06-01-2018, 07:56 PM
. |
. |
. |
She’s been exploring her new home (it is just as much hers as it is for them and as it has been for others), familiarizing herself with the borders the Prey set for themselves. As if their borders will do anything to keep them in or out. The Prey’s borders are different from her birth-home. Mother’s borders had been tangible, hiding her Children from the outside world with the darkness of her magic.
Father always took her past Mother’s barrier, only for hunting. When they came back splashed with the blood of Deer or Moose or Prey, Mother would nudge her daughter with an appreciative chitter (a ruggedly-crafted one, but she knew Mother cared) and she would know she had done well. Sister had almost entered the barrier once, and the memory has never left her mind.
A new scent drags her attention away from her thoughts on the Prey’s borders. It’s pungent and bitter in her nostrils, but there is no mistaking what it is. A border-marking, distinctly different from Prey’s, tinged with the scents of Predator. A different Predator from her, but a Predator nonetheless. She slips into the shadows, armored crown quietly caressing the maroon-gold of the branches above.
Who is this?
She reaches them after leader-Prey has arrived. Her eyes take in the Predator. She’s seen one like this before — furry and large and canine — and her mind identifies him. Wolf. She pauses in the shadows, knife-tail barely flicking against her inky heels, while leader-Prey speaks in their slippery language.
He is talking to Wolf.
She would laugh at the idea, if she could have. Amusement sparkles in her intelligent dark eyes. Their land is full of amazing things, but she knows little of shapeshifters. A Wolf shouldn’t understand a Prey’s language, not when he is a Predator. She drags herself from the shadows, sinewy muscle gliding easily under her inky skin. She twitters quietly, in leader-Prey’s direction, but her dark eyes do not leave Wolf.
Hello, Predator to Predator.
Father always took her past Mother’s barrier, only for hunting. When they came back splashed with the blood of Deer or Moose or Prey, Mother would nudge her daughter with an appreciative chitter (a ruggedly-crafted one, but she knew Mother cared) and she would know she had done well. Sister had almost entered the barrier once, and the memory has never left her mind.
A new scent drags her attention away from her thoughts on the Prey’s borders. It’s pungent and bitter in her nostrils, but there is no mistaking what it is. A border-marking, distinctly different from Prey’s, tinged with the scents of Predator. A different Predator from her, but a Predator nonetheless. She slips into the shadows, armored crown quietly caressing the maroon-gold of the branches above.
Who is this?
She reaches them after leader-Prey has arrived. Her eyes take in the Predator. She’s seen one like this before — furry and large and canine — and her mind identifies him. Wolf. She pauses in the shadows, knife-tail barely flicking against her inky heels, while leader-Prey speaks in their slippery language.
He is talking to Wolf.
She would laugh at the idea, if she could have. Amusement sparkles in her intelligent dark eyes. Their land is full of amazing things, but she knows little of shapeshifters. A Wolf shouldn’t understand a Prey’s language, not when he is a Predator. She drags herself from the shadows, sinewy muscle gliding easily under her inky skin. She twitters quietly, in leader-Prey’s direction, but her dark eyes do not leave Wolf.
Hello, Predator to Predator.
@[Crevan] / @[Modicum Mortem]