The clouds has slowly began their crawl into the sky; like claws trying to cover the ethereal sky that hovered above. As the sun dipped behind the horizon, spraying the sky with a vast coloration of fire-like red, oranges and gold. it was quite. The smell of blood was heavy and thickened the air, stinging the eyes of any creature that may venture the close area. The were tufts of black, gray and brown furs all scattered about as the blades were shrewd and cut from places. Earth had been churned and kicked about. These remnants were clear of a deadly chase, involving predator and prey.
That very chase had lasted well into the afternoon now as the culprits were gone now, the evidence of their destruction was hidden amongst the shade of an ancient and thick oak tree and the thicker long grasses. It's streamline body melted into the shadow perfectly, it's black coat coloration was perfectly suited for this maneuver. The only breaks in the fae's coat were the gashes of red, that trained over her black silhouette like splashes of red paint. It broke her camouflage but now a new facade was arriving, that of night concealed in the coldness that ran along this setting around her. A scrape of hooves & sharp claws laced over her torso.
A thick lump of obsidian fur had been un-earthed from the grass bed as the scurry of two squirrels running up the tree came to the knowings of black, sharply cut audits. With a sharp groan emanating from the torn blood stained lips, the being heaved it's self up onto it's swollen fore hocks. The sprained and muscles tugged her sore skin as she bit her lower lip, keeping the pain in and slowly limped forward, her golden orbs falling onto the vision of a light cream colored doe suddenly leaping away. Crow shied away as best as she could, her muscles giving out from the pressure. She was alone out here and weak and beaten and in hopes of being found. This was the last time she'd get trampled by a herd.
"SPEECH" | 'Thoughts' | "Others speech"
Status || Open to Airila ToD || Around 8pm Count || 361 Notes || Cruddy starter I'm sorry
A strange sight was he. There was no logic in his presence, no explanation for his appearance, and no method to his madness. The paint-splattered brute would never fit in. He was forever doomed to a life of misery and disappointment. Never again would he succumb to the emotions he felt. Yet the tug to replace Ithilwen was so strong that he nearly felt the pain physically.
It had been but a month since her betrayal. But a month since his family had driven him from the pack lands. His paws were aching and cracked from constant walking, and a healthy layer of sweat soaked his coat. There was nothing that could be done for him, of that he was sure. Vorilye masked his pain with pleasure, and he found it in any way imagined. Without a manifestation of life, there was nothing to live for, and he felt nothing in socializing anymore. Perhaps that was why the brute had gone nearly a month since he last spoke. All it took was a mischevious glint in his eye to bring the femmes around, and it had built his ego immensely. He was tired of the emptiness, and more importantly, he was damn tired of walking.
The brute's head tipped back as a sorrowful song escaped his maw. He called to the alpha of the territory, summoning them in a feeble attempt to find normality in his life once more. Where there had once been pain, he wanted to fill with companionship. Vorilye was hoping that he could mask his problems in the mundane life of a new pack. Maybe they will even let me call some of my own shots, he thought dryly, as he knew it was not true. The bottom of the pack meant the bottom of the food chain. The male mackenzie valley brute knew what it was like, but he had grown accustomed to the strength and power that was associated with being alpha. Now, here he was, a feeble loner with nothing to tie him down. There was no reason for him to join a pack, and yet he desired to do so.
Vorilye's nostrils flared as a familiar scent rushed through them; his adrenaline started pumping. The smell of fresh, wolven blood poured through his sinuses, and all at once he was galloping. He needed to find the source of this madness, and then he could put an end to whatever victim that the winner had foolishly left alive. Tis better to die an honorable death than to suffer a life of misery. He lowered his nose to the ground, following the bloody trail in search of the unsuspecting victim of his self-administered justice.
What the brute did not expect to find was a femme, battered and broken, collapsed in a heap. Vorilye spied the body, approaching her with caution; he did not know how conscious this wolf was at the moment, but he knew that injured beings were prone to lashing out, particularly if the injuries had been the result of another wolf. His previous thoughts flowed from his mind as he gently woofed, alerting the torn female to his presence before he drew any closer. He did not speak a word, but instead strode up to her, carefully licking her fresh wounds in an attempt to remove the grime and possible bacteria that she may have gathered while dragging herself across the terra.
It was so different to feel powerless. Vorilye administered as much aid to the femme's wounds as he could muster, but it would ultimately be up to her whether or not they would heal. She was in control of the situation, and he just so happened to be the wanderer in search of a home that happened upon her. The brute barely noticed, but the emptiness in his chest had been momentarily lifted, and he had managed to find it in himself to bring comfort, whether the femme saw it that way or not, to another wolf in need. The brute towered over her, and it was not just because of her position on the ground. Vorilye was nearly twice her size, and a wolf in her condition would be downright death-seeking to go against him.
Bitch better appreciate it, he thought, his bitterness seeping through momentarily. And in an instant, it disappeared; hopefully, this would be the beginning of a new chapter for the odd brute.
((OOC: Apparently, I just can't help myself. I like characters too much to stop making them...))
Vorilye || Mackenzie Valley Brute || Eight Years Old
Her eyes half closed, leaning her frame against the trunk of the birch wood tree for support. If being stubborn didn't kill her, I don't know what would. Slightly cut harks lightly threaded forward and then backwards on her skull as she tried to examine her surroundings now, her muscles convulsing every now and then slowly as bits of blood feel to the ground below her. Crow herself wasn't a large wolfess, more or less she was slightly below average for others, even females but she didn't care. She could sneak into places others couldn't, was quicker and she believed herself to be smarter, but that's simply opinion. But containing this condition she was useless and worthless, perhaps the scraps that could feed foxes and vultures at best.
Groaning some she frittered her fangs together and let her frame slide down, feeling the cold ground below her trace over her belly, trying to tickle a numb skin. She ached, but her eyes were closed, you wouldn't be able to read it. Slowly laying on her side, she panted softly, ears ever alert with firmly shut eyes. "Why can't I just die?" Crow whispered to herself, whiskers twitching as her lips moved to curl up the letters needed for her small, almost mute phrase.
Now, there was a shift in the wind, churning as it rustled dead leaves about and overhead as Crow huffed, trying to roll onto her tummy and covering her already damaged underside. And there was the smell first before she could hear his faint paw steps tapping along the ground. Flaring her nostrils she looked in the direction from where the source of the thick scent was. She saw the pointed ears of the wolf slowly nearing her that almost whispered something but it was simply emotionless twitches on his face, circling her like ravens did to a prey. Crow was baffled, fearing for her safety and seemed to wiggle away, or try to, looking like some sort of cut worm trying to escape.
Now these attempts were futile as her body made her stop and catch her breath. Gulping some she pinned her ears back against her head as she looked back to him now, egg-yolk golden eyes seemed lowered and blank of utter emotion as she kept a submissive demeanor. Really, who could possibly try to play dominant when your completely wrecked on the ground? Obviously not Crow. She eyeballed him as if he were some sort of virus, the furthermost part of her muzzle tucked up, hiding a defensive growl.
He only circled her once before she could catch his scent lingering right above her. Tilting her head off to the side, she pushed her weight on her left shoulder until she was laying on her side some, her cheek pressed against the grasses below as she watched him with silent eyes. He spoke no word, simply standing over her, his frame similar to hers in the color, but he held patches of golden on his pads and his throat latch area. Taking a soft breath Crow laid there on her side, right below the male, ears flat against her head. "If I'm on your territory I simply beg forgiveness for they were not my intentions sir.." Was all Crow could really speak, having already gone out of her comfort zone as to speak, but she needed help, measures had to be taken.
"SPEECH" | 'Thoughts' | "Others speech"
Status || Open Notes ||Heheh Thanks soo much for replyin~
There was no measurable reaction from the brute, but Vorilye could smell the femme's fear as he circled her helpless figure. A barrage of thoughts assaulted his mind, and he struggled to keep them all sorted in a comprehensible fashion. You do not seek death, femme. That solves all the problems without any work, and the Gods wish for us to suffer unmeasurable pain before we can return to them, he thought, but he held his tongue as was normal for him these days. She was not familiar to him, and therefore he did not believe that she deserved to hear his words. They were sacred; they were the only thing he had left that had not been shared and violated.
As she spoke to him, all Vorilye mustered was a shake of his head. He strode several paces away from the femme and took a seat, watching her intently for any other signs of movement. She had managed to get here somewhere, but he was not interested in her story. She was nothing to him except a burden so far, and she would serve no purpose to him other than amusement. Vorilye could simply be pleased that he was not in her situation. Except for my heart. That is definitely in worse condition, his inner demon sneered, goading him into following through with his initial plan to "assist" the injured wolf in ending her misery. She was not worth his effort, as she could not give him anything in return. Vorilye would not act unless there was some incentive for him. In fact, it was surprising that he had even bothered to assist her in the way he had thus far. The brute could not wander far for fear of the alpha not discovering that he was the wolf who had cried out. Perhaps this pack would have a Shaman who could assist the femme before they discarded her from the pack lands. But knowing Shamans, she would be thrown away without so much as a second glance. They ruined everything.
"Mmmmmmm," the brute squeaked through closed teeth. The noise was solely a reminder to himself that he could still speak if he chose to do so, but did not. He did this at least once a week to keep his sanity. If not, he began to wonder if everything was merely bleak and that he could not actually speak, and he would start to believe that he was living in a fantasy. Maybe he would wake up soon and find himself beside Ithilwen and his daughters. It would all be like it was supposed to be, and they would be a family, a pack, and a unit.
Unfortunately, the discovery that he could, in fact, speak with a bitter sweet one. It reminded him that this was his life now, and that there was nothing he could do to change it. Vorilye was stuck in a world that he hated more than anything else, apart from himself. The disdain that he carried was beyond measure, and his favorite task was self-loathing. So far, he had been allowed to wallow in this imaginary prison without disturbance. But since he arrived at this pack's border, everything was starting to change. He knew that he had approached the border of the larger pack's lands. There was no way that he could wander this area of the continent without some sort of affiliation; he would surely be attacked or at least black listed with the packs. He did not need another reputation following him around. The north was already plenty aware of his antics.
Instead of trying to rouse the femme from her position, Vorilye sat and watched her, a bored expression covering his face. He made no move to assist her again. At this point, he was not being cruel, but instead debating letting nature play out as it would have if he had not happened across her tattered form. While he was not necessarily the kindest of wolves, he hated to watch suffering and surely would not condone the female's continuous pain. But what could he do? He would not console her with his words; they were too sacred, and she had done nothing to earn that right. His presence was the only gift he could afford to giver her at this time, as foolish and unhelpful as it may be.
Vorilye || Mackenzie Valley Brute || Eight Years Old
The brute didn't speak as Crow said her vices. Ears remained flat as he looked down at her with solid eyes and she simply stayed put. Her muscles loosened before she watched him shake his head once and then move a bit ways off, sitting and then watching. A groan left her muzzle as she closed her eyes before rolling over some until she was finally back on her abdomen. She hated having eyes set on her, she was the one that watched others not the other way around. Then again in life one never got what they wanted. The only thing she got was that this male was not an alpha, simply a rouge male that was wandering these lands, perhaps at freewill, she could care less. Slowly, her tail curled outwards from between her back legs, forking her tongue along her inner gums and ivories, which themselves were stains with dried blood.
For the moment she laid there, her eyes leaving his frame and quietly glancing about, her breaths shallow as her chest rose and fell in a slow motion. She took a moment to think, since the other being was as silent as she. Crow never got to know what really happened back with her family, nor if her brother has survived the stampede of the herd, or the ambush of those wolves. The unknowing of answers made Crow angry, angry with her father, with her past, with herself. What was the point to life if no answers were ever known, Crow would think as she arched her spine some and looked back to the creature in front of her. She didn't know him, and he didn't know her, and the scent he bared was different from what she was accustomed to.
It would have been so easy to just lay there until nature called for her soul. Her eyes closed as she steadied her breathing as her ears barely moved, the sound of moving leaves keeping her mind stable. The win shifted once or twice, running over the area in a brisk, easy motion, passing over her fur like webbed fingers and over the male's as well. Slowly she shifted in her current position and shut her eyes once more, a diluted growl leaving her lips, signifying undying stress in the female. As much as she wanted to stay, the quest to find answers only fed adrenaline into her weakened state. The ebony female should blame it all on the spirit of her brothers before opening her eyes, the electric spark that seemed to emit from her orbs ever present as she flicked her ears forward. With her back legs stiffening, she braced herself, claws digging into the ground as she tried to 'bounce' herself up, only to add stress on her frame to get accustomed to until she could stand again.
The first go was useless as her frame teeter tottered and tumbled her sideways, the impact sending chills up her spine. “Dammit”
[/b] she muttered and laid there for a few moments. Huffing some she raked her paw against the ground, tail twitching slowly before she leaned herself up in a more propped up laying position and tossing a glance to the other brute. 'Some manners'[/i] Crow said to herself before she swayed up and brought her forelegs to a rigid stance. Now her top frame was standing on rigid, yet trembling forelimbs, her maw parted to allow huffs of breath. Her ears pulled back some as she forced her hips up some, back paws grasping against the ground to find a footing. And she did. A check of her footing she bended her neck down some and stayed there.
It seemed like forever that she was standing there before looking to the male quietly and then past him, further into the setting she had come to. A slow breath fell from her lips as she leaned up and took a few steps forward, her tail hovering out from behind her for some balance before she wagged it slowly. It hurt to walk, or breath but it was better then laying there to rot, and that just wasn’t the way she wanted to die, at least not today. There was odd silence between the male and the female as she looked at him, standing shy of ten feet away from him as if waiting for something to happen. The expression that was held in her eyes was firm, yet novice.
The brute said but a sound and this one Crow did not reply to, her stoic expression locking correctly on her facial features.
"SPEECH" | 'Thoughts' | "Others speech"
Status || Open Counter || 769 Notes || (:[/justify][/blockquote][/font][/color][/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
Vorilye watched breathlessly as the tattered female peeled herself off the ground, painfully hoisting herself into a seated position. He was impressed with her spirit, dedication, and most of all, her will to live. He had not seen such conviction in anyone's eyes in quite some time. The brute had been sufficiently impressed by the small femme.
Now that she was properly seated, he was even more obviously aware of their size difference. Surely she was intimidated by him? It had been so long since someone had not gawked at his appearance, if not for the gold eyes and fur, then for his tank-like build. She had to be uncomfortable with his presence; not that he planned to lean. Vorilye was intent on greeting the alpha upon his approach, and if it meant waiting with this little intruder, then so be it. The mackenzie valley brute had not heard any other howls on the terra, but perhaps he was mistaken and she had announced herself properly. A moment of panic seized the brute.
What if she is already a member of this pack and I have treated her this way? It could jeopardize my chances of being taken in because I was too foolish to speak two words to her, he fretted immediately. He glanced at her, his face still perfectly emotionless. The slight wag of her tail was a good sign, was it not? He reciprocated the motion, gently wagging his tail in response, as if acknowledging the femme in the only way he knew how. He still could not bring himself to speak to the female, but the emotion started flowing into his eyes once again.
As he gazed at the female, his eyes told a tale of their own. They were full of sorrow, longing, and buried deep beneath the prior two emotions, they were oozing desire. Vorilye wanted things that he could no longer take freely, and he would have to be on best behavior if he wanted to live in the inconspicuous position of the pack. I have to be taken in by the alpha first, he thought, a grimace spreading across his face. The two packs that he had lived in were both purely family packs; one had been the pack of his birth, and the other had been a collection of his offspring and his former, deceitful mate. He had no idea what would have to be done to convince this alpha that he was worthy of a position in the pack. Most wolves in his birth pack had only entered on the premise of mating with a member of the family that was already a member, and they were of course approved by his parents and, later, his sister.
To this day, Vorilye wished that he could rebuild the relationship with Arwen. There were just too many hurtful memories to go with his puphood that he could never bring himself to return and check on his little sister. It was a thought that had plagued him for many moons, but he was not able to do it. There was so much pain that resurfaced with his birth pack. She is fine, I am sure, he reassured himself with a slight nod of his head.
Vorilye returned his full attention to the appenine wolf. He dipped his head gently to her, as if to inform her that he was not a threat to her. While he would not communicate vocally with her, he stood slowly, taking a handful of steps to close the gap between them. He was offering peace between them; he wanted a fresh start, and the opportunity to present himself in a less-incriminating manner. Whether or not she would accept her offer was still to be seen.
Vorilye || Mackenzie Valley Brute || Eight Years Old
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