Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
816 Posts
Ooc — Talamasca
Master Warrior
Ecologist
Offline
He had told nobody where he was going, nor how long he would be gone. His only interaction was predawn when he rose, sniffed at @Ikkalrok's slumbering body next to his own, and then the dispersal. A nagging itch burned in his skin, made every angle too uncomfortable for him to continue resting, so he got to his paws and began to walk. Soon the valley's entryway came and went underfoot; Revui gave the solitary boulder a glance as he passed it, but in the thin light it was just another obstacle.
By the afternoon he had crossed the meadow and began skirting through the fox-scented forest, wondering if one such creature might dash across his path. Perhaps the shedding of blood would ease this feeling within him? No such event transpired. That evening he plodded across the tarn and was too animate for sleep again, shrouded by the shadow of the mountains. The cliffs rose in to the gloomy darkness of a cloudy night; and somewhere inside of the Ostrega he wondered, was this mountain what he sought?
He trailed through the abandoned Blackfeather stronghold without knowing its significance. It was like a ghost town; there were signs that once the space held many lives, but the dens he discovered were partially collapsed, or infested with other life. At one point Revui considered the entertainment value of dragging a nest of sleeping stoats from their stolen burrow, but even that did not bring joy in to his heart. He was driven onward by this insatiable need—for home, maybe.
The young man was road-weary when he finally reached the fringe of the Bramblewood. It felt no different than any other day of his old patrols, with the scent of Moonspear decorating most of the pathways. It was not part of their proper claim but the family was vigilant, so it was not a surprise that Revui would find faint traces of his family among the foliage. He did not delve deeply in to the forest all the same; something about the minute traces made him wary. He knew he should turn back—that Ursus awaited his return—and yet, like a gloomy cloud gathering prior to a storm, he lurked in wait there.
By the afternoon he had crossed the meadow and began skirting through the fox-scented forest, wondering if one such creature might dash across his path. Perhaps the shedding of blood would ease this feeling within him? No such event transpired. That evening he plodded across the tarn and was too animate for sleep again, shrouded by the shadow of the mountains. The cliffs rose in to the gloomy darkness of a cloudy night; and somewhere inside of the Ostrega he wondered, was this mountain what he sought?
He trailed through the abandoned Blackfeather stronghold without knowing its significance. It was like a ghost town; there were signs that once the space held many lives, but the dens he discovered were partially collapsed, or infested with other life. At one point Revui considered the entertainment value of dragging a nest of sleeping stoats from their stolen burrow, but even that did not bring joy in to his heart. He was driven onward by this insatiable need—for home, maybe.
The young man was road-weary when he finally reached the fringe of the Bramblewood. It felt no different than any other day of his old patrols, with the scent of Moonspear decorating most of the pathways. It was not part of their proper claim but the family was vigilant, so it was not a surprise that Revui would find faint traces of his family among the foliage. He did not delve deeply in to the forest all the same; something about the minute traces made him wary. He knew he should turn back—that Ursus awaited his return—and yet, like a gloomy cloud gathering prior to a storm, he lurked in wait there.
The woods have always been filled with these soft doe-eyed things;
with hearts beating for the arrow, the bullet, the lance.
with hearts beating for the arrow, the bullet, the lance.
I have always been the huntsman. ⤑
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