“Why not?,” her half-brother asked her, his laughter a demon wheeze that sends shivers down her spine, despite his harmlessness (in regards to her, at least). Grimacing, and knowing better but doing it anyway, she glances in Set’s direction. That boyish grin, the one with a hint of shadows at its edges, greets her gaze and she stifles a sigh. They always took opportunity to tease her; whenever Frostreaver was not among their motley numbers. “It builds character,” Niklas reasoned, already humming that funny little tune that brought his shaggy charges to mortal realms.
Her breath quickens in her lungs as she slowly backs away, dark tail wringing in frustration. Wide grey eyes round on Set again but the magician has already lost interest. He had grown increasingly distant the closer they came to Beqanna. He would curb Niklas’ games if they became too rough but that was the only help she could expect from him; he never demanded her demon-brother cease his antics altogether, silencing even Frostreaver when she protested. It is not that the hellborne beast’s bites hurt – not much, at least – but the fear that they expel, pushing before them like a poisonous fog … that is all too real. She had been learning to control the paralyzing frissions of fear that the hounds’ cries naturally elicted, with the guidance of her rough and raucous tribe, but it wasn’t something that came naturally to her.
She is almost to the treeline when they cry the hunt. The snow depth is thinner here, nearly nonexistent, allowing for a length of stride that she has not seen in some time. The trees grow increasingly close but she does not slow, eyes narrowed in concentration. The wintry air is sharp, her nostrils drawn wide and taut against the scent of freedom. It fills her lungs and lifts her soul. She slips on an exposed tree root, skinning the bark off of it and nearly falling to her knees, but she quickly rights herself, grunting with the effort. The branches tear at her mane and scratch at her black hide but she does not slow, not until the far tree line is in sight and the sound of her brother’s minions have faded. He usually does not give up the chase so quickly, not unless they have her cornered, torn and bleeding; but then everyone had been acting strange the closer they’d gotten to Beqanna.
Her legs ache and her lungs burn; sweat slicks her dark sides, matting her thick winter hair together, leaving skin exposed to the cold air. Slowing to a halt, she concentrates on controlling her breathing, slate grey eyes skimming her unfamiliar surroundings. They would find her – today, tomorrow, months from now. A sigh shudders in her chest as she eases to a halt. She was free of them for now at least. The sudden sound of voices sends her skittering back into the relative shelter of the forest. Still against the trunk of an old oak, she holds her breath until they’ve passed and then some. Finally, when the forest has long since settled back into cold silence, she emerges, swinging to the north and then to the west, sticking close to the tree line.
She eyes the lake where ice has yet to creep across surface, thirst scratching at her throat. A dark forelimb shifts, then the other, but still she does not leave her hidden spot amongst a small copse of evergreens. She is distrustful of the relative quiet – she’s only seen two others since she arrived and they had quickly concluded their conversation, leaving together. A sound in the distance draws her head about, though she cannot see much past the boughs surrounding her. He darts past her hiding place, all gold and shadows and angry sweat. She snorts, thankful she had not exposed herself yet. Ducking her head, she stares balefully at the beckoning lake. A drink would have to wait. If she tilts her head just so … he’s begun to pace back and forth now, not noticing the dark mare watching him, unabashed … Salomea watches them both – them all –, tucked away in the shadows that cup and caress her inky hide, as more draw toward the agitated stallion; they cannot help themselves.
She dozes, having lost interest in all but the white stallion. Something about his countenance had been familiar but she could not place him …
The sun has nearly sunk below the horizon when a small sound wakes her. Shifting nervously, she licks her lips, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes.
Her breath quickens in her lungs as she slowly backs away, dark tail wringing in frustration. Wide grey eyes round on Set again but the magician has already lost interest. He had grown increasingly distant the closer they came to Beqanna. He would curb Niklas’ games if they became too rough but that was the only help she could expect from him; he never demanded her demon-brother cease his antics altogether, silencing even Frostreaver when she protested. It is not that the hellborne beast’s bites hurt – not much, at least – but the fear that they expel, pushing before them like a poisonous fog … that is all too real. She had been learning to control the paralyzing frissions of fear that the hounds’ cries naturally elicted, with the guidance of her rough and raucous tribe, but it wasn’t something that came naturally to her.
She is almost to the treeline when they cry the hunt. The snow depth is thinner here, nearly nonexistent, allowing for a length of stride that she has not seen in some time. The trees grow increasingly close but she does not slow, eyes narrowed in concentration. The wintry air is sharp, her nostrils drawn wide and taut against the scent of freedom. It fills her lungs and lifts her soul. She slips on an exposed tree root, skinning the bark off of it and nearly falling to her knees, but she quickly rights herself, grunting with the effort. The branches tear at her mane and scratch at her black hide but she does not slow, not until the far tree line is in sight and the sound of her brother’s minions have faded. He usually does not give up the chase so quickly, not unless they have her cornered, torn and bleeding; but then everyone had been acting strange the closer they’d gotten to Beqanna.
Her legs ache and her lungs burn; sweat slicks her dark sides, matting her thick winter hair together, leaving skin exposed to the cold air. Slowing to a halt, she concentrates on controlling her breathing, slate grey eyes skimming her unfamiliar surroundings. They would find her – today, tomorrow, months from now. A sigh shudders in her chest as she eases to a halt. She was free of them for now at least. The sudden sound of voices sends her skittering back into the relative shelter of the forest. Still against the trunk of an old oak, she holds her breath until they’ve passed and then some. Finally, when the forest has long since settled back into cold silence, she emerges, swinging to the north and then to the west, sticking close to the tree line.
She eyes the lake where ice has yet to creep across surface, thirst scratching at her throat. A dark forelimb shifts, then the other, but still she does not leave her hidden spot amongst a small copse of evergreens. She is distrustful of the relative quiet – she’s only seen two others since she arrived and they had quickly concluded their conversation, leaving together. A sound in the distance draws her head about, though she cannot see much past the boughs surrounding her. He darts past her hiding place, all gold and shadows and angry sweat. She snorts, thankful she had not exposed herself yet. Ducking her head, she stares balefully at the beckoning lake. A drink would have to wait. If she tilts her head just so … he’s begun to pace back and forth now, not noticing the dark mare watching him, unabashed … Salomea watches them both – them all –, tucked away in the shadows that cup and caress her inky hide, as more draw toward the agitated stallion; they cannot help themselves.
She dozes, having lost interest in all but the white stallion. Something about his countenance had been familiar but she could not place him …
The sun has nearly sunk below the horizon when a small sound wakes her. Shifting nervously, she licks her lips, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes.
OOC - Please bear with me, I have not written in ages ...