03-28-2019, 02:49 PM
The old wolf’s ears flattened, vexed by the pup’s obstinate nature. An elder's shared wisdom should have been enough to steer the pup away to more interesting diversions. Must he always disobey? Countless times Thorn Paw had watched the forgetful one amuse herself in these waters; a sentiment he admittedly did not choose to share with his kin, for it offered up the unwanted question of why the girl kept coming back. Still, he knew she was unlikely to be drowning. A grumble echoed for the tiresome distraction -- a waste of energy better spent on other endeavours, he might add -- but was perhaps at least a little mollified by the sending of good news. It stayed the hard nip that might otherwise have followed Wyldfyre’s curious stance and absent communication, anyway. And? The demand for detail was lost as the young one ran for the water.
Annoyance shook from his coat. For now he accepted youth’s antics, though maybe it was simply the mold for this one pup (he was beginning to suspect it. Had pack found him too late?). But no, that was unfair, for the instinct would serve him well once those instincts were actually honed. Thorn Paw recognised the sourness of a mood shadowed by the twisted one and all this cold and after a moment he stretched, massive jaws cracking a yawn. A lesson it was then.
His old bones ached as he followed in a slow pad down towards the shore, staying well back from the water. He did not need the proximity to speak with his brother, of course, but he wished to be in easy view of the interloper, so that his flat gold stare might impress upon her a memory of their last meeting as soon as she caught notice of his shadow. Impatience shimmered, but he doubted Wyldfyre would respond until his curiosity was sated. From his distant perch he watched the pup pluck her up from the waves. Leave it where you found it, brother, he urged, somewhat wearily. Not pack, not mate, not sister, and not a concern of ours. In the sending she was the rush of a springtime river that disappeared suddenly into the darkness of a crevice. Not waters for swimming or drinking or the hunt. She was like a landmark of this world; not dangerous persay, but better avoided when possible.
A yelp followed the sudden capture of arms. Nimeda had been focused, or maybe the trespass so swift she had not even noticed the direction from whence it came. “I was winning,” she insisted, though the words spluttered out more of a cough. Her Other was unlikely to thank her for the raw throat she would wake to after swallowing all that icewater, but there would probably be little other damage. It was too late to worry about now anyway. Her body burrowed with shivers as she was drawn out like a fish from its home, though since she was not in fact a fish, she did cower to curl against the nearest heat source. A large slab of chest filled the horizon of her vision, between the drownings of sleek hair plastered down her face at least.
It took a moment to readjust. It was easier to believe a thing than to unbelieve a thing, and she was already greatly distracted by the discovery of what capture actually meant. She’d never seen another person on these frozen shores (unless the Grey Lady could be counted, and Nimeda didn’t think that was the case), and curiosity pulled her gaze upwards even as it was a frown that greeted his concern. It was a face shaped by nature’s loving hands; weathered and bearded. Temptation itched her fingers to trace the shaven sides of his scalp, but she had not yet quite convinced the cold its grip was imaginary. Given Grim’s reaction to the quest of her touch, perhaps it was no bad thing. So for now she only looked.
The stranger’s eyes were burnished as Charon's beloved coins, something she had seen many times before, though not with this face. Most of the kin were sparkly new, like Calvin, but this one did not entirely feel it; he resonated, like Jon and Mara and the Grimnir, plucking at frayed strands of memory she could never quite squeeze the understanding from. “Now where did you come from?” She poked at him with a numb finger, faintly accusatory of the fact he had spoiled her game with the water. Yet something playful peeked coyly behind -- for after all, games are better with two.
Nimeda wriggled like she might slip straight through the cage of his arms, but it was a delighted smile lifting her lips, not fear. “Put me down,” she said. A mischievous tease sparked the grey waters of her gaze, like she was certain of her ability to convince him one way or another. “I will race you to the shore!”
Annoyance shook from his coat. For now he accepted youth’s antics, though maybe it was simply the mold for this one pup (he was beginning to suspect it. Had pack found him too late?). But no, that was unfair, for the instinct would serve him well once those instincts were actually honed. Thorn Paw recognised the sourness of a mood shadowed by the twisted one and all this cold and after a moment he stretched, massive jaws cracking a yawn. A lesson it was then.
His old bones ached as he followed in a slow pad down towards the shore, staying well back from the water. He did not need the proximity to speak with his brother, of course, but he wished to be in easy view of the interloper, so that his flat gold stare might impress upon her a memory of their last meeting as soon as she caught notice of his shadow. Impatience shimmered, but he doubted Wyldfyre would respond until his curiosity was sated. From his distant perch he watched the pup pluck her up from the waves. Leave it where you found it, brother, he urged, somewhat wearily. Not pack, not mate, not sister, and not a concern of ours. In the sending she was the rush of a springtime river that disappeared suddenly into the darkness of a crevice. Not waters for swimming or drinking or the hunt. She was like a landmark of this world; not dangerous persay, but better avoided when possible.
A yelp followed the sudden capture of arms. Nimeda had been focused, or maybe the trespass so swift she had not even noticed the direction from whence it came. “I was winning,” she insisted, though the words spluttered out more of a cough. Her Other was unlikely to thank her for the raw throat she would wake to after swallowing all that icewater, but there would probably be little other damage. It was too late to worry about now anyway. Her body burrowed with shivers as she was drawn out like a fish from its home, though since she was not in fact a fish, she did cower to curl against the nearest heat source. A large slab of chest filled the horizon of her vision, between the drownings of sleek hair plastered down her face at least.
It took a moment to readjust. It was easier to believe a thing than to unbelieve a thing, and she was already greatly distracted by the discovery of what capture actually meant. She’d never seen another person on these frozen shores (unless the Grey Lady could be counted, and Nimeda didn’t think that was the case), and curiosity pulled her gaze upwards even as it was a frown that greeted his concern. It was a face shaped by nature’s loving hands; weathered and bearded. Temptation itched her fingers to trace the shaven sides of his scalp, but she had not yet quite convinced the cold its grip was imaginary. Given Grim’s reaction to the quest of her touch, perhaps it was no bad thing. So for now she only looked.
The stranger’s eyes were burnished as Charon's beloved coins, something she had seen many times before, though not with this face. Most of the kin were sparkly new, like Calvin, but this one did not entirely feel it; he resonated, like Jon and Mara and the Grimnir, plucking at frayed strands of memory she could never quite squeeze the understanding from. “Now where did you come from?” She poked at him with a numb finger, faintly accusatory of the fact he had spoiled her game with the water. Yet something playful peeked coyly behind -- for after all, games are better with two.
Nimeda wriggled like she might slip straight through the cage of his arms, but it was a delighted smile lifting her lips, not fear. “Put me down,” she said. A mischievous tease sparked the grey waters of her gaze, like she was certain of her ability to convince him one way or another. “I will race you to the shore!”