Mingled scents [open]

[rayne]

Rayne parted her maw and exposed her fleshy, pink tongue to the brisk air that surrounded the still meadow. She enjoyed the cooling affect that it had on her dry maw. Leaning forward she allowed her muscle to graze over the ticklish tendrils of grass that poked at her cream toes and soft underbelly. Odd, she thought as she licked her lips, this grass tastes nothing like the grass I use to sleep on when I shared a den with Islae. The memory of her teacher and of her teacher's coal colored eyes suddenly flooded Rayne's sight with dark and sinister images. They blinded her momentarily, then in a flash of blinding white light the images were gone. Chills ran down the sides her spine and her breathing became uneven. The only way she could comfort herself was to lay her head on the ground and to breathe very, very, very slowly. It was difficult to remember and even more difficult to remind herself how raw and torn her emotions actually were.

"Oh Dursan," she sighed shutting her eyes and pressing her slender frame closer to the earth. Why was life so unfair? Why couldn't it have been her? Why!

The forcefulness of her mind's voice startled Rayne so much that she bolted upright onto her haunches with an expression of pure fear. Her eyelids flew wide open and she took a moment to shake her head hoping that it would clear Dursan from her thoughts. This wasn't the time for reverie. It wouldn't do her sanity any good to grieve over the Grey brute's murder. Life was about moving on, accepting fate and to go willingly into the heavens to rest with your ancestors among the stars. This was Dursan's fate and nothing, not even her thoughts could change that; it was hopeless and foolish to think otherwise. Right now she needed to focus on something very important: finding a place to call her own. The meadow lacked the kind of shelter that a young femme needed to feel safe. It was too open; too exposed. "But it is pretty."

Maybe getting up and looking for some herbs will calm me down. Yes. I'll do just that. Rayne rose to all fours, bent her spine to relieve some of her stress and with a spring in her step she moved away from the flattened strands of grass that cradled her imprint providing other loners with the knowledge that she was nearby.

[pepin]

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[atrb=background,http://img853.imageshack.us/img853/8074/pepintablemid.png][atrb=width,419,true] Spring was approaching. He could feel it. Swirls of pastels made images in Pepin’s mind, reminding him of all the flowers that would bloom. Forty degrees, it must have been, which was a great improvement from the previous season’s lows. Flyaways in the male’s upright tail flickered in the breeze. Out from behind his rock shelter, he twisted his neck until it’s stiffness released and stretched out as far as his paws would reach, letting his toes slide through the grass. The green tendrils licked at his paw-pads, urging him to wake, but Pepin simply slumped back down in the morning sun. He wasn’t quite hungry enough to be active yet, and in the soft warmth from above, he was content watching the birds in the faraway trees. Back and forth they flew, making miraculous dives in and out of the leaves. Chasing each other for breeding, he guessed. Birds were always wanting to have young, he had noticed. Every year, the same ducks and geese and robins would fly back to their nests, fully plump with young. Every single year! His mother hadn’t wanted to have babies every year, he was sure. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have babies every year either, but then quickly reminded himself that it was the females that had the babies, never him. This saddened him, but also perked more questions. Did all females want to have babies every year? He couldn’t think so. But maybe his mom was just different. Men never knew about these things. The rabbits, those were the others that had babies all the time. Hundreds of babies, hundreds of those little baby rabbits clambering all over each other, every single year. Pepin didn’t mind them so much, though. The more rabbits that were born, the more food would fill his stomach. The more food he had, the healthier he would be. And this guy definitely knew the importance of being healthy. All the thoughts of babies made his paws itch, so Pepin stood on them to make them stop. His stomach gave a small prod, and he frowned in frustration. He was too tired to go hunting. It was only just past sunrise. He wasn’t so hungry yet, so he started walking, since his stomach wouldn’t quiet its gurgles, but the crunching of the grass under his weight was enough of a noise barrier so that he couldn’t hear his stomach bubble around. With all that bubbling his stomach did, he thought that maybe he had a fish or two in there that hadn’t died when he ate them. But then he remembered that he had chewed the fish in half, so that their bodies weren’t connected to their brains, so they couldn’t be alive in there at all. A short distance in front of him, there was a grayish-blue wolf—female, by the smell of it—leaving paw-prints in the grass just as he was. He followed them perfectly, making sure that each of his toes lined up with the imprint of hers. Though he was smaller, that was okay. He hadn’t done anything wrong, so he wasn’t in any danger. Then, Pepin remembered that she was a female. In a tiny, quiet whisper, he mumbled to himself, “I wonder if she wants to have babies every year.”