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+---- Thread: she says she still sings (/showthread.php?tid=5200)
she says she still sings - Jericho - Aug 07, 2013
Okay, so turning over a new leaf for Jericho since I'm sort of starting over with him without Hush. I'd love for anyone who wants a thread with him to join, he's sort of directionless right now so everything is open ended here.
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When dawn came he awoke to find the day the same as all the others in the past several days. No Hush to be found, she was simply gone as if she had never been here at all. Even the earth surrounding the den was washed of her scent – the coming and going of his own passage had brushed away all that remained of her, obscuring it into nothing. Though his heart did not want to admit that she was gone his mind was finally forced to acknowledge that which he did not wish to be true – his pale companion had vanished and it did not seem that she would return – at least not any time soon. Prior to the last day they had spoke she had not given him any indication that she intended to part way with him, there hadn't been any reason to believe in those first few days of her absence that she would not come trailing back to the den after an especially long adventure of her own.
As the hours dragged on, day after day, it had become more and more clear to him that it wasn't just an ordinary adventure she'd gone off on. His worry for her increased as the days went by until finally this day came when he knew he should admit to himself that she wasn't going to return. Either she'd met with a bad end or she had found reason to leave him behind. Either way she wasn't coming back and he knew there was no real way for him to track her trail. Which left him alone again – facing the decisions he'd previously been putting off. Would he stay here, would he go? With only himself to look after things were made monumentally simpler than they had been when he'd needed to care for Hush as well.
These were the things he mulled over as he sat beside the mouth of the den, feeling the tentative touch of morning light as it reached through the trees of the red woods around him. The heat of day would come soon, or so the soft buttery light of early dawn warned him as it began to warm his dark colored coat. The scar on his chest ached, though he could not discern if it were simply a phantom ache of sympathy at the emotional loss of his companion or if it were truthfully just the pain of an old injury, complaining early in the morning before it was warmed and stretched to the functionality.
RE: she says she still sings - Mace - Aug 31, 2013
Hope you don't mind I kinda pushed this semi-present so Mace could actually wander this far >_>
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Scene one: a wolf stalks its prey masterfully through the undergrowth. He is a quintessential predator, moving with fluid purpose and savage directness, but quiet as a mouse. His jaw is held low over the ground, with sonorous ears swivelling to direct him and eyes fixed directly ahead of him. His steps slow and become measured, his breath holds in his lungs; he pauses a moment, then lunges through the underbrush, startling an unsuspecting crow, which scarcely manages to lift off the ground before the huge canid's jaws snag its breast tightly and crack its hollow sternum.
Scene two: Mace stalks his prey with the grace of a bull in a china shop. He thinks he is a quintessential predator, but while his movement is direct, it's far from fluid and graceful, composed of stuttering steps and unpracticed stomps, and he is loud, with huffing breath and twigs cracking underfoot. His jaw is held aloft, ears twisted to the sides uselessly, as he attempts to use his eyes alone to find the prey. As he spots the crow, his approach becomes more rapid and clamorous, his breathing hitches in excitement, and there is no pause; the bird, well aware of its peril, swiftly lifts into the air long before the four-month-old could reach it. It lights on a branch, cackling madly, almost as if laughing at him.
And yet, Mace could not figure out why he was such a terrible hunter, and why he had yet to catch something like his slimmer, quieter brother had. He thought his attempts were marvelous and couldn't possibly understand how his finesse — or lack thereof — might be important.
He glared up at his missed opportunity in the tree with tail lashing side-to-side behind him. Come down here and fly in my mouth!
he demanded, winning himself another round of chortle-like caws from the crow. Grumbling, the Attaya youth turned away, shrugging as though it was no large loss, even though yet another failure left his ego stinging and weak. Crows are gross anyway,
he called back over his shoulder as he stomped away through the auburn carpet of ferns, deciding that he would do something else with his time, since hunting sucked.
He was still in this foul temper when he stumbled upon the den site of a lone wolf, and was surprised to find said lone wolf in the area, as well. Jericho was somewhat unremarkable to Mace, given that Mace lived in a family of entirely black wolves, although the thin, puckered line drawn over the male's chest did draw the Darkwater prince's attention. Does that hurt?
he wondered aloud, flicking his snout in Jericho's direction as if he thought that vague indication would make it crystal clear what he was talking about; Mace was still a boy, and so naturally, not the brightest when it came to signals.