Grime streaked her forelimb, underbelly and the underside of her neck, making her seem wholly the colour of mud. Currently, she stood rather dangerously atop a log, the thing the only object within sight not covered in mud and water, and yet it stunk yet hell. However, Kia was in no position to be picky, for she could either wallow in mud as she tried to get her bearings ,or perch precariously atop this tree and try to find the exit of this disgusting place. she huffed, gaze narrowing in irritation as her left eye was filled with grit, and instinctively wiping at it with a paw had only served to make thing worst.
a bird flitted by her, almost cheekily close, and her annoyance with it being easily able to get out of this place manifested itself in a snap in it's general direction. the abrupt movement had her balance waver, and she slid almost comically slowly off the log, before speeding up and splashing into the mud with a screamed curse, hating this place and everything in it.
a bird flitted by her, almost cheekily close, and her annoyance with it being easily able to get out of this place manifested itself in a snap in it's general direction. the abrupt movement had her balance waver, and she slid almost comically slowly off the log, before speeding up and splashing into the mud with a screamed curse, hating this place and everything in it.
May 13, 2017, 04:03 PM
*creeps in*
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Grievous is not a picky wolf— and despite his name, he doesn't tend to complain— so he marches through the bogland with nothing on his mind except his next meal. When it will come; what it will be.
It is all the lone wolf ever thinks about.
It is all his life of solitude permits.
But it is by pure chance that the wheelhouse of his instinctual thoughts are suddenly and completely swept away. Dashed by the distant sight of a whippish mutt trying to get its directional bearings atop a half-sunken log. Grievous falls into an interested mood, his curiousness fueled by the lack of evidence he's able to retrieve at this distance. The marshes mask the canine's scent, and the cloaking muck it wore deterred him from knowing more by sight alone.
He started to approach— coming somewhere from the back of her— but it seemed that as soon as he'd angled himself in that general direction, the wolf had disappeared from view. Subsequently, there was a cry of angst that drowned out all other sounds of nature in the vicinity; the scream of irritation almost enough to deter the hellhound from approaching further.
Slower still, he reaches the log and noisily hoists himself up on long, dirtied forelegs so that he might see the disheveled creature who had fallen. Grievous canted his head at her, but doesn't find it in himself to ask (even rhetorically) if she's okay.
[/td][/tr][/table]It is all the lone wolf ever thinks about.
It is all his life of solitude permits.
But it is by pure chance that the wheelhouse of his instinctual thoughts are suddenly and completely swept away. Dashed by the distant sight of a whippish mutt trying to get its directional bearings atop a half-sunken log. Grievous falls into an interested mood, his curiousness fueled by the lack of evidence he's able to retrieve at this distance. The marshes mask the canine's scent, and the cloaking muck it wore deterred him from knowing more by sight alone.
He started to approach— coming somewhere from the back of her— but it seemed that as soon as he'd angled himself in that general direction, the wolf had disappeared from view. Subsequently, there was a cry of angst that drowned out all other sounds of nature in the vicinity; the scream of irritation almost enough to deter the hellhound from approaching further.
Slower still, he reaches the log and noisily hoists himself up on long, dirtied forelegs so that he might see the disheveled creature who had fallen. Grievous canted his head at her, but doesn't find it in himself to ask (even rhetorically) if she's okay.
May 16, 2017, 06:30 PM
she thrashes out in anger in the mud, recovering her paws only after a moment. she steadies herself, not even trying to clean off the mud that is everywhere, making her seem a dirty, vile-smelling lump. not a patch of white exists on her pelt anymore, and only in rare places does the red shine through. her jaw is clenched, shoulders bunched and stance riddled with tension when she hears the noise behind her.
she twists quickly, albeit hardly agile, in the thick bog, facing the man with a fierce gaze. she watches, waits for him to see something, dares him too so that she can fly at his face and utilise her anger. but he is silent, and after a moment does she offer a huff, in her stubborn pride not wanting to be the first to break the silence.
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Grievous was not a wolf who often fell prey to uncertainty; but looking at the mud-creature before him had the seasoned migrant at a sudden and distinct loss of articulation. He could only look at her for a long moment, his senses confounded by the sheer heft of the muck that had consumed her. She had no figure, no scent, no gender... and the wolf canted his head slightly as she made a small, indignant noise that captured his attention like a dogwhistle.
He huffed too, after a moment, unable to find within himself a fitting taunt, so he elected to assist instead. Not unlike a stag, he bounded over the log in a single flounce, and then loomed beside the muddied canid on his stilts, peering down at her with a burgeoning mask of indifference. He motioned to her stiffly, and then began to slosh his way through the swamp into a direction that he seemed certain of— intending to lead her from the bog with the slim hope that she might express her gratitude later.
But after only a few steps, he turned to look over his shoulder, watching to see if she would even follow at all. And when she didn't, he continued on without her...
[/td][/tr][/table]He huffed too, after a moment, unable to find within himself a fitting taunt, so he elected to assist instead. Not unlike a stag, he bounded over the log in a single flounce, and then loomed beside the muddied canid on his stilts, peering down at her with a burgeoning mask of indifference. He motioned to her stiffly, and then began to slosh his way through the swamp into a direction that he seemed certain of— intending to lead her from the bog with the slim hope that she might express her gratitude later.
But after only a few steps, he turned to look over his shoulder, watching to see if she would even follow at all. And when she didn't, he continued on without her...
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