Sex: MaleRE: Quickly melting snow has turned rivers into rapids.
May 30th; Couple hours 'til sunrise; Light rain; 51 ° F, 11 ° C The rain had been a welcome presence as Skoll began his usual haunting through the woodland realm his mother called hers once more. Just being out in the downpour was not enough to sate his restlessness, however, and - as per usual - his feet spirited him away across the borders of Willow Ridge. For most of the night he had carried on in an aimless stroll. His gray eyes stared ahead of him at nothing in particular, glossed over for a time until he came to realize that he was a little farther from home than he would have liked. At this point, though, he had resigned to the idea that as long as the near-summer sun did not sap him of his energy outside of the shadows cast by the Drooping Willows he was safe. A slow blink and he cast his eyes upwards, certain that this hour of dawn still catered yet to the stars behind the rain clouds. He was about to turn back from whence he had come whenn something very much unlike an owl or a mourning dove caught his ears. His mind abruptly switched into hunt mode, his pupils so wide that his colorless irises might as well have been the whites of his eyes. What was this? He set his nose to the ground, the scents of the world both saturated and disguised or wholly washed away by the rain that still fell from the heavens. A few paces this way, heading straight... well away from the little streams that were currently replaced with roaring, ever-babbling rivers. Do it again, he cast an unspoken dare into the dark before him. Again. A whimper seemed to answer him. There! The Archer's tail came up and his ears came forward, led on by a sound that was unmistakable, easily recognized as new life. The flood gates in his head crumbled and that sense of hope that his heart had long wished he had forgotten was renewed. Hecate, he shivered, eyes darting to and fro for any sign of his lover. Worry was starting to bubble up in his chest, the first emotion that had taken root within him since her leave. Quick to follow suit, however, was something he was more familiar with: a sense of want... need. He felt as if it had been ages ago now since the two lovers had quarreled and he still felt as though he would never admit she was right about him loving her. His gaze fell upon a makeshift den in the river bank, the few wolf-lengths from the water seeming much too close for any parents' liking; then again, perhaps, when the den had first been made, the river was but a little creek in the early Spring. Another cry came from the burrow and Skoll, with his paternal instincts flaring up beyond measure, quickly stuck his head into the dark tunnel. It was her... This was hers. Where his beloved kestrel was, though, he couldn't comprehend. What he could grasp was that there was younglings inside. His progeny. An eager step into the den was all he could do. Not only was his limbs much too shaky for him to move, but his broad shoulders and much larger build were much too large for him to progress any further down the tunnel. He crouched down on his elbows and settled his rump on the ground, letting out a chuff for the little one to come forward. Of the several odors and scents that made up the whole of the underground space, the unmistakable signature scent of Archer lingered. He held out his nose, hoping that he might feel a smaller one bump into it with his need for being needed quelled. If Hecate did not come back soon - with the rain and the river prone to becoming a threat if the weather did not let up - he held no qualms about taking the cubs and making a bee line for Willow Ridge. "speech." |
table by bryony |
