Heartleaf Creek to the [thief] go the spoils

<blockquote>Whatever a soul was, it resided in his chest, and eating ageing meat was bad for it. This announcement was only to be met by a dull blink before Marsh declared it too pointless to worry about. Scavenging had never harmed him in the past - not seriously or directly, at least. As such, personal experience effortlessly and immediately wiped away any concern felt over this beast's beliefs, and they were once more left at an impasse. Marsh greatly doubted that the creature would actually try and provide an edible alternative, and was ready to give up on the matter and return to his meal when the beast rose, apparently ready to prove him wrong.

Though far from an expert on plants, Marsh knew a thing or two about the most basic, important facts, and when the ginger wolf went to grab at a particular bush Marsh's instincts flared. Bouncing forwards with a quiet, instinctual yelp, he promptly but gently pushed the ginger's beast's muzzle out of the way with his own to prevent him from a seriously upset stomach... or worse. This act of chivalry would be one to torment him for days to come, for he had no real reason to save the wretched creature's life, but he was not going to sit by and let a animal kill itself due to nothing more than its own dumb stupidity. This wasn't even an act of regular stupidity, for this wolf transcended all levels of mental numbness that Marsh had never encountered.

In the end, after much consideration, he would conclude that all his actions following this save were prompted by simple pity.

Disgusted and amazed in the same stroke, Marsh shook his head in exasperation, determined not to try and comprehend the depth at which ignorance ran through this beast's blood. To do so would surely consume him in misery at the idea that such a creature could exist. Driven by nonsensical impulses himself, as well as wonderment at how the wolf hadn't managed to commit suicide sooner, Marsh concluded that he may as well try again. At least he knew better than to attempt similar tactics than before, and despite appearances, the wolf seemed to understand his silent communication to some extent. Staring at length at the ginger creature, torn with indecision, in the end pity won out; tossing his head, Marsh snorted, and turned about in order to pad a few steps away. He would look over his shoulder to check if the wolf was following, and if not, to try and silently communicate it again.

Heaven and hell would never be able to decipher why he was wasting his time with this walking disaster, but he was.</blockquote>

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But just as he was about to snag a perfectly delectable looking berry, a scarred and blood-stained muzzle came and pushed his mouth away. Immediately, Kiche sat up, an indignant scowl on his face, as he turned to face the stupid heathen, "<b>What was that for? You're supposed to</b><i>eat</i><b> this stuff! Jesus Christ. What's your problem?</b>" He noticed that the beast was shaking his head as if <i>he</i> was the stupid one. Momentarily, Kiche's temper flared, and he turned away sourly, thinking of all sorts of nasty thoughts and adjectives he would apply to this heathen. <i>Why can't I eat the damn berries?</i>

Without warning, though, the creature snorted poignantly, and began to walk away. Kiche was slightly confused until its head swung back around, giving him a meaningful look. <i>He wants me to follow.</i> Although Kiche highly doubted that the fiend would have anything of merit to show him, and that there was also a chance he was leading him to some sort of contrived doom, he was curious. <i>What does he want to show me?</i> It was pointless to ask, however, since this particular demon didn't seem to talk like the other ones. That, of course, made him very dangerous. Nevertheless, Kiche followed him anyway, mumbling to himself as he went, giving the corpse one last sneer.
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<blockquote>Rolling his eyes at the creature's incessant stupidity, Marsh waited impatiently for it to get the point. He half-expected it not to understand, but, by some sour miracle, comprehension occurred, and Marsh cursed himself for getting stuck with such a useless sort. Still, he seemed to have the creature's attention now, and his plans were straightforward enough. The fact that the beast made meals of poisonous berries and turned its nose up at a free buffet rose questions as to its diet, not to mention its survival, but Marsh was rather intrigued to see if it would be able to resist a fresher offering.

Psyching himself up for a solo mission - he did not expect the wolf to be more of a help than a hindrance - Marsh led the beast along the creek, aware that there may be easy pickings to have thanks to it being an unusually bright, warm day. It was not long before his nose picked up some tell-tale tracks, and, begging to Mother Nature for the creature on his tail not to ruin everything, followed them.

The fallow deer were making a pass of Relic Lore, it seemed, and were making good use of the available water. The herd was small, probably only an off-shoot from a larger gathering that had wandered off to drink and find fresher grazing patches. The rest would be nearby, no doubt, but too far for their numerous eyes and ears to be any good here.

The moment his gaze had alighted upon the small group, Marsh had stopped, making an extra effort to angle himself in order to prevent his tag-along from stumbling forwards. If all had gone well, the beast behind him would not have noticed the deer, either. His instincts had blared at the idea of letting the creature know his plans - luck would have it that the beast would deliberately alert the herd or something as foolish, Marsh would not put it past it at this point - and, as such, he wanted no intervention from this point.

Turning on his heel, Marsh lowered his muzzle to some covered ground, growling imploringly, begging the creature to just knuckle down and stay put. There was a weak, elderly deer just begging to have its blood spilt, and Marsh was quite determined to spill it.</blockquote>

<blockquote><ul><span style='font-size:7pt;line-height:100%'>bad bad bad bad :c
<b>editing so that I can pretend that this was finished. cause i hate dead threads</b></span></li></ul>As he stumbled along the creekside, attempting to follow the stupid brute, Kiche wondered why on earth he was even trying to humor the damned thing. No matter how hard it tried, it was doubtful that the monster would be able to come up with anything better than those berries it had vehemently rejected. His sense of smell was deplorable, and he could not smell the deer. Had he been able to, he would have shrieked, alerted them, begged the heathen not to eat them. But after all, ignorance is bliss, and when the savage tried to tell him to stay put, Kiche obeyed, although hesitantly. He wasn't stupid —at least not completely— and always practiced a <i>healthy</i> level of skepticism in regards to these monsters. Something was up.

He shook his head again. <i>Why am I even doing this?</i> Doing <i>any</i> of this. This monster had attacked him before. He ate rotting animals. There was nothing to be gleaned from this beast. It was distracted, busy doing... Pangur knows what. While the heathen was facing the other way, watching the deer, Kiche slipped away into the forest. Every paw step made him feel better.
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(This post was last modified: May 19, 2011, 02:25 AM by Kiche.)

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