Emberwood wondered, then, what freedom meant
All Welcome  January 06, 2020, 11:01 PM
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pause, stare into the wood. the section of border the coyote follows now edges a section of closely-knit saplings, the top of a small ridge that slopes gently into the territory. there is no movement immediately apparent, and so she dips her muzzle into one of the footprints left behind by what must be a recent patrol. female, healthy. fresh, too, not an hour had passed since the owner of the tracks had passed by here. 

movement, then, below, and greyjay veers abruptly from the border. she moves a few dozen meters away, pausing to dig at the snow when something happens to interest her, circles once, twice, to reexamine a scent. once, abruptly, she sits, head canted back to watch the flight of a raven. a few moments later, its grating croak echoes over the trees.

it begins to snow heavily. gradually, as if by some magnetic pull, she nears the border in her wanderings until she is alongside it again. she grows near, considers the extent of her hunger. again, she veers away; not as far, this time. she remains on her peculiar perpendicular path, pausing now and again when movement catches her eye from within the wood.
January 07, 2020, 04:13 PM
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It was a restless eve;

the ashen prince scrambled through the growing sleet, his breath shaken like the earth in the past quakes, his feeling fleeting him like the feint and surely frightened herds that escaped its deathly grasp. The compromised, feint orc somewhat saw through his third eye, while his mortal orbs slumered with his drooping heart. He had lost his will, he was empty.

His nightmares had been growing stronger. He has not slept, even for a meager hour. It had finally caught him. His mind was leaving him.

Then there it was. A unsuspecting coyote. Near his borders. There. No, no it couldn't. He didn't care if it was a safe lengths away from the territory, nothing would come to harm his people. Ever since the death of the stranger who had been drowned, killed, anyhting non-wolf like was definitely not allowed near his family.

Family. It was his family. 

The male alomst hissed at the sight. His fur was unkept, and so were his teeth. ha bolted for the coyote, determined to chase it back to hell if he had to. Furiously, drooling, barking, spiting in its direction. Pure ire consumed him.
January 12, 2020, 03:03 PM
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there comes a hellion loosed, and she is not so bold, or so stupid, to face it. unkempt fur, yellowed fangs, and gimlet stare burning with ire where at the fore of the charging brute. she whirls, with an odd grace not unlike a dancer that for a fleeting moment seems careless, easy. 

and then they adopt those time-worn roles of hunter and chased, and she is but a low-borne shadow slung near to the earth, tail curled close to her hock and auds pressed flat against her skull. in a famine, however, sacrifice is a prerequisite to survival, and in her bid for survival she has failed to cling to previously held endurance, agility. 

stumble, and falls.
January 14, 2020, 08:36 PM
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quick note, the thread needs to exceed or hit 10 posts to be allowed as trade thread, if that's okay!

        The flittering yet unkempt fae was attempting to flee the impending orc, content to slay her frail little body and use her ever expensive and flowing magi ofr his own greed. The shivers of anticipation shook him, moved him! Self control was a fickle thing of the past — the hunt was all that mattered! A flash of fangs, not yet! The ashen bard only cackled like the ones portrayed by the devil when he realized hell could provide well for him, and so would deplorable human souls — !
        to kill or not to kill; there was no need of that inquiry here! The mercenaire would rip this little thing to shreds need be! They were done when agility of that lightened frame failed them and were subject to the chill of the snow ridden surface! 

        It was no secret he would deeply regret this later, after pondering these events, not allowed to sleep, his disgusting actions would not let him rest for moons perhaps, he was the same awful image of his mother. He did not care for life now, he was only concerned with tenderly carving into flesh.
        A flash of fangs, screams of the brown fae, he tongue weaved and his breath hitched on the smell of her blood and the feelign of — the feeling of victory! Triumph! Their neck was but a myriad of his bloody work, let them rot in the snow! The male sniffed as he kicked a veil of snow over the wounds, just to mix into the pain and shock.
        "Hello, little coyote," he snarled, standing over them, spitting, hissing. "What brings you here?"