison in her system and the blood loss working in tandem to shift her belief; she thought she was talking to a manifestation of her beloved god. upon turning to regard the voice, she saw a blurry, light-crowned figure and the breath hitched in her throat. had he come to take her? i do not want to die. i.. will not. but she was afraid.

"Then come," he bid the crumpled sylph. You stay, you die.

He turned, curving like a snake and moving slowly back in the direction of the creek. At the very least the she-wolf needed water— to both replenish and cleanse. But Warbone was not a saintly wolf. Lonely, perhaps, but he was not going out of his way to accommodate others. He was not going to drag her to salvation; lead her to it, maybe encourage her there in his starkly manish ways, but all of the male's energy was on reserve for moving forward and hunting. There was no room for extracurricular activities such as "life saving".

he bid her to follow. there was a piece of hosannah that doubted him - either the mortal man, or the god she bore witness to, working through him - and for a moment there was indecision. a lack of trust. but when he had pulled far enough from her side, she felt his absence clearly, and rose to her feet. her legs shook as she stood there, trembled with each step, but she would not succumb to the poison in her blood; she would not let this injury be the end of her. hosannah was wordless now, using all of her concentration to keep her feet moving, hardly straying from the path the man made before her.

He made no accommodation for her in his pace, even after realizing that she was slowly pattering after him. He returned to the creek, pausing briefly at its bank. He had just gotten over the chill settled in the lower half of his body from his first cross of the water, and in remembering this his hesitance was born. Warbone's body objected, but his will was famously obstinate and he sloshed through the melted creek, gritting his teeth and splashing as little as possible so that his face wasn't affected. Once on the opposing bank, the gladiator splayed all four feet and shook in massive twists, each limb quivering free of any excess water. He turned then sidelong then, angling his gaze back out over the creek. He wondered if she would cross.

Perhaps not all hope was lost with the scarce beauty.

upon reaching the edge of the chilled pool, she would've given pause, but hearing him sluicing through the flow of it was enough. hosannah descended, following without relent, and as soon as the water matched her shoulders - for she was a small thing - she set her teeth in a grimace. they began to chatter. if hosannah was to survive, she needed to resurface. she needed to reach the other side, lest the creek take her lithe form and drag it away; or she freeze, whichever came first. to do this, the girl would have to swim. but... she was frozen in place.

unlike warbone, she was unable to keep her head and face dry. a few steps later, she was up to her throat in the creek - then abruptly submerged. it took some struggling before she resurfaced, and then reached the shoreline, and pulled free of the water. she stood dripping before the stranger for a moment, looking utterly loused. where once she was proud and mighty, now her head struggled to stay level with her shoulders.

Warbone watched the scene with such mild fascination that it could have easily been mistaken for severe impassivity instead. But if the wolf were truly disinterested, then one would notice his lack of presence. Warbone did not remain around things that did not interest him.

For the barest of moments the fawn she-wolf became submerged, flapping desperately— and the hunter was inclined to let Natural Selection take its course. When she reemerged with a new finesse for life, paddling fervently until she clawed her way up the icy bank, Warbone decided that her success in the trial gave value to her life. She deserved to live... until proven otherwise. Her frame was reduced to a build made of straw, and the scarecrow was quivering in place, frozen with her head sitting heavier than the rest of her.

He prowled nearer, lacking hesitation in the advantageous moments of her cold-stiff stupor. He sniffed at her first, then gave her a seal of approval— the press of his warm tongue across her forehead, swift and reassuring. "Come," he growled, turning to move (more slowly this time) in the direction of a small grove. It would serve as only a small upgrade from the gnashing chill of the breeze, but it was significantly warmer by comparison.

He was following an age-old instinct to protect and serve; it came as naturally to him as breathing, and rather than wonder whether or not she truly deserved his blind goodwill, he simply imagined that this was the same as caring for his younger sister, a wolf he had never once minded serving. Warbone sat against a strategically chosen tree, where they were shielded on all sides and (mostly) cured of the wind. He looked at her expectantly, waiting silently for her to come curl up before him so that he might curl around her.

"Warmth, and then dinner."

he came to her, and out of the edges of her vision (dripping though it was), she saw his yellowed figure. again her mind labelled this as the daystar, perhaps a minion of the lord, perhaps the lord incarnate. she did not question him as he observed, but was filled with life as soon as his tongue lashed at her forehead; hosannah was being chilled by the swift wind across her lithe body, but that one touch invigorated her. she would remember that - should she survive all of this, of course. the voice came again and gave her instruction, and hosannah's eyes closed, as if to commune with the lord. she heard that voice clearly, and a disjointed smile spread across her features; but the girl's teeth still danced in place.

when he pulled away from her, she followed stiffly after him; her body warming with activity until he gave pause, and she was made to blindly halt. the yellowed wolf was upon the ground, a bundle of parts that blurred together in her exhaustion. he bid she come closer, and so without hesitation hosannah did so; she dropped to her belly as if in supplication, and then crawled in to him, against his warmth.

As she nestled into the crook of the dormant volcano, pressing past his damp overcoat and into the vibrant warmth of his skin, Warbone sighed and released the tenseness in all his muscles at once. He could feel her shivers travel through him, and absentmindedly the wolf craned his neck to bathe her ears and neck with his tongue, running away the chills coursing uncontrollably through her. His eyes danced to and fro, never giving any one direction more than a five second stare before his pupils shifted. She eased after a while and then he stopped, licking his chops dryly before resting his head between his broad, chilled forepaws.

Though not prone to time-keeping, he did know that he stayed there with her for a long time. He would drift off from time to time, but would wake each stirring of movement he felt beside him— unused to it, perhaps. After more time, however, Warbone got up. No warning, no grunt, he just stood. "I will return." He didn't want her to follow, but wouldn't explicitly tell her to stay. She could very well leave on her own too, if she wanted. But he intended to bring her back something to eat. His own belly was presently full, and he figured he could spare the energy. Otters were not difficult to catch.

The wolf stalked creekside, to where he had last scented one of their trails, and he slowed as the scent grew. Then he backtracked entirely. He made a wide loop, hoping to approach the nest from behind rather than from any of the trails that led up to it. Angling himself right, the wolf crept up from behind the nest entrance, and saw several otters rooting around just seconds before they saw him. It was all he needed in the charge, and at the end of things (mostly after a lot of scuffling around and twice having to change targets as they repeatedly slipped him), Warbone emerged victorious.

He took his two-foot prize back to the fallen bird, had she remained.

she drifted in a half-sleep, unable to keep still long enough to rest fully. the occasional adjustment roused her guardian, but she was ignorant of this until he rose, unceremonious, and muttered to her. she loosed a small whine at him -  or rather, protested the absence of the warmth he shared with her - and did not move to stop him. he left then, and for a while hosannah thought she had been well and truly abandoned. she would not give in to death just yet; her body coiled tightly, and a tired nose rooted for the warmth of a tail that was no longer attached. once settled, she drifted once more.

and eventually he did return. hosannah twitched in her sleep, likely experiencing the entire attack over and over again - but when the scent of the otter slipped in to her nose, she was brought back from those repeating moments. her eyes opened as slits, and in seeing his golden body again, roused fully. she lurched to an awkward stand and then sank back, dizzy and disoriented from the poison and the ache in her rear-end. her tongue was dry - mouth parched - and she licked her lips, watching both the hunter and the treasured prey with a sunken, hollow expression.

He watched her impassively, the smell and taste of otter blood distracting his brain from doing too much of anything other than just stand there. He paused, waiting only briefly for her disorientation to fade, and kept hawkish eyes on her face as he gauged her expression for pain. He noticed her dry mouth by the way her lips peeled apart too slowly, and with a deep grunt, he angled his body towards the creek and took her meal that way.

A few feet from the bank, he deposited the otter meant for the injured sylph, and backed away several feet himself. Reclining on his haunches, he watched for her to come down; his body held loosely at attention. He would see that she could eat, and would be on his way.

Sorry for being slow with this! I'll fade it here.

when the beast drifted off with the meal, she was of two minds - stay where she was and die, or struggle to move with the temptation he presented. surely her god would not forsake her here. surely this was a test - and he, a messenger, some sort of heavenly embodiment - and to ignore his direction was objectively wrong of her. so she did her best, struggling to her feet and making the gradual climb towards the water; once she met the piled body that was to be her meal (perhaps her final meal), she did not wait. the mustelid was picked at, then pulled at, and gradually devoured. it sated enough of her hunger that she drifted - belly full - in to a slight stupor; and when she finally looked to seek out the angel which had rescued her, he was gone.