05-09-2024, 05:07 PM
Lourde had always been stuck in an endless winter.
She was cold and wretched before snow even began blanketing the earth around her. Perhaps that's why the wayfarer thrives in the freeze, where most falter and die. Lourde's cunning serves her well, especially in these months. It's why she's always preferred the cold...she gets a sick enjoyment out of watching others fail. She knows she shouldn't - but if she's suffered so much, why shouldn't others suffer as well? Lourde isn't prone to missteps, not anymore, that is - she knows where to forage and when to take her leave. Enough trial and error will make you a survivor, and that is what she is.
Winter does, however, slows her companion, so she allows him to rest comfortably beneath her mane to keep warm. With her eyes and ears gone, the wayfarer relies on her own senses. She knows the forest, reaching its far corners without many problems. She steps lightly in the fallen snow and fallen foliage, never too loud. The forest is eerily quiet - to make too much noise could be a detriment to the mare. It is hard to see through the darkness of the trees, so her ears and nose make up for what she can't see.
She smells who lurks in the shadows before she hears the gnawing and gnashing. Lourde pauses, breathes in through flared nostrils.
Blood.
She'd recognize the scent anywhere. The sickeningly sweet, dry metallic aroma overtakes the wayfarer.
Someone's hunting.
It is hard to pinpoint exactly where the smell and sound are coming from. The orchestra of ripping and tearing flesh and bone fills the entire forest with sound, something she hasn't heard in days. The forest is easy to get lost in and hard to navigate. Lourde turns, quietly, intending to head south in the opposite direction. She does not run - that would attract too much attention. But with the ferocity that she hears the beast (or beasts) eating with makes her move a bit faster than usual. Whoever's around is close...and she does not want to be caught in the middle of their feast.
She was cold and wretched before snow even began blanketing the earth around her. Perhaps that's why the wayfarer thrives in the freeze, where most falter and die. Lourde's cunning serves her well, especially in these months. It's why she's always preferred the cold...she gets a sick enjoyment out of watching others fail. She knows she shouldn't - but if she's suffered so much, why shouldn't others suffer as well? Lourde isn't prone to missteps, not anymore, that is - she knows where to forage and when to take her leave. Enough trial and error will make you a survivor, and that is what she is.
Winter does, however, slows her companion, so she allows him to rest comfortably beneath her mane to keep warm. With her eyes and ears gone, the wayfarer relies on her own senses. She knows the forest, reaching its far corners without many problems. She steps lightly in the fallen snow and fallen foliage, never too loud. The forest is eerily quiet - to make too much noise could be a detriment to the mare. It is hard to see through the darkness of the trees, so her ears and nose make up for what she can't see.
She smells who lurks in the shadows before she hears the gnawing and gnashing. Lourde pauses, breathes in through flared nostrils.
Blood.
She'd recognize the scent anywhere. The sickeningly sweet, dry metallic aroma overtakes the wayfarer.
Someone's hunting.
It is hard to pinpoint exactly where the smell and sound are coming from. The orchestra of ripping and tearing flesh and bone fills the entire forest with sound, something she hasn't heard in days. The forest is easy to get lost in and hard to navigate. Lourde turns, quietly, intending to head south in the opposite direction. She does not run - that would attract too much attention. But with the ferocity that she hears the beast (or beasts) eating with makes her move a bit faster than usual. Whoever's around is close...and she does not want to be caught in the middle of their feast.