Ghastly Woods tacent satis laudant

mapplethorpe

their silence is praise enough

January 23rd; Sunrise; Light snow; 5° F/-15° C

Sliding down from the cliffs he now called home, Mapplethorpe had originally made plans of hunting something down for a quick breakfast. Rather than putting his tracking skills to use he, instead, found himself meandering down the rocky paths and into a patch of forest where he had first met Rhysis. The darkening shadows of the ancient trees immediately called to mind the thoughts about how far he had come since that fateful day, how much of his figure he had gotten back after joining his pack, and how his temper had somewhat mellowed. Deep down it made him sick, to think that he had somehow been tricked into joining the band of nomads, actually somewhat bound to a hierarchy. Aside from the disgust, however, he found it amusing how Naira and Rhysis let him come and go as he pleased. Over the past three weeks, he had memorized a great deal of his new home, committed to memory where every trail, cache, and distinguishable landmark laid. By now, it only seemed right for him to descend from the Pass and explore the immediate world beyond it, to bring something back something useful for Rhysis or Naira's mere amusement.

With careful steps he drank in the scenery, every snow-covered article - a fallen branch, a jagged boulder, a pile of forest debris - identified with the blink of an eye. All... except one. Something, or someone, just within his field of vision, hacked and sputtered, their body heaving quick breaths as they laid on their side. Mapplethorpe, caught off-guard, froze in his steps. He opened his mouth to say something, but the creature in the snow let out another hoarse cough. The Nomad cleared his throat, even muttered a cautious "Hail,", but the being did not acknowledge him.

He scowled, rather dissatisfied in being ignored. "Excuse me, madame," he began again, his tone loud as he drew closer to the tawny mass of fur. Again, nothing. He dared to draw closer, staring in unease as the newfound coyote simply laid there. Mapplethorpe looked her over, observed the area immediately surrounding her, but found neither blood nor a clear set of tracks. It seemed as if the large-eared canine had come crashing into the area, only to lay down and find herself unable to get back up on her feet. Judging by the snow that had piled up on the coyote's pelt, he could only guess the woman had been rendered immobile for the past couple of hours... but, by what?

Puffs of moisture lifted into the air and Mapplethorpe could only stare in bewilderment, only somewhat certain that the lesser being had broken a limb. The saliva that had bubbled up into a foam all around her muzzle had him convinced otherwise. His tail flicking behind him, Mapplethorpe hesitantly leveled himself with her, glaring as he could smell the air of sickness that fell like a curtain around her. A growl rumbled in his chest, and when it was not returned, he let out another. Did she have manners, no integrity to even bother to address him? To cry out that she clearly needed help?

He met the creature's deep auburn eyes, scoffing as her breathing visibly slowed. "Mors omnia solvit," he whispered into the lass's ear, smiling as he thought of all the deeds and misdeeds she must have done to deserve such a fate. Thorpe watched with a perceptive gaze as the dying woman took a deep breath and more foam gushed from her mouth. "Here, let me help you..." The sack of skin and bones suddenly grew very still; the visible ribcage deflating one last and final time. Mapplethorpe meant to take a step backward, to withdraw himself and find or carry out the means to put the carnivore out of her silent and obvious misery, but the realization that the canid had died before his very eyes made his lips part in both disgust and apparent delight. "Poor thing," he whispered eerily with a sneer, walking idly around the corpse only to crane his neck down to stare into her now unseeing eyes. "Lex est, non pœna, perire."

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(This post was last modified: Feb 09, 2013, 10:24 AM by Mapplethorpe.)

Sagacity had been awake for the latter half of the night, on the move. Considering that she was a part of a pack called "Nomad's Pass," she assumed that she would be forgiven for her need to travel. She knew she would return to the Pass before too long, and would always return there, remembering the oath she'd made to Rhysis, her Alpha. But it did not keep her tied to the mountain region full of crossing pathways and secrets in the woods. It was an area she still needed to explore- but she found herself still drawn to the land to the North, where she'd first entered what she'd learned was called Relic Lore. She felt drawn back to the place where she'd first met the wolves of this place, and wanted to re-trace her steps to see if it still led her to where she was now.

Soft snowflakes landed on her pelt as she moved at an extended trot. She made sure to skirt past pack boundaries, giving them a good berth. It was not in her interest to engage in any type of situation which might cause harm to her or to her pack's reputation. She did not want to be the reason a war was sparked and she knew full well that there were many who would not like her, simply because she did not trust those she did not know or live with. By association, from living in the pack with others, Sagacity only felt comfortable around those who shared her homeland.

Having been searching to find her roots in this area, she was surprised to find the tracks of a wolf also from the Pass. She took it as a sign, and an encouraging one. She followed his footprints in the snow, even though the falling snowflakes made his pawprints appear somewhat distorted. It was a male; having met a few at the pack meeting, she assumed that this one was the one who was older, who had a tinge of cinnamon fur on his muzzle, a dark line trailing below his eyes which were the colour of the hunter's moon. She'd noticed the barely concealed bare patch of skin on his chest- concealed mostly, now, because of the thick winter coat that grew around it- but it made her curious nonetheless. He made her very curious.

Even more so when she saw him in the distance, circling. There was something on the ground, she realized, s she got closer, something that looked furry- a rabbit? No, they would be white in the winter...Too much fur for a deer, and too small. Too large for a squirrel. As she got closer she could make out the long, slim legs of something somewhat canine-like...Had he killed a wolf? But there was no blood...And that fur was too rusty to belong to a wolf. It was a coyote. And it was dead.

She moved closer, more intrigued by the male than the dead coyote on the ground which captivated him. Why was he so interested in it? She didn't find herself judging him for what some might have considered a sick obsession, but she found it fascinating. She wanted to understand whatever it was he felt; she was curious and she felt drawn in by this benign madness. Surely someone who was older- while not being old- would have some good reason to be doing this, and she wanted to know why, so she could feel the same way without feeling guilty.

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mapplethorpe

their silence is praise enough

He continued to sneer and smirk, the grin on his face both unbecoming and not misplaced at the same time. When the perfume of a pack member curled in his nostrils, his facial expression went blank. His brows evened out and the smug curl of his lip dropped into a hard line. She moved closer and one of his russet ears turned in her direction before he fully faced her, taking in the fascination that was apparent in her amber eyes and all over her face.

He half-snorted, half-sniffed as his golden eyes quickly looked her over. He knew she was one of Rhysis' newest recruits - her fur still carried a distinguished trace of his cologne - but nothing more aside from the fact that she was apparently worthy of the Monarchs' saving graces (having survived being initiated into the pack and all). Unsure of what to say, for some time he merely watched her and stared at the dead creature at his feet. He took a step backwards as if to invite her further and allow her to inspect it closely. Grinding his molars together, he slowly closed his eyes then opened them again to study his companion's face once more. While not thoroughly opposed to conversation, it seemed only right in his mind if she spoke first or asked questions. He could have extended a 'Good morning' to her as was custom to interacting with one's pack members, but with a dead body at hand it seemed downright inappropriate.

Standing up as tall as he could, Mapplethorpe's tail twitched and he suddenly wondered why the young lady had come down the mountain. He scanned the area from where the both of them had wandered from, lifting his muzzle just enough in attempt to test the air for the presence of other Nomads. Ever so slowly, he walked in a wide circle around her and the corpse before coming to a stop when he returned to his starting point. One of his ears drew back before righting itself again and he opened his mouth just slightly before closing it again. She could think what she like, he resolved. Whether or not she believed he had killed the coyote or somehow assisted in its demise or some other fanciful ideas, he would allow her to make the first move, maybe even engage him in conversation if she fancied it. Despite whatever she thought, however, he hoped she would realize that something was indeed wrong with the lesser being. The foam around the coyote's mouth, still bubbling and rising even in death as the body let itself go, had him on edge now as he considered for a moment what could have caused its untimely death.

His eyes dropped back down to the large-earred canine, his eyes narrowing before turning away completely, pretending to focus one something far away in the distance.

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When he turned to face her, Sagacity stiffened slightly, turning her ears back to show respect. She didn't know him, nor did she know how long he'd been in the pack, but she assumed that he would've been in the pack for longer than she and therefore deserved respect without question. He did not send her away with a grimace or vocalize anything, but instead took a step back, inviting her forward. She moved with relative ease then, summoned by him to investigate the dead coyote at his feet.

Sagacity had no qualms with killing coyotes. They weren't wolves, they were something she would've deemed a lesser being, something not worthy of respect. So if he had killed the coyote, she wouldn't have begrudged him for it. They were competition, especially in winter. They were raiders, thieves. More annoying than foxes, though foxes too were a bother with their cleverness. They tended to be more subtle than coyotes, however, which made the latter all the more unlikable. But it became apparent that he hadn't killed the coyote- the creature had died on its own and one whiff of its scent caused Sagacity's hackles to raise and her lips to peel back. A low growl thrummed in her throat.

She was given yet another reason to dislike the creature. Disease. She wanted to turn and kick snow over it simply to show her disdain for the creature. Not only a thief but a harbinger of doom. Mapplethorpe had turned away, and he seemed relatively at peace with the situation. He seemed, then, the irrefrangible type- either that, or he didn't know the disease the coyote had carried. "Vermin," Sagacity uttered under her breath once her growl had subsided. She stepped back and away from the diseased creature, the look on her face indicative of the fact that she didn't want to go anywhere near the diseased corpse.

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mapplethorpe

their silence is praise enough

From the corner of his eye he watched as she came forward. Her attention to proper etiquette did not go unnoticed and while he merely feigned interest in a distant tree, he secretly appreciated it. "Vermin." The word that easily slipped from her lips didn't faze him in the slightest. By the sound of it, she seemed smart; savvy in her ways as he watched her senses flare up and her hackles rise about her neck and shoulders. She bared her teeth and the brute turned his neck to take in her face again, to read the expression that was now apparent on her face. Was that disgust? Some sort of knowing what had befallen the pitiful canid? The rotation of his ears and the flaring of his nostrils made it clear that she had completely ensnared his attention. A subtle tilt of his head further emphasized his inquisitiveness.

An amused smile lit up his features. "Undesirables," he agreed, his low voice as slick as oil. He let out a scoff, his eyes flickering down only once to the coyote's damp mouth before gazing back to the young lady. "I have not seen anything like this since I was about your age," he remarked, his dark brows briefly touching. "To find that it's manifested here is... nothing short of unsettling."

He continued to round on her, his gaze raking up and down her figure in concern. "Do... Do you know what this sickness is?" he asked, his tone taking on a more grandfatherly note now as he became curious about whether or not she had correctly identified the coyote's blight, this particular pest's downfall. Assuming her reaction to his discovery had been sparked by some vivid or traumatic memory, he could not help but to crave for that specific event in her still short-lived life.

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It seemed that he too shared the same dislike for the bedraggled creature that she had, though when he asked if she knew of the plague it had died from she was slightly surprised. It would seem, then, that he disliked the coyote because it was a coyote. Most of Sagacity's aversion came from the fact that it had been sick- she probably wouldn't have spared a resentful growl for the creature had it died of natural causes. She didn't hate coyotes with a jacobin disgust, but a contempt for their ways. This one, however, deserved extra loathing because the damn thing had become diseased- and in the middle of winter. Sicknesses such as this were more common in the summer- the creature had truly been damned to be cursed in the cold months.

He mentioned briefly that he'd seen this before- when he was her age, but the age difference wasn't something that bothered her at all, nor did it come across as being patronizing- but he didn't seem to know about it, which he admitted humbly. She was no expert on sicknesses, but she'd seen enough of this particular one to recognize it immediately. "The White Plague." She answered, though there was only a certain degree of conviction to her tone when she mentioned the name, which was explained only a moment later. "I don't know what others call it. No one taught me about it, but I've seen it before." She said. "It's a sickness of the mind; from there it weakens the body." She said. "I don't know if it's contagious but...Those with it certainly seem driven toward infecting others." She said. She eyed the coyote' still foaming mouth with contempt.

She felt no need to ask him whether he'd touched the creature or not- she found herself doubting that he would have touched one if it had been alive and healthy, unless he felt the urge to kill it. His tracks led around the decrepit varmint anyway, though they had come closer to it. "What did you see, the first time you saw it?" She asked, wanting to know what his first experience had been like with a creature diseased by what she called the White Plague. The more she knew, she more she could understand it.

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mapplethorpe

their silence is praise enough

A click of his tongue further extended his distaste; the smile that now reached his eyes continued to reveal another facade of his personality. The wolf before the woman was not the same man who had laughed at Rhysis the desperate or ridiculed the transforming queen that had been Naira, seemingly lost in the Thickets. Mapplethorpe gave her a rather kind nod, listening attentively to her every word with an open mind. The White Plague, she had replied and all too quickly it occurred to him exactly had caused the coyote to breathe its very last breath. While her answer was not the one he had been expecting, it was nevertheless satisfactory.

"I don't know what others call it," she continued. "No one taught me about it, but I've seen it before." "Good," he praised her, his brows lifting once before settling back to their normal positions above the hollows of his eyes. She enlightened him further, and rather than snapping back at her that he already knew about the malady, he patiently concentrated on her. "It is contagious," he informed her. "Where I'm from it's called rabies. From the word rabere... to rave." He paused just long enough to build a more semi-dramatic tone in his voice, "Madness."

Her next question made him inhale slowly, holding the air captive in his lungs for a brief second as his mind conjured up the memory in his head. "Nothing as interesting as this poor soul," he disclosed. "I saw an old man arguing with himself... and the shadows around him. He was spinning in circles, snarling at and jabbering to no one, saliva bubbling up around his muzzle as if it were the product of his foul blathering. It took only a turn of his head to notice me as I was passing through a section of unclaimed forest." A frown began to form on his face. "He accused me of sullying my soul, of learning the words only found on a dark being's tongue."

He gave a shrug, half a guffaw lifting from his throat. "I only assumed that my mother's friend had built up quite the reputation as to have other wolves belittle him so roughly. He charged after me then, teeth bared and tail held up like a war banner, his yellow eyes wild unlike any rogue wolf I've ever seen." He suddenly stopped as if he was trying to remember something particular about that stranger but shook his head. "Perhaps it affects us differently," he mused, his eyes falling back to the lifeless canine. "I wasn't sure if she had suffered as he did. Tsssk." Another click of his tongue against his teeth. "No wonder why she didn't do anything when I approached." A glimmer of disappointment shone in his pupils, "Why do you ask? What have you seen?"

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(This post was last modified: Feb 12, 2013, 07:22 AM by Mapplethorpe.)

Though he appeared to have more knowledge of the disease than she'd originally suspected, he did not treat her as a kinchin while he went on to share his own experiences with this terrible madness with her. The way in which he spoke did not make her feel childish for having made up her own name for the disease, but rather made her curious to know him more- to learn from him and see what he knew about other diseases she'd seen and had learned about, but only through experience. Sagacity's knowledge came largely from things she experienced, not from things she'd been taught. She'd learned much on her own, rather than tagging along with others and asking multitudes of questions. Now, though, she had the chance to learn even without having to ask those questions; the sagely male obliged and fulfilled her curiosity.

Her ears turned back when he spoke of the disease's potential danger, and how he had met a wolf with what he'd told her was called rabies. She wasn't terribly surprised to hear him confirm that it was contagious, but it didn't make her like that fact anymore. She felt grateful to him, and found herself liking the knowledgeable male for the way he explained his experience...It was so vivid, she could imagine the savagery of the rabid wolf in her mind's eye with perfect clarity. There was something about the way Mapplethorpe described the encounter- the foam as a product of his foul blathering, the rabid wolf's accusation, ...of learning the words only found on a dark being's tongue...It was almost beautiful, in an obscenely tragic and terrible way. He made it seem almost alluring and in doing so, made himself seem alluring.

He seemed to doubt, then, that the coyote had suffered the same terrible fate as the wolf he'd known. He didn't seem to show much remorse for the wolf he'd described as his mother's friend, but instead seemed more upset that the coyote had not exhibited the same amount of anguish. This he could understand- it didn't seem right for a more noble being to fall so hard, while the vermin of the earth simply faded. Sagacity, however, knew different. He then expressed an interest in knowing what her experience had been, and she hoped to offer him some solace in knowing that even parasitic beings could suffer.

"It was a fox." She said. Somehow, she felt slightly different about foxes. They were more secretive, and kept to themselves, and didn't go about masquerading as some relative of the wolf. Still, though, they weren't of the same caliber as she or Mapplethorpe. "In the summer- dazed, stumbling, swinging its head from side to side, its coat had gone dull and dirty, its eyes unfocused." She said. "The same foaming...It didn't seem to see much of anything until it saw me, and even then it still didn't seem to focus. It was aggravated by movement, but didn't have the coordination to lunge with any sort of aim. As bloodthirsty as it seemed, it looked like it was starving, and fretted over water." She said, brows furrowing as she remembered the way the ruddy creature had balked when it had come to a stream. "Its nose was dry...I don't think it had had anything to drink, but it definitely had an aversion to water." She said. She had been looking at the coyote almost the entire time as she spoke, its sunken cheeks and eyes reminding her of how dead the fox had looked, even while it had been alive. Very little had been left of the fox- it had been close to death, or so she had thought. It didn't look much better than the coyote laying on the ground, so she assumed now that the fox had died not long after she'd seen it. "I wonder where it came from." She mused quietly, suspicious both of where the coyote had come from and where it had found the disease.

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mapplethorpe

their silence is praise enough

She unhesitatingly gave him an answer; almost instantly the figure of a vivid red-orange fox came dancing into his mind's eye. As quickly as it pounced into a spot of summer sun, its coat faded and its shine dulled; it fell into a sort of stupor, thrashing about with a mouth full of foul, white froth. The woman's figure came into view and the vulpine creature crashed after her, unsuccessful in its attempt to attack her. Brought back to the present from her rumination about where the coyote could have come from, he blinked slowly. His tail flicked about at his heels.

His cadmium yellow eyes trailed the crooked footprints in the snow before he stepped over to where it had only recently staggered into the woods. The impressions had nearly filled up, almost covered with the light snowfall that the morning had brought. Gingerly he lowered his nose into one of the depressions, closing his eyes as he picked over the traces of wilderness that the canine had left behind. Hidden underneath what was left of the musk and sickness was an earthy perfume and the stink of old, dead rose meadowsweet stalks. He moved over further along the set of tracks where it looked as though the tawny being had actually run straight into a tree before continuing onward, then sampled the marks again.

"Are you familiar with plant life?" he asked, only briefly looking at his companion before returning to the marred snow. His eyes narrowed as he assumed the possible worst case scenario for the large-earred canine to have suffered. The idea that the scent of rose meadowsweet brought him to assume that she had fallen from the mountain. It might have easily explained her limping and teetering steps but it did not convince him of where she had come from. "She might have come from the cliffs; made a home within the base of the mountain," he considered, rambling mostly to himself. "Check these out?" he then asked, stepping back once more to turn his gaze to where he had descended the Pass. "Not sure if she could have been slinking about our lands or not. There's... a sort of telltale marker in her prints that hints she might have come from a higher elevation. Rose meadowsweet and some other foliage I can't seem to place."

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He seemed interested in her story, as interested as she'd been when she'd listened to him speak about his former packmate. She appreciated this to no end, and found herself quite comfortable in his presence. Not in a friendly way- though she did believe that their current situation was amicable to say the least- but in a way in which she felt that she was the student and he the scholar. Had he spoken lies to her with the same voice he'd just used, she would have believed him. She had already formed the opinion that Mapplethorpe was one who could be looked up to as an expert on many matters.

He asked her about her knowledge of plants- if there was even one to speak of, but he turned quickly and so missed the girl's nod. "A bit, yes." She answered, slightly puzzled as to why he'd be asking this. She considered her previous question for a moment and when he gestured toward the dead coyote again she understood why he'd asked. She moved when beckoned, to smell the coyote's tracks, lips peeled back slightly as she did so. She inhaled the stench of sickness and coyote, but held onto the scent long enough to catch the herbal scent that had been clinging to her paws. One scent she did not recognize, but one scent she did. She concluded then, with a bit of delight, that Mapplethorpe had known one of the herbs and that she knew the other.

"I think it's yellow alumroot." She said. "It grew on the mountains near where I was born." She said, explaining both how she knew of it and where it normally grew. It seemed to be confirmed, then, that the coyote had come from higher grounds. "She wasn't on the mountains long ago, for us to still smell the plants...But if she was this close to death by the time she got here, she might've caught the disease long before coming near Relic Lore." She said.

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