Post by Ériu on May 12, 2015 3:16:33 GMT
Her perch on the hillside provides a clear view of her flock. Beyond their grazing, she can see the farmhouses of her neighbors. Setting her eyes forward, Ériu spies the tip-top seats of the Ferris wheel in Verdant Park. One-by-one, the riders take turns claiming the top and then dipping back into the surrounding woodlands in an infinite loop. A cry from above calls her attention to the hang-gliders in the sky. A glider drops suddenly, diving towards the earth in a way that reminds the Elf of birds before the skillful flyer pulls up and climbs the sky. The motions are so mesmerizing –beautiful- that she feels her breath quicken as she watches. It makes her think of free-falling, unbound hair flying wildly behind her in a tail of flame. The air is her breath, cool and plentiful. She dive-bombs, body a jack-knife slicing the wind, and as she speedily nears the ground
–closer, closer, closer-
The Elf is jerked from the sight of sailing hang-gliders, breaking the illusion. Her breathing slows. The sound of something coming towards her has interrupted –saved- her.
The ram bows its head, dark eyes staring apologetically at the lounging shepherdess. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She finds the idea of being startled by a sheep of all things to be completely asinine, so she shakes her head “no” and denies it flatly. “Don’t worry. You didn’t.” She finds herself staring at the woolly animal as he straightens his neck, getting lost in the fascinating spiral of his horns. A minute passes in her studies before the ram’s fidgeting wakes her to reality. He’s being tentative about something, but for what reason?
“What did you need?”
“I smell smoke.”
Her eyes narrow, senses heighten. “Where?”
The ram turns his body, and Ériu’s eyes follow the motions as the animal faces the Ferris wheel. The sky above it is red and smoky. The shepherdess bites down on her bottom lip and slowly rises, feels her body step forward – one, two, three- until her feet are carrying her down the hill in clumsy, hurried steps. Far behind her and getting farther, the ram cries out, “
WAIT! DON’T GO THAT WAAAAAY. YOUU’LL BUUUURN!”
Her body runs against the wind and blades of grass that catch her dress as she moves. The hint of smoke leaves a tantalizing taste on the back of her tongue, and that age-old promise of where there is smoke there is also fire keeps her legs moving in powerful strides. Burning chunks of hang-gliders are falling like meteorites, crumbling to ash as they hit the ground. She does not know –nor cares to know- what has become of the occupants. She stays the course, legs speeding up when the first trees of the forest are within so many meters. The panting in her ears is a distant sound, and she hardly recognizes it as her own breathing.
She is within the shadows of the forest when she finally stops her mad dash, coming to a realization.
Where are the people, a question asked as her feet carry her along the stone path leading to the park. Her head turns to a darkened area between the trees when something stirs along the forest floor. There’s nothing that can be seen. When her gaze is turned back to the path before her, a pair of dark, round eyes on a pale face is inches from her own. A split, heart-beat later, a sharp and feminine shriek is erupting from a widened, black mouth, and Ériu feels her body lock, something like electricity racing down her frozen limbs.
She breathes in quickly but can’t breathe-out, and as the surrounding forest fades to white, she finds herself without words.
It feels like she is buried in leaves or in fallen clouds, and she cannot move to save herself. As the remnants of Ériu’s dream –or rather nightmare- flicker before her wide-open eyes, she becomes aware that she had burrowed herself deep into her blankets during the middle of the night. She still cannot move, as the paralysis remains, having done so deep as her tongue. Her chest is heavy and pressed against her mattress, making each breath a labor in itself as she lies crookedly on her stomach. Each second that passes feels like one step closer to her death, and the need to panic is strong.
Another inhuman scream cuts through the room.
Bean sidhe!
“Wave-“ She rasps, heart-beat loud in her ears. She tries again. “Waverly,” weak but on her tongue at least. The paralysis slowly lets up. Carefully, the teenager crawls her way to the edge of her bed and gingerly sits up. She grasps the blanket over her head as she searches the room for her supernatural visitor but finds nothing until she looks at her open window and sees a black-and-white bird perched on the sill, the morning light spilling off its feathers. Its mouth drops open as it lets loose another shriek-like caw. The Shaman feels herself relax -but just a pinch- as she dangles her legs off the side of her bed and allows the blanket to slip from the top of her head and off her shoulders.
A crow. . .
She blinks when Waverly’s voice rings from outside. Ériu gets up, shaking the lasting images of her nightmare from her brain, and approaches her window, flapping her arms at the crow. It caws in complaint but flies towards the ground, where several other crows and Maple and Waverly are gathered. The Werecat sisters are currently trying to drive away the murder but to little avail. Sleepily, the Elf watches Maple shoo away a pair of birds from what looks to be a sheep corpse.
Ériu frowns.
“What happened,” she yells.
Waverly’s head turns towards the Elf leaning outside the window, red-blonde hair tied in twin-tails that drape limply down her shoulders. She’s still in her pajamas, and this annoys the Werecat. “Ah? So y’ ain’t dead after all, Eri.” Sarcasm laces her words. “Maple, look who decided to wake up this mornin’.”
Maple glances at the teenager but says nothing. She’s got a rake that’s poised for the crows.
“Hold on. I’m comin’. I’m comin’.”
Moments later, Ériu has joined the sisters outside, fully dressed and fully confused as to what has become of her flock. Maple is calm as she asks the Elf why she hadn’t brought in the sheep before going to bed last night, to which the Shaman has no clear-cut answer. She barely remembers anything before the dream; her thoughts are fuzzy, but the longer she thinks on it, the clearer it becomes. She had been working on a project in the barn last night and fell asleep. Somewhere between falling asleep and waking up this morning, she must have managed to crawl into bed. Maple’s eyes never leave the face of her Elfen sister as she explains herself. She is clearly upset and disapproving of Ériu’s neglect, but she controls herself. Waverly, on the other hand, does not bother hiding it, but she spends her energy on chasing off the remainder of the crow murder and not trying to barf at the sight of the mangled sheep corpse.
She’s not going to be making mutton again for a looong time.
“S’know use tryin’ to figure out what kinda animal did it,” Maple says as she and Ériu join Waverly. “Crows done picked away all the evidence.”
“How many are missin’ from the flock,” Ériu asks.
“Three lambs. One of the rams is injured. Seems he was tryin’ to protect the rest of ‘em.”
This fact causes Ériu’s insides to bristle. “Where is he now?”
“In the barn, restin’.”
When Ériu goes to visit the ram, she is careful to approach him with the sincerest form of remorse. She is also here to get information from him, but she does not want to push him. He has been a very loyal creature to her, and she owes it to him to honor his bravery and his loss. Based on the condition of his damaged flock, he’s lucky to have made it to the morning. He looks like he’s suffered as someone’s punching bag, unusual given the types of predators in the area. No wolf has done this, that much the Elf can tell.
“I’m sorry.” She pauses. There is too much to say and not enough words to say it, so she has to pick carefully. “I was so focused on my project. . .that I neglected to protect your family. I have failed you. . . But it will not happen again.”
There is a silence, thick and heavy, as the ram lays there in the hay, still and considering.
“You’ll leave one day. What then,” he says finally. The question catches the Elf off-guard, having had expected either an acceptance or a rejection of her apology. At her place knelt before the ram, she stiffens her back.
“Maple and Waverly will take care of you. . .You’ll be in good hands.”
“Where are you going?”
“School, hopefully.” Or maybe the frontline of a battlefield. She isn’t picky.
“You’re going away to learn?”
The Elf nods.
“What will they teach you?”
“I don’t know. Magic. How to fight. All kinds of things.”
“Is that why you work in the barn so much now?”
“Yes.” By now, Ériu has become frustrated with his constant stream of questions. She hadn’t figured that he’d be in such a talkative mood considering his injuries, but in a way, she is glad. This means that he isn’t on the verge of death.
“Why do your kind do it,” he asks, voice quiet. The Elf tilts her head, confused.
“Do what?”
“. . .Push yourselves.”
She doesn’t know how to answer this question. It takes another bout of quiet consideration before she herself realizes the answer. Ériu coughs a chuckle, sheepish smile small as she shrugs.
“We want to know what it feels like to be complete.”
Afterwords, she asks him about the attack. The ram speaks nervously about it, obviously not wanting to relive the details.
“It walked on twos. . .like your kind, but much bigger. . .Had horns and big teeth. It carried away the babies. We-we tried our best to fight it, but it was just so big!”
“It’s okay. . . .and thank you.” The teenager stands and starts to dig through her inventory. The ram stares up at her, blinking tiredly. This whole thing has exhausted him.
“What are you doing?”
Beltaine materializes in her grasping hands. Ériu glances down at the ram. “I’m goin' to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Now which way did it go?”
Despite her urgency to get the job done, Ériu doesn’t actually set out to kill the monster. She wants to scout out its hidey hole first somewhere in the forests of Green. Perhaps, if she’s lucky, she can rescue the lambs, but she will not delude herself into thinking they are still alive. She cannot doubt one thing, however:
This thing will plainly suffer for targeting her flock.
words: 1842
ooc: So this is totally open. Let's go Oni huntin'! Bring your huntin' sticks!
–closer, closer, closer-
The Elf is jerked from the sight of sailing hang-gliders, breaking the illusion. Her breathing slows. The sound of something coming towards her has interrupted –saved- her.
The ram bows its head, dark eyes staring apologetically at the lounging shepherdess. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She finds the idea of being startled by a sheep of all things to be completely asinine, so she shakes her head “no” and denies it flatly. “Don’t worry. You didn’t.” She finds herself staring at the woolly animal as he straightens his neck, getting lost in the fascinating spiral of his horns. A minute passes in her studies before the ram’s fidgeting wakes her to reality. He’s being tentative about something, but for what reason?
“What did you need?”
“I smell smoke.”
Her eyes narrow, senses heighten. “Where?”
The ram turns his body, and Ériu’s eyes follow the motions as the animal faces the Ferris wheel. The sky above it is red and smoky. The shepherdess bites down on her bottom lip and slowly rises, feels her body step forward – one, two, three- until her feet are carrying her down the hill in clumsy, hurried steps. Far behind her and getting farther, the ram cries out, “
WAIT! DON’T GO THAT WAAAAAY. YOUU’LL BUUUURN!”
Her body runs against the wind and blades of grass that catch her dress as she moves. The hint of smoke leaves a tantalizing taste on the back of her tongue, and that age-old promise of where there is smoke there is also fire keeps her legs moving in powerful strides. Burning chunks of hang-gliders are falling like meteorites, crumbling to ash as they hit the ground. She does not know –nor cares to know- what has become of the occupants. She stays the course, legs speeding up when the first trees of the forest are within so many meters. The panting in her ears is a distant sound, and she hardly recognizes it as her own breathing.
She is within the shadows of the forest when she finally stops her mad dash, coming to a realization.
Where are the people, a question asked as her feet carry her along the stone path leading to the park. Her head turns to a darkened area between the trees when something stirs along the forest floor. There’s nothing that can be seen. When her gaze is turned back to the path before her, a pair of dark, round eyes on a pale face is inches from her own. A split, heart-beat later, a sharp and feminine shriek is erupting from a widened, black mouth, and Ériu feels her body lock, something like electricity racing down her frozen limbs.
She breathes in quickly but can’t breathe-out, and as the surrounding forest fades to white, she finds herself without words.
It feels like she is buried in leaves or in fallen clouds, and she cannot move to save herself. As the remnants of Ériu’s dream –or rather nightmare- flicker before her wide-open eyes, she becomes aware that she had burrowed herself deep into her blankets during the middle of the night. She still cannot move, as the paralysis remains, having done so deep as her tongue. Her chest is heavy and pressed against her mattress, making each breath a labor in itself as she lies crookedly on her stomach. Each second that passes feels like one step closer to her death, and the need to panic is strong.
Another inhuman scream cuts through the room.
Bean sidhe!
“Wave-“ She rasps, heart-beat loud in her ears. She tries again. “Waverly,” weak but on her tongue at least. The paralysis slowly lets up. Carefully, the teenager crawls her way to the edge of her bed and gingerly sits up. She grasps the blanket over her head as she searches the room for her supernatural visitor but finds nothing until she looks at her open window and sees a black-and-white bird perched on the sill, the morning light spilling off its feathers. Its mouth drops open as it lets loose another shriek-like caw. The Shaman feels herself relax -but just a pinch- as she dangles her legs off the side of her bed and allows the blanket to slip from the top of her head and off her shoulders.
A crow. . .
She blinks when Waverly’s voice rings from outside. Ériu gets up, shaking the lasting images of her nightmare from her brain, and approaches her window, flapping her arms at the crow. It caws in complaint but flies towards the ground, where several other crows and Maple and Waverly are gathered. The Werecat sisters are currently trying to drive away the murder but to little avail. Sleepily, the Elf watches Maple shoo away a pair of birds from what looks to be a sheep corpse.
Ériu frowns.
“What happened,” she yells.
Waverly’s head turns towards the Elf leaning outside the window, red-blonde hair tied in twin-tails that drape limply down her shoulders. She’s still in her pajamas, and this annoys the Werecat. “Ah? So y’ ain’t dead after all, Eri.” Sarcasm laces her words. “Maple, look who decided to wake up this mornin’.”
Maple glances at the teenager but says nothing. She’s got a rake that’s poised for the crows.
“Hold on. I’m comin’. I’m comin’.”
Moments later, Ériu has joined the sisters outside, fully dressed and fully confused as to what has become of her flock. Maple is calm as she asks the Elf why she hadn’t brought in the sheep before going to bed last night, to which the Shaman has no clear-cut answer. She barely remembers anything before the dream; her thoughts are fuzzy, but the longer she thinks on it, the clearer it becomes. She had been working on a project in the barn last night and fell asleep. Somewhere between falling asleep and waking up this morning, she must have managed to crawl into bed. Maple’s eyes never leave the face of her Elfen sister as she explains herself. She is clearly upset and disapproving of Ériu’s neglect, but she controls herself. Waverly, on the other hand, does not bother hiding it, but she spends her energy on chasing off the remainder of the crow murder and not trying to barf at the sight of the mangled sheep corpse.
She’s not going to be making mutton again for a looong time.
“S’know use tryin’ to figure out what kinda animal did it,” Maple says as she and Ériu join Waverly. “Crows done picked away all the evidence.”
“How many are missin’ from the flock,” Ériu asks.
“Three lambs. One of the rams is injured. Seems he was tryin’ to protect the rest of ‘em.”
This fact causes Ériu’s insides to bristle. “Where is he now?”
“In the barn, restin’.”
When Ériu goes to visit the ram, she is careful to approach him with the sincerest form of remorse. She is also here to get information from him, but she does not want to push him. He has been a very loyal creature to her, and she owes it to him to honor his bravery and his loss. Based on the condition of his damaged flock, he’s lucky to have made it to the morning. He looks like he’s suffered as someone’s punching bag, unusual given the types of predators in the area. No wolf has done this, that much the Elf can tell.
“I’m sorry.” She pauses. There is too much to say and not enough words to say it, so she has to pick carefully. “I was so focused on my project. . .that I neglected to protect your family. I have failed you. . . But it will not happen again.”
There is a silence, thick and heavy, as the ram lays there in the hay, still and considering.
“You’ll leave one day. What then,” he says finally. The question catches the Elf off-guard, having had expected either an acceptance or a rejection of her apology. At her place knelt before the ram, she stiffens her back.
“Maple and Waverly will take care of you. . .You’ll be in good hands.”
“Where are you going?”
“School, hopefully.” Or maybe the frontline of a battlefield. She isn’t picky.
“You’re going away to learn?”
The Elf nods.
“What will they teach you?”
“I don’t know. Magic. How to fight. All kinds of things.”
“Is that why you work in the barn so much now?”
“Yes.” By now, Ériu has become frustrated with his constant stream of questions. She hadn’t figured that he’d be in such a talkative mood considering his injuries, but in a way, she is glad. This means that he isn’t on the verge of death.
“Why do your kind do it,” he asks, voice quiet. The Elf tilts her head, confused.
“Do what?”
“. . .Push yourselves.”
She doesn’t know how to answer this question. It takes another bout of quiet consideration before she herself realizes the answer. Ériu coughs a chuckle, sheepish smile small as she shrugs.
“We want to know what it feels like to be complete.”
Afterwords, she asks him about the attack. The ram speaks nervously about it, obviously not wanting to relive the details.
“It walked on twos. . .like your kind, but much bigger. . .Had horns and big teeth. It carried away the babies. We-we tried our best to fight it, but it was just so big!”
“It’s okay. . . .and thank you.” The teenager stands and starts to dig through her inventory. The ram stares up at her, blinking tiredly. This whole thing has exhausted him.
“What are you doing?”
Beltaine materializes in her grasping hands. Ériu glances down at the ram. “I’m goin' to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Now which way did it go?”
Despite her urgency to get the job done, Ériu doesn’t actually set out to kill the monster. She wants to scout out its hidey hole first somewhere in the forests of Green. Perhaps, if she’s lucky, she can rescue the lambs, but she will not delude herself into thinking they are still alive. She cannot doubt one thing, however:
This thing will plainly suffer for targeting her flock.
words: 1842
ooc: So this is totally open. Let's go Oni huntin'! Bring your huntin' sticks!
