01-05-2020, 11:16 AM
There is something so inherently satisfying about the crunching of bones between his teeth.
The little fox sits on a fallen log after his meal is finished, daintily rubbing his muzzle with his paws, scrubbing away some of the blood that has coated it. There isn’t much – he’d made short work of the doomed mouse that had strayed too far from its nest. With a belly full of rodent, the fox settles in for a quick nap. His puffy rust and white tail curls around his body and the tip of it lays softly over his nose for warmth. Hunting takes skill and prowess, but it also takes a lot of energy. The fox has learned to bolster his energy reserves whenever he can, as often as he can. It is a lesson he’s carried with him all his time as a fox.
It is a lesson he will remember when he is no longer a fox.
~
The winter moon is absent in the inky, cloudless sky. It is cold, bitterly so, despite the earliness of the season, but the fox hardly notices. His thick coat has kept him snug and warm on his wooden perch. He stretches and yawns and blinks against the dark. There is a familiar scratching noise somewhere off in the forest, a sound his little canine body cannot ignore. He tilts his head to pinpoint its location.
Another mouse!
And he’s off.
Darting through the undergrowth, the flash of red and white covers ground quickly. He knows instinctually where to put his paws, where to duck, where to weave. The mouse will be no match for him. He’s fresh and rested and ready. He is the ultimate predator for the humble mouse. He anticipates the satisfying crunch already, there’s just one obstacle left.
The thin log stretches over a semi-frozen creek. Just on the other side, the fox hears the rodent’s endless scratching. He bounds onto the thick branch, the epitome of confidence. The animal has crossed many streams under far trickier conditions to be too concerned for the easy crossing here and now. His tail even arcs over his back boldly.
But then there is a crack.
The fox falls, but even as he is anticipating the cold of the water rushing up to meet him, he feels a sharp cut across his back instead.
The splash into the frigid stream never happens, in fact. In the blink of an eye, the once-fox now-horse appears on a desolate plain.
Cor surveys the place he has fallen with a keen and eager eye. Even though it is night, there is a creeping feeling about this place that it should rattle his bones, send his heart to beating faster. It is almost like an inherent darkness that pulses underneath him, that has sewn the very soil with its flesh. The young stallion has no reference to Death. Perhaps if he did, the word would fall from his tongue as he named this place.
As it is, he is left to shiver with excitement. His parents have told him how horses would be whisked away on occasion, how they would be brought along on grand adventures that were never for the faint of heart. Cor thinks he’s either dreaming or he’s about to be thrust into something thrilling. But he also feels a deep ache just under his skin. His own skin menagerie is glaringly absent, all the animals (along with the vitality that keeps him from aging) are gone from him. He can no longer call upon the sparrow, the dolphin, the fox. He is alone, truly, for the first time in his life.
Ahead of the red and orange stallion rise two large stones. He goes to them because there is nothing else on this hallowed ground. One is jet black and carved with horns, some of which he’s worn while borrowing the shape of another animal. The other is green and similarly adorned with wings of seemingly every type. He is drawn to both of them (how could he not be, when he’s shared the skin of so many creatures?) but it is clear there is a choice to be made.
Without a second thought, Cor reaches his muzzle towards the black monolith. He has always primarily been a creature of the earth, even if he takes to the sky with bird’s wings on occasion (and enjoys each and every reckless flight). The earth is grounding, steadying, in a way the air will never be. When his nose connects, he feels a tingling start at the base of his skull and the sensation grows outwards. Blackbuck horns erupt from his head at a rate he is used to but not by his own volition. The weight is familiar in this strange place as he looks about him again, wondering what story he has fallen into.
ooc: Cor is not yet tied to any land or kingdom.
The little fox sits on a fallen log after his meal is finished, daintily rubbing his muzzle with his paws, scrubbing away some of the blood that has coated it. There isn’t much – he’d made short work of the doomed mouse that had strayed too far from its nest. With a belly full of rodent, the fox settles in for a quick nap. His puffy rust and white tail curls around his body and the tip of it lays softly over his nose for warmth. Hunting takes skill and prowess, but it also takes a lot of energy. The fox has learned to bolster his energy reserves whenever he can, as often as he can. It is a lesson he’s carried with him all his time as a fox.
It is a lesson he will remember when he is no longer a fox.
~
The winter moon is absent in the inky, cloudless sky. It is cold, bitterly so, despite the earliness of the season, but the fox hardly notices. His thick coat has kept him snug and warm on his wooden perch. He stretches and yawns and blinks against the dark. There is a familiar scratching noise somewhere off in the forest, a sound his little canine body cannot ignore. He tilts his head to pinpoint its location.
Another mouse!
And he’s off.
Darting through the undergrowth, the flash of red and white covers ground quickly. He knows instinctually where to put his paws, where to duck, where to weave. The mouse will be no match for him. He’s fresh and rested and ready. He is the ultimate predator for the humble mouse. He anticipates the satisfying crunch already, there’s just one obstacle left.
The thin log stretches over a semi-frozen creek. Just on the other side, the fox hears the rodent’s endless scratching. He bounds onto the thick branch, the epitome of confidence. The animal has crossed many streams under far trickier conditions to be too concerned for the easy crossing here and now. His tail even arcs over his back boldly.
But then there is a crack.
The fox falls, but even as he is anticipating the cold of the water rushing up to meet him, he feels a sharp cut across his back instead.
The splash into the frigid stream never happens, in fact. In the blink of an eye, the once-fox now-horse appears on a desolate plain.
Cor surveys the place he has fallen with a keen and eager eye. Even though it is night, there is a creeping feeling about this place that it should rattle his bones, send his heart to beating faster. It is almost like an inherent darkness that pulses underneath him, that has sewn the very soil with its flesh. The young stallion has no reference to Death. Perhaps if he did, the word would fall from his tongue as he named this place.
As it is, he is left to shiver with excitement. His parents have told him how horses would be whisked away on occasion, how they would be brought along on grand adventures that were never for the faint of heart. Cor thinks he’s either dreaming or he’s about to be thrust into something thrilling. But he also feels a deep ache just under his skin. His own skin menagerie is glaringly absent, all the animals (along with the vitality that keeps him from aging) are gone from him. He can no longer call upon the sparrow, the dolphin, the fox. He is alone, truly, for the first time in his life.
Ahead of the red and orange stallion rise two large stones. He goes to them because there is nothing else on this hallowed ground. One is jet black and carved with horns, some of which he’s worn while borrowing the shape of another animal. The other is green and similarly adorned with wings of seemingly every type. He is drawn to both of them (how could he not be, when he’s shared the skin of so many creatures?) but it is clear there is a choice to be made.
Without a second thought, Cor reaches his muzzle towards the black monolith. He has always primarily been a creature of the earth, even if he takes to the sky with bird’s wings on occasion (and enjoys each and every reckless flight). The earth is grounding, steadying, in a way the air will never be. When his nose connects, he feels a tingling start at the base of his skull and the sensation grows outwards. Blackbuck horns erupt from his head at a rate he is used to but not by his own volition. The weight is familiar in this strange place as he looks about him again, wondering what story he has fallen into.
ooc: Cor is not yet tied to any land or kingdom.