Redtail Rise i see the exodus of light
All Welcome  October 13, 2018, 05:33 PM
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personality shift development thread. aside from the facial wounds i want silkie to have: there may be additional wounds; it depends on how the first thread goes. this thread is meant to be flexible so that additional wounds, etc can be added in later on if need be. :-)
vol. ii of fall of a sparrow plot

        there is a painful draw of breath that comes from the boy wedged against the a crevice at the rise's base, concealed by the deep emerald of a thick bush. it's twigs poke him in different places along his body as he curls in on himself. there is pain. and the defiant beating of his heart. they are his constant companions now. he does not remember how he's escaped or if the man'd let him go — maybe he was following him even now, allowing silkie the illusion of freedom. it doesn't matter to him at the moment. the pain is blinding and demanding until it is the only thought that consumes him. home. the juvenile wants to go home; back to the safety of drageda. away from the pain. but he knows that going home will not rewind time. it will not fix the wounds splicing across the flesh of his face. going home will not save him. he's met the monster and it's left it's mark upon him.

        he shifts, testing out his limbs one by one. nothing feels broken that he can tell but the wounds on his face pulse and throb with white hot pain until, despite his best efforts, it is all he thinks about.

        lost. of course he's lost, he scolds himself; he's never stepped foot outside of drageda's borders before. he doesn't know how to tend to the wounds, and they are left to cauterize on their own, occasionally tearing open. blood trickles down his pale fur, into his eyes where it burns and blurs his vision crimson. he can't hunt like this: in stinging agony and unable to see clearly.

        his stomach rumbles in hunger.

        slowly he pushes himself to shaking limbs. they are stiff from trying to make himself small. he's not small. not anymore. he almost tumbles back down but he presses himself tightly against the rock face at his side, using it for support as he smacks his lips together. he's hungry and his mouth is so dry. if nothing else he must find water. food ...he can scavenge from carcasses if need be. with vision partially compromised he must rely on his hearing to guide him to a body of water and thus relies upon it as he pushes off of the rough hewn rock and makes his way towards the heart of the half-burnt forest hoping that there is water untainted.
October 16, 2018, 05:48 PM
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it wasn't often that she moved away from the glacier, but Tahani had been so diligent in her herb-gathering that the supply in IkKanattuk's territory was dwindling. she began to sniff around the plains, looking for useful things. she wouldn't have even been drawn to the charred slope if a flash of pale movement hadn't drawn her eyes, and the distant yet still pungent smell of blood hadn't wafted past her nostrils.

the healer picked up the pace, ascending the hill at a decent speed until she drew close to the--oh, god, it was a pup. a young wolf, perhaps a moon or so older than Curri. the bleeding wretch wandered, looking for. . .for something--and Tahani gave a gentle whuff, hoping to capture the boy's attention without startling him.

"child," she crooned, forgetting her unfamiliar tongue in her worry. "let me tend to your wounds."
October 17, 2018, 04:30 AM
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        the gentle whuff travels through the air and the lost and wounded dragon draws in a sharp breath through his teeth. his steps cease in his desire for water and food is briefly overridden by the approach of another. his muscles all pull taunt beneath his blood stained and dirt streaked pelage.

        threat, threat, threat, threat ...!

        his hackles bristle along his spine and wounded lips curl back over his teeth briefly (the curling of his lips is painful to maintain after-all, increasing the blinding pain throbbing in his face as the action pulls at the wounds). as his head swings to face the woman with unparalleled hostility and aggression in both expression, and body language. it doesn't matter that she looks nothing like him. it doesn't matter how softly she croons to him — in a language he does not understand and cannot translate. she is an unknown and unknowns were never to be trusted. not ever.

        aggression and hostility might dominate his expression and body language but his light brown eyes once so warm and full of childish mirth are wild and feral with fear and pain. "nou sen yu fut daun nowe." he spits at her; the one and only warning he'll give. speaking is harder than he'd have thought it to be: his mouth is dry and the voice that comes from within him is raw and rough; changed with both the aging of his body and his trauma. it's been some time since he's used it ...or maybe it hasn't and it just feels like a lifetime ago.

        he tastes the metallic tang of his own blood but it's a taste he's gotten familiar with over the past ...however much time has passed. time is a loose concept to him now. the only thing that matters is water, food, getting home and surviving long enough for the former to become a reality.
October 21, 2018, 08:51 PM
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trauma did awful things to the body, but the mind often saw even worse damage. he was wary, rightfully so, and she took a few steps back, only realizing when he spoke in his own foreign tongue that she had thrown the northern language his way. Tahani lowered herself as much as she could without losing all ability to defend herself, blinking slowly, softly. . .trying to soothe him.

"okay," she said in a croon, employing the voice she used for very young or sick pups. "no hurt. i am healer. Tahani. i help." she gave a questioning whine, tilting her head very slightly in query. "i help?" she asked, wanting his consent before coming any closer.

he would be in rough shape if he did not find aid soon. she knew this, and she knew that to send a wolf off injured or ill went against the very foundation of her moral code. she would wait until he was comfortable, even if it took a while.
October 22, 2018, 04:51 AM
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        the pain spreads, shooting through his muzzle as his lips curl back again, exposing his teeth even as she lowers herself. she is determined, he has to give her that. his threatening displays do not scare her off as he intends for them to do. he is still a cub in age but at six months he's all but full-grown now ( not that he necessarily grasps that, especially not at this moment ). all he knows is he has to protect himself, has to get home. that he can and will never trust someone he doesn't know explicitly again. trusting her would take more time than he has, admittedly. the three risks he suffers from: starvation, dehydration and pending infection if he doesn't get his wounds tended to will all contend with one another to see which kills him first. silkie knows he's in bad shape and knows that it'll be critical soon.

        though silkie isn't sure that she understood what he said — unless she spoke tridgedasleng which he thinks might be possible there are many branches and wolves that traverse to and fro often — she offers him a placating 'ok'. distrust still seethes and brews and he holds onto it, clinging to it as if it's a life raft. from now on, it will be. distrust, hostility and aggression towards wolves he doesn't know is the building blocks of the fortress he's built himself behind. he shifts his weight, muscles still pulled taunt, head rising as he studies her.

        don't trust her, don't trust her, don't trust her...

        she called herself a healer and offered to help him. he knows if he wants to live to see himself back to drageda he needs her help. she could be lying. she could want to kill him's not like he knows anything about plants or medicines to be able to contest her if she did. it's a long moment, a stretch of time where he fidgets, half of his mind made up to run away or attack, while the other half tells him he needs her knowledge. he needs her help. the internal war feels like a long, drawn out battle though it lasted only a few, silent minutes.

        he swipes his tongue across his lips, wincing as it draws across and agitates the open wound over his upper lip on the left side of his muzzle. you can heal me, the lost dragon tells her finally, voice solemn ...and then it takes a hard edge. ...if you try to poison me i'll kill you. he warns her, bearing his teeth to signify that he wasn't making an idle and empty threat. he might not be in any condition to do much damage but if she tried anything sneaky he was going to do his best to take her down with him.

        he feels a bit better now that he's cleared the air that he's not agreeing to let her help him out of trust but because survival demands it. she seems really nice and it's unfortunate that she has to see the feral and hostile dragon that silkie's become. i wasn't always like this ...but the code's been re-written and there was no going back to how and who he'd been before.

November 02, 2018, 11:10 PM
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he was leaning on bravado, acceptance followed by hard words. Tahani recognized it and gave him a gentle smile, shaking her head. "i heal, not hurt," she insisted, taking a slow, deep breath as she began to gather her thoughts. what did he need? plants to help heal wounds, to soothe him. though away from home--she presumed--she didn't want to give him poppies, which would only dull his instincts. he needed those. . .

"back soon," Tahani said shortly, nodding, and wandered away, collecting all that she would need. it took a little while--she had to wander down off the rise, for herbs still lacked a foothold here--but finally she had what she needed. patience was a virtue, and Tahani had it in spades.

the healer deposited her small stash in front of the boy, making small and deliberate moves, so that she would not startle him. she began to chew the oak leaves--"for wounds," she explained, mouth slightly full. "hold still." once the paste had been made, she leaned close. applying it with her pad might be more comfortable for her patient, but she had been traveling--her paws were dirty, and would only infect the wounds more.

"can i?" she muttered softly, sticking her tongue out to reveal the paste balled on the end of it with a slight chuckle. "will help. promise."
November 03, 2018, 06:33 AM
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        heal, not hurt.

        her words are meant to be reassuring, silkie is sure. yet, that does not change the fact that he's not truly convinced. unknown, unknown, unknown. it repeats over and over in his mind until the word ceases to make sense. he doesn't know her. he doesn't know about medicines and poisons. he doesn't know.

        she leaves to presumably gather what she needs and he is nearly overcome with the urge to slip away. to leave. he considers it heavily. the taunt muscles in his legs twitch with the desire to move and to keep moving. walk until he's dead, he supposes, because that was what was going to happen if he didn't stay and let her treat him. fight makes him stay. survival triumphs over fear.

        as she returns to him, the lost dragon watches her approach and sort through the small package of medicines she's collected and brought before him. he eyes them wearily as she picks up oak leaves and begins to chew. not poison the action tells him. no doubt turning it into paste makes it easier for her to work with, the fact that she's chewing it and it's mixing with her saliva helps to soothe the worst of his worry ...for the moment. surely, if she meant to poison him she wouldn't be putting it in her own mouth.

        hold still; she commands.

        he lets out a low, brief warning growl — as if he hasn't already made himself loud and clear on where they stand if she tries anything funny — but despite the hostile noise he holds still for her. it's easy, really. his muscles are so tense that they ache. she holds out her tongue and he eyes the paste she's created with thinly veiled dubiety.

        "sha." he replies in ambivalent agreement in the tongue that is familiar to him; a small comfort. a buoy in the sea that threatens to pull him beneath the tide and drown him.


330 words
November 08, 2018, 11:50 PM
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he was reluctant--of course, why wouldn't he be?--but finally acquiesced, in the tongue she did not know but could guess well enough what he meant. Tahani nodded briefly, and began to apply the paste as gently as possible to the wounds on his face, giving him slow, steady licks, like bathing a newborn pup. once that was finished, she moved on to lacerations elsewhere, taking her time, her movements small and non-threatening.

the healer finally managed to treat him as well as she could, and pulled back with a lips-closed smile, eyes soft, heavy-lidded. will feel better soon, she promised, blinking slowly. heal wounds, make them better. at least he wouldn't die out here, all by himself, injured and wary.

where home? Tahani asked brokenly, for he was a little too young to be out by himself, and in this state, no less. he must be lost or missing (or both) and she felt it was her duty to bring him back to his family, at least. the herbs would help him heal, but further aggravation, or run-ins with other predators, would quickly undo her work. he needed rest in a safe place.