2018.01.26:Into the Woods
| Into the Woods | |
|---|---|
| Corvid and Lupus meet | |
| IC Date | January 26, 2018 |
| IC Time | 4:00 P.M. |
| Players | Blacktail, Flit! |
| Location | South Central edge of the Deep Forest |
| Prp/Tp | Into the Woods |
| Spheres | Garou, Shifter |
Dramatis Personae
In order of appearance: Blacktail and Flit!
Standing at 2'8" at the shoulder is a large, ruddy wolf. Compact and streamline, with a slender muzzle and long, sturdy limbs, she appears to be a Mexican wolf by breeding, with bright, attentive amber eyes, and a sharp intelligence that one wouldn't normally expect from a canine. Any canine, really.
Her fur is predominantly deep auburns and greys that bleed into a mix of beige, ginger, and on into white along her muzzle, throat, underbelly, and down along the insides of her legs. The thick fur lining her back is where the bulk of the greys in her coat really stand out, the muted tones mixed with a gradation of black that culminates at the darkened base, and tip of her tail.
The ginger coloration is most prominent along her ears, shoulders, flanks, and over the bridge of her muzzle. The only anomaly, otherwise, is at the base of her tail where the black scent gland is normally, the darker coloration swapped out for a bright red, tear-drop shaped patch.
A large shiny black bird with long black beak and bright blue eyes. A curious tilt of it's head gives it the appearance of something less wild, something almost approachable. Almost domestic.
Log
Into the Woods CoH - Friday, January 26, 2018, 4:00 PM
The natural, enchanting, beauty of lush, nature fully surrounds you, seeming to entrance onlookers with its exceptional and ageless magnificence. The highest oak tree reaches at about nearly two- hundred feet tall, it's branches and leaves cascading in the swift breeze and reaching out like massive, protective arms over the area. The leaves within the woods turn brilliant shades of violet, orange, red and yellow during certain times of the season.
The intense colors of the flowers highlight the background of the scenery all throughout the year as busy hummingbirds feed from the sweet nectar that they have to offer. The buzzing and zinging of bugs, mosquitos and bees is abundant around and about as they fill the air in swarms of annoying clusters. The work of nature is plentiful here as it seems to travel on in its endless cycle.
A-Large-Black-Bird attempts to hide high in the branches as he watches the wolf below.
Standing at 2'8" at the shoulder is a large, ruddy wolf. Compact and streamline, with a slender muzzle and long, sturdy limbs, she appears to be a Mexican wolf by breeding, with bright, attentive amber eyes, and a sharp intelligence that one wouldn't normally expect from a canine. Any canine, really.
Her fur is predominantly deep auburns and greys that bleed into a mix of beige, ginger, and on into white along her muzzle, throat, underbelly, and down along the insides of her legs. The thick fur lining her back is where the bulk of the greys in her coat really stand out, the muted tones mixed with a gradation of black that culminates at the darkened base, and tip of her tail.
The ginger coloration is most prominent along her ears, shoulders, flanks, and over the bridge of her muzzle. The only anomaly, otherwise, is at the base of her tail where the black scent gland is normally, the darker coloration swapped out for a bright red, tear-drop shaped patch.
A-Large-Black-Bird hops to a lower branch, seeming curious to get a better look at the ginger wolf.
He looks to the west and back down to the she-wolf as if trying to make a connection or perhaps looking to see if she has more friends coming.
The wolf is half-laying by the carcass of a downed rabbit, cleaning paws extended out in front of her. Her ears quirk at the sound of rustling overhead, but her behavior speaks of an animal
accustomed to the sound of blackbirds this close to a kill. She does look up eventually, amber eyes
focusing in on her onlooker, one ear flicking as she observes him, but it's not long before she's
back to cleaning her fore-paws.
A-Large-Black-Bird hops down again for a closer look. Sometimes wolves leave a bit behind. The young avian tries to sort if she's just finishing or getting started.
The carcass has been picked clean of the savory bits wolves seem more inclined towards, it seems,with a raven's preferred delicacy - the eyes - still intact in the rabbit's skull. She she-wolf herself remains placid for the time being, gaze occasionally flickering upwards to observe, but she makes no move to threaten or lunge, clearly satisfied with the meal she's had.
A-Large-Black-Bird drools a bit, glancing between the she-wolf and her leftovers. He greedily noted she had left the poor creatures eyes. What secrets might a simple rabbit know? What whispers might it share in the terror of it's final moments. He found his stomach was far more curious then his heart on the matter.
The wolf eases up on her cleaning, watching the eyes get bolted down with the usual kind of laziness that afflicts predators after a decent meal. It's not long after that a light breeze calls her attention to the trees overhead, the rustling leaves having their usual way of inciting vague paranoia in predators of her stature.
It's shrugged off after a moment, and she brushes her muzzles along the ground, body following in a partial scent roll, apparently having decided that the breeze and the cool ground are something to luxuriate in for a moment or two, the whole display followed by a lengthy yawn.
A-Large-Black-Bird hugs the branch less the she-wolf spots him while she begins her roll. He mimics the local blackbirds incase she made a passing glance. Nobody here but us blackbirds. No Mam.
As he peeked below he saw her yawning. Great. She looked about to take a nap next to his lunch. He'd fly off but he wasn't one to pass an easy meal.
He peeked again to see if the she-wolf was going to sleep yet.
Ethology is tricky if one isn't used to it, but anyone accustomed to the manner of wolves know the sign of a passive animal. Her ears only prick when there's sounds overhead from rustling trees and underbrush, a more alert look entering into her gaze during those moments, but - otherwise - she seems content to stay where she is. As for sleeping, that seems unlikely. She seems more curious about the interloper than anything, extending her head just enough to sniff at the air between them.
She sniffed. The she-wolf sniffed! Surely he'd been discovered. Damn wolves and those incredible snouts of theirs. Still she didn't seem overly territorial or aggressive. He wondered if she was from the patrols just north of here or from the bunch just west of here. He snorted and peeked down at the she-wolf. If she wasn't going to eat him, maybe they could be friends. Their peoples had a good history with such things.
If not, he could always just fly off.
The wolf cocks her head to one side, tail swishing against the ground a couple times before she lets her tongue loll out. Letting off excess heat, probably, the winter coat that's come in for the season likely making the relative heat rather oppressive. One way or another, *his* curiosity and attention has raised her own, some notable recognition entering into her eyes as she observes him. That this is not, perhaps, an ordinary blackbird-- any more than this might be an ordinary wolf, the
focus of higher intelligence in her gaze becoming a touch clearer in those moments.
He snorted out the frustration of indirect communication. He thought of various lupine sounds he could recall. A few he was almost sure meant some variation of "Get lost!" He tried to to recall any friendly sounds but all he could think of was the greetings of City canines with their over-friendly butt sniffing ways. Still, how different could it be really? He thought back and mimicked what he thought was a friendly greeting, "Woof!"
As long as he didn't just invite the she-wolf to sniff his feathery butt, he figured he was ahead of the game.
The wolf raises partly to her feet, shaking the grass and soil off of her fur. She *whuffs* back, a gutteral sound, more like a grunt than an actual bark, her tail partly raised but wagging behind her. She's still panting, her posture relaxed, the raised head and tail seeming to speak more of natural inclination than a bold assertion. She cocks her head again, seeming-- interested?-- in what other odd sounds the raven might produce.
The young corvid sighed. Wasn't an abject failure then. He ruffled his feathers in a shrug and stepped more boldly on the branch. She was a pretty wolf and a seeming friendly one. But those teeth were very sharp and though she just eaten, he'd been taught to be cautious with sharp teeth.
He mimicked her *whuff* back. That had sounded friendly enough. Right?
The wolf's tail wags a little more noticeably, and she leans forward as if to enter a play bow, but it doesn't quite get that far. 'Delighted' may not be the approximate word, nor amused, but it's certainly not a *bad* response. She mouths the rabbit's head not long after, getting enough of a purchase on it to pull it free of what's little is left of the spine. Bit grisly, but what's one to do, really?
She trots a short circle, then, and tosses the head into the air with a flick of her muzzle, letting it thump back down on the ground inoffensively. As if expecting for the game to be figured out by now, she mouths the head a second time, and goes for another toss, though-- let's be honest, "throwing" with one's muzzle is a bit imprecise.
What the... is she going to eat the head!? No. Wait. What? She just... tossed it?
Ooh ho ho. He wasn't hatched yesterday, so when the she-wolf made to toss it a second time, the young Raven-born was ready.
He swooped down to catch the rabbit skull. The thought that this might be the part she might make a fantastic leap into the air and swallow his own head briefly occurred to him. Still, he was a bold bird. Sometimes too bold for his own good.
With a graceful swoop he easily caught the skull but it was tossed too close to the ground. There was some question as to whether he might reach safe perch again.
The wolf makes no move to spring a trap, instead taking a couple prancing steps in place before, quite notably, circling around to again lay partly on her side. Seeming to acknowledge that this might not be quite good enough, she rolls again on her back, stretching out near the remains to pick up its scent, and leave hers behind.
It's an inelegant move, but obviously quite relaxed. Young animals like her aren't known for their vigilance, but given her earlier wariness about the rustling leaves, that seems not to be the case. She is, instead, relaxed, and unconcerned.
Back to the safety of his perch, he watched the bizarre antics of the she-wolf below. That was just... just embarrassing. He *cawed* in amusement, careful not to lose his bloody prise. It smelled of wolf spit but that was almost pleasant compared to some of the City Iron Box smells. He shook his head to dispel the memory of it.
His overly bold nature took him. Probably to much of Odin's breed in his bloodline. They had visited Mannin plenty in his island's history. He took hold of the skull and fluttered to the ground just a few yards from the she-wolf.
He watched her closely and hoped he could make a good escape should she desire desert in the near future. He'd been closer to wolves before but they were ones he'd known for much longer. Not a total fool, he side-eyed his best avenues for a quick escape.
The wolf lays on her side when she's finished scent-rolling, tongue hanging a bit more conservatively over her teeth. She doesn't bother getting up, save to lift her head just enough to sniff the air again, tail thumping the ground again.
Anyone who's spent any length of time among 'Gaia's chosen' knows the lupus from the homids-- and if this is one such shifter, she's almost assuredly lupus. There are no overtly exaggerated attempts to 'feign' human responses-- none of the innate quirks, like a tilted ear to mimic a raised brow, or jowls pulling back to mimic a broader smile.
Perhaps she's kin? They're known for slightly more exaggerated intelligence than "baser" animals, but for all her behavior, there's still something far too sharp about her eyes to be taken as anything but a sign that there are other forms she wears, none of which are being made manifest. And through it all, there's still not so much as a twitch to intercept the raven; there's only that craning of her head to take in his scent.
He judges her safe. Well fed at least. He huffs and ruffles his feathers amused. There is little doubt she is one of Gaia's favorites. Nor was it much surprise given the patrols north and west.
He looked down at the skull. The skull with two juicy eyes still intact. He wondered what the eyes would tell him of the she-wolf in front of him. With a final glance at the relaxed canine, he drank in an eye.
"Ack!" He mimicked the sounds revealed by the poor creature's final moments.
The squeal of the hare's death throws. The pouncing growl of it's killer. The sounds of it's final dying snapped bones and broken breath.
A rabbit's eyes are strange. The greens and blues of the surrounding forest are distinct entities to them, but indistinct, at the same time. The blind spot, up ahead, combined with a near-panoramic view of everything around them, brings a sense of innate fear with it. It's there that the waiting wolf charges from, appearing as though in peripheral vision, and seizing the animal by the throat, its attempt to scream cut short before any sound can emerge.
Quick, precise, practiced. Not the stumbling work of a yearling, nor a wolf looking to blow off steam by harrying smaller prey.
There's no time to hear the growls; just fading light. One can almost imagine the peculiar sensation of a body disconnected by the firewall of a broken neck. The breathing lungs and beating heart are simply gone; there is weight on the nerves of the neck, but that's all it is: weight. And then it's gone, all of it, clouded out and reduced to the passing shadows of the velvet curtain.
All as somber, and straightforward, and familiar as the death of anything incapable of higher reasoning. And as the visions pass, the wolf continues to watch with some curiosity, rolling partly onto her front with her forepaws extended. She cocks her head again, curious.
The young raven shook his head to shake the worst of the rabbit's lingering distress away. The only thing he really learned of the she-wolf was she was a capable hunter. Very efficient. Not one to play with her food. Not while it was alive at least. He ruffled his feathers in attempt to clear his head from the disjointed senses of another creature.
He preferred drinking the eyes of men. It was less primal, easier to separate from his own instincts. Still. He would take wisdom when he could get it, no matter how small and primitive the bits may come.
He regarded the she-wolf respectfully. He tried to come up with some way to complement the able hunter but all he could think of was a joyful sound he'd heard wolves make. So without a great deal of forethought, he tipped his head back alet go what he thought was a joyful howl.
"AHHHRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo!"
The wolf's ears perk, and she raises up on her forepaws into a sitting position. Her ears are pricked and forward suddenly, more an innate response that tickles at something in her, something she quickly forces down. In the distance, besides, there comes an answer. *Five* answers, to be exact; wolves howling less than a mile from the clearing the two of them occupy.
It's only here that the she-wolf howls back, tilting her head towards the pack. *Her* pack - her family - if the authority in her voice is telling of anything-- and what starts as a rally becomes more simplified. More for the simple joy of communicating at all.
The young corvid flappings in surprise and makes to a nearby branch. No, no,no,no, no, no. That wasn't what he wanted at all. There was... what... a HALF DOZEN wolfy voices raised in song. What had he started?
He watched the she-wolf sing. She seemed... happy, right?
But was it a made-a-new-friend happy or a found-desert happy or found-that-snoppy-bird-we-were-looking-for happy? And these were wolves, so...how different were those things from one another?
He shrugged ruffled his feathers and raised his head back again.
"AHRR-AHRR-AHROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo!"
The chorus continues, the rather forceful howls coming back from the pack dimming to something less confrontational. Less territorial. There are young animals in the mix out there, their voices higher pitched-- yearlings adding clumsy howls to the pack's calls. The she-wolf joins them, of course, allowing her voice to carry, strong and confident.
By the time it ends, she trots to a tree across from the perch that the raven occupies. Raises her leg to mark the underbrush at the base of it, her back paws scraping over the earth not long after, tail partly raised. She looks up at the raven, then. It's the first time that a more complicated method of communication is used, but it says enough.
There is a boundary line here. Maybe not to the raven himself, but this is her territory, just outside the perimeter of the bawn that the sept lays claim to. As if to suggest what just happened, she raises her head as if to howl, though her voice doesn't get thrown into it, leaving instead the higher-pitches of a whine whistling through her nose.
Huh? Okay. That's better than a 'Get Lost Growl', right? Taking the hint, but not forgetting the wolf's prezzie from earlier, the young raven swooped down and snatched the rabbit skull before flying back into the air.
He flew a circle around the pretty ginger she-wolf and *cawed* a few times before heading to the East. Away from the wolfy corner of the forest. Hopefully there was only one such territory but he'd only flew half it's measure so far.
A final dip of respect and he was gone. Perhaps he's meet the she-wolf again sometime.
