Closed A Hunting We Will Go

[Mealla Stormsong]

10th Fall, 512 A.V Riverfall was a strange place – too crowded, too smelly, too full of people she did not know and had not seen before. It was overwhelming, and so very different to the tent city of Endrykas and the pavilions that moved across the Sea of Grass, that Mealla had fled as soon as she was able, excusing herself from Sama’el’s presence. She needed the space, needed to be alone to collect her thoughts, and, most of all, she needed to feel close to Zulrav. It was harder to feel his presence among all the walls and the stone. Oh, people called Riverfall a paradise, but she did not think so. Stones were not beautiful. They were too harsh, too inflexible, and utterly devoid of life. Not like the Sea of Grass, where life flared every day. Mealla gripped her bow as she urged Andraste forward, enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair. It was the first time that she had had a chance to hunt in what seemed like forever, though - Sama'el would be pleased to know - she was close enough to Riverfall to not be in any danger of being eaten or maimed by a hungry predator, although she sometimes wondered if he secretly hoped that she would fall. She had not been easy. Pushing the thoughts aside, she smiled and let out a laugh as she stretched out her arms to the sides and tilted back, not needing to grip the yvas with her hands for balance. She rode like this for some time before slowing, becoming alert, and drawing Andraste to a halt. Time to hunt. She slid from the Strider’s back, grabbing a few arrows from where they were tied to the yvas, and crept forward. She crouched low, her entire body tense, as her eyes flicked this way and that. She wasn’t the best of hunters – her father had always told her that she was far too loud and could wake a sleeping lion -, but improvement did not come without practice, or so she had always heard. It didn’t matter if she didn’t catch anything; she was just happy to be away from Riverfall for just a little while. There was sudden sound in the long grasses to her right, and she spun, lifting her bow and nocking an arrow to the string. She drew the string back, back, and back, her arm shaking slightly with the effort, and sighted towards the sound. She bit her lip in concentration, and finally let go. The arrow shot off into the grasses, and Mealla braced herself, hoping to hear the sound of it thudding against flesh. But there was no sound. Silence.

[Rhy]

Running is not Rhy's strong suit. Which is quite funny seeing as she is, in essence, a dog built to run. Oh, she's faster then your average humans, Akalaks, and could do laps around a Charoda like its tied to a tree, but she's not fast. As she sees it she is frequently outstripped by deer, rabbits and the odd passing gull. This wouldn't have come so fully into her attention had she not try to chase down a pig. And fail. She is running low to the grass on four aching legs. Her prey, a sizeable boar, is still a good ten yards ahead and pumping its long legs like it plans to run a rut into the ground. She has been tracking and chasing the cheeky bastard off and on for a good bell now, and she's no closer to bagging it. She tries her hand at stressing different parts of her body to try and pick up her pace. First, in a sudden inspiration, vaulting forward with her back legs curled like a jackrabbit. While this gives her a burst of speed, most of her energy is eaten up in the bounding leaps and she can't hold the speed for longer then a few minutes. She curses silently as she is forced to fall behind to regain some energy. Next, thinking about how a cat runs, she tries lengthening her strides until her ribs cry in pain. Her weight feels lighter as its distributed evenly through her body, but she gains no speed. The effort it takes to stretch out her entire torso and contract it cancels out the length of her reach. In a final attempt, slowly bleeding into desperate, she tries pulling herself along with the pressure on her chest and forelegs. To her horror she starts falling even further behind. Her natural rhythm shifts as her physically weaker forelegs try to take the brunt of the speed they can't manage. Nothing's working. Ears flat to her head and her tongue whipping in the wind like a flag, she huffs and drives her body forward on the last of her strength of will. In a final bid to keep the pig in range she angles a bit to the west in a wide arc so the animal might be a bit more inclined to stay within her hunting ground outside of Riverfall. She could go after new prey once she stops for a rest, but now she has something to prove to herself. She has to run down that boar, dammit. Maybe that tough meat it keeps so well protected will help her build the muscle to run down even bigger prey. TWANG A fletched arrow passes in front of her chest close enough to ripple the fur, and there is a long moment of drumming silence as the shocked dog tries to stop, jump and shift at the same time. She sails out of the thicket of tall grass with the momentum and does a crash-and-roll onto her back. She immediately throws her hands up to thwart any more incoming arrows. "Wait! For the love of the gods, wait!" Rhy's voice is strained and winded from having landed on her back, but it still carries well. "Cannibalism is a crime and I'm petching skinny as it is!" One of her ingrained responses when faced with a hunter sporting a ranged weapon is to shift immediately. All the better to hide her beautiful fur and beg for mercy. And while on her back she catches sight of a pale Strider mare out a ways. And not a stones throw farther, a tall Drykas girl, her hair worn loose and long and buffeting around her cloudy, starry grey eyes. Rhy would consider her beautiful, except she is holding the bow that was levelled at her heart a moment ago. A thrumming still feels through her back, and she discounts her heart as the source, for the beat is way too slow. Is that the sound of hoofbeats? The pair isn't moving, it can't be them. My pig is getting away, she realizes with a bubbling frustration.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Another arrow almost followed the first at the sudden sounds – the crashes. A Glassbeak, was Mealla’s first thought, for nothing else could be so loud nor so clumsy, and it was better to just shoot then think, and she moved to do so, bracing herself once again, one leg placed slightly behind the other, but the voice filtered into her mind a moment later – a split second before she let go of the string and let the arrow fly -, and she stopped, halted, the string quivering with her efforts not to release. She wanted to release. She wanted to release the arrow so desperately. Her heart thumped, pounding away, and every instinct screamed at her to just shoot already. Oh, it might not be a Glassbeak, but there were things with voices that were not safe. Zith, for instance. She had heard of them. What if... what if something – someone – bad had followed her? But Zulrav would have warned her, and the breezes – the very winds – were silent. There was no sound either from Andraste behind her. And so she lowered her bow, but kept the arrow nocked as her eyes took in the scene before her. A girl. Naked. Mealla hadn’t understood her words, but she had understood the strain in them. Not a threat then, though she wondered what a girl was doing alone in the Sea of Grass, naked and without arms. Such a thing was suicide, surely? But the girl was still alive. Curious. “Why you here?” Mealla asked, speaking in Common rather than in Pavi in hopes that the girl would understand. She was far from fluid, but that did not matter. She continued to grip tightly onto her bow, ready to bring it up and shoot at a moment's notice. “Danger... Danger... Bad. Not... not safe. You need... aid... help?” She didn’t think for a moment that the girl could be hunting like her.

[Rhy]

The woman's Common is horribly broken. Thats not unusual for the Drykras, for they rarely get visitors with which to practise on in the Grasslands. But Rhy lives in the city. A port city to boot. Besides an extensive vocabulary of profanity from various cultures she doesn't even know the meaning of, she also has a good basic grasp of Common. Although its still heavily tainted with a strong Turkant accent. "Put the bow down, Drykas. Down", she adds in Pavi, to better get her point across. She doesn't snarl at her, or raise her voice, but it is as much of a command as she can muster. She doesn't like the way the woman is looking at her. Wary bordering on scared. And Rhy would be the first to tell you thats when an animal is most dangerous. She gets up and moves to brush herself off with slow, exaggerated motions. "I'm here 'cause this is my ground, eh? You are the danger, venhrehk lunatic. Shooting what moves like child." Harsh words, (especially directed at someone who's armed) but her frustration is getting the best of her. "You scare my pig away. If you want to help, help me get it back." Through all of this her eye is still warily on the bow. Humans are rarely vicious, but her legs are tensed to vault her forward and attack her if she has to. Turning tail and running, which is usually the less perilous rout, is not an option. She would never be able to outrun a Drykas with a horse. Or a bow, for that matter. If the human is of the twitching finger type, she going to have to get a lot closer so she can have her teeth to her throat before she raises the weapon to shoot. She sidles forward with her hands in front in a pacifying gesture. "Put down bow, eh? I'm safe." And then she makes the mistake of a smiling laugh. It was meant to put the woman at ease, and lift some tension, but all it does is show off the monstrous appearance of her teeth and tongue. Immediately annihilating any misconceptions that she's human.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla made no move to put the bow down. Oh, she’d understood the command well enough, though the Pavi had been poor, but she had never been the type to simply obey and do as she was told. It was something that she still struggled with with Sama’el, and she was supposed to be his apprentice. She was Drykas. You were supposed to question; to ask. And nor was she stupid; she wasn’t about to put the bow down when there could still be threats about, and when this girl before her could be one such threat. What was that saying? Looks could be deceiving? Sometimes you could not put your trust on sight alone. The breezes usually warned her of any threats – spoke to her -, true, but there were times when they were wrong, and there were times when Mealla simply did not understand them. She was a Stormwarden, yes, but she was a long way off from taming all the winds and bending them to her will. Likely it would never happen. She prayed to Zulrav every day that it would, that it really would, but the doubts still lingered; doubts in herself and her abilities. She might have Zulrav’s mark on her shoulder, but she often wondered if he’d made a mistake in putting it there. Her gaze never once left the girl’s, and she was surprised that she did not recoil at the sudden sight of the teeth and tongue that were so at odds with the rest of the girl’s face. A Kelvic, then, though Mealla had not encountered many of the creatures before. Either way, she had no doubt that she was more than a match for one. Teeth could only get as close as you allowed them. She let out a short, sharp whistle, calling Andraste to her. She didn’t turn, didn’t look away from the Kelvic; she knew that Andraste would come. “Put away the teeth first,” she said in Pavi with a quick, tight smile, sounding more amused than anything else, though her eyes were cold, “and then maybe I’ll think about putting down my bow. And these hunting grounds aren’t yours.” She hadn’t appreciated the insult, even though she hadn’t fully understood the words. The implication and the intent was enough. “I see no name on them. And perhaps you were the pig. It’s not wise to wander around on four legs.” Another smile, though there was still no warmth in her eyes. “People might think that you’re the prey.”

[Rhy]

The woman whistles for the horse, and Rhy stops the forward approach. Maybe the Drykas will just leave. Although that in itself is doubtful. The Drykras don't just run away. And Rhy is firmly convinced thats why they don't seem to live very long. And then the woman starts babbling away in Pavi. Rhy listens hard for a few choice words that she might actually know. Having been raised a very short time in the tent city had given her a short vocabulary. But seeing as she has never been back to her birthplace that short bit of Pavi has been slowly degrading. She licks her dry mouth and listens, but the only thing she can distinguish is 'hunting', 'name', 'pig', 'wander' and 'prey'. And although the fiery girl had spit it out with quite a bit of dark humour, Rhy isn't easily insulted. She's not even sure she is being insulted. She keeps up her Common and speaks slowly, with an edge of humour bubbling underneath. She can't help it, she likes this girl and her prideful stubbornness. She reminds her of the more aggressive dogs at Sanctuary. The ones that protect the grounds and scare off intruders with their growling. She just needs a little nip to make sure she doesn't go overboard and start attacking strangers. She takes a deep, steadying breath while trying to keep an eye on the horse lest it decide to trample her away from its rider, and the bow lest the rider does decided to try her hand at cannibalism. "Yes, this my ground, Drykras. Maybe I should piss on you and make you my property too." She says it without thinking. Many predators mark their territory that way, the Drykas use the web as a different approach, but that is what they do, mark territory. Maybe there land overlaps. This would irk her, but her malice is slowly resolving into humour at the impossibility of this situation and the thought of marking the mad Drykras. Maybe that would put her fire out. "My name, Rhy. That was my pig and no, I not lost. And you not pig, so you not my prey. You want better answer? Don't spit Pavi. Common language for common Kelvic, yes?" She rubs the back of her head absentmindedly. How do they get out of this petching stalemate? That woman's lovely grey eyes don't hold any answers. And they don't quite match the smile, which would look much more fitting on a wolf. She has no doubt she can take the woman if thats really what has to happen. She can eat up the length in front of her and get close enough that that bow would be less useful then a stick. Of corse, she she in unaware that the human is thinking along the same lines in her own favour. But for the love of the gods, Rhy doesn't want to fight her. She wants to have her pork and to be on her way. But giving the Drykas a corrective nip does sound quite appealing at the moment. "Whats you name, Drykas? And stop the smile. You can scare a mad badger with that smile. I not dangerous if you don't shoot, promise. If you shoot, I dangerous." She mimes as if to keep her mouth closed with her hand to illustrate the point. "You offered help. So keep your word and help me take my boar, eh?" A less antagonistic smile is offered to the pretty, fiery Drykas.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla arched an eyebrow at the Kelvic’s words. Again, she still didn’t fully understand them, but she understood enough. She understood more than she could speak, and, well, piss on her? No bloody way. That would definitely get the Kelvic shot, no ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’ about it; an arrow straight to the heart, and for once she would not miss. She didn’t care whether or not the Kelvic was joking. No one joked about that. Ever. And it wasn’t the Kelvic's ground, no more than it was anyone else’s. In fact, it was more likely to belong to a Drykas since the Sea of Grass was their realm. The Kelvic had disturbed her hunt. She felt Andraste move up beside her, and automatically reached out, letting the string become loose, though the arrow remained nocked, gripped with the same hand that held the bow shaft. She rested her free hand against Andraste’s neck, a move that had always given her reassurance, and looked back at the Kelvic, her gaze still cold and holding no humour. Oh, she had a sense of humour, but not when it involved her being mocked. That was not on. “You no own the ground,” she said finally, speaking in Common once more, her words holding a slight lilt to them. One day she’d improve – she needed to if she wanted to see the lands beyond the Grass-, but she’d yet to have the time to focus on it. “I see no ‘Rhy’ wrote anywhere. And if you piss on me, I kill you. You become the pig. I can kill you,” though she wouldn’t, for that would be murder, but the Kelvic did not know that, and didn't do. Mealla hoped her threat would stop the mocking insults. She was to be respected, not mocked. She was Drykas, after all. She tilted her head, still ready to shoot at any moment – her reactions, if not her skills, were good at least- and smiled slowly, purposely, because no one told her what to do, whether or not she would scare a mad badger with said smile. “I am Mealla Stormsong,” she added, “of the Diamond Clan, Stormwarden.” She could say that sentence fluently in Common, but only that one. “And you no get chance to be dangerous. I shoot before. Oops. Bad. You die.” She didn’t bother mimicking the Kelvic by illustrating the point. “And if I help, you share the boar? Teeth are not as good for killing as arrows. And horse faster. I leave you behind.” She was still very much tempted to just shoot the Kelvic, but she didn’t know how she’d explain that one to Sama’el. And, besides, if she could come back with something, but actually work less for it, then who was she to shun such an idea? “You ready? You think you do? Can do?”

[Rhy]

All over the world, from the sands of Sunberth to the mountains of Wind Reach, badgers everywhere just ran for cover. The slow, sardonic smile is enough to make a lion backtrack. And the kelvic, seeing no marriage mark on her neck, can't help but think thats why no husband will take the pretty thing. She would scare the horses. "Sure sure, have yourself a hock n' a shoulder. Maybe even the head as trophy. A sign of our budding co~operation, Drykras." Rhy intones brightly, with a heavy backhand of irony. As for the woman leaving her behind, she doesn't bring it up. Let her charge into the grass like she's going to war. The human nose couldn't find a week-old corpse unill they trip over it, so she's pretty confident she will be leading this tracking expedition whether she's fast or not. And she is not. Although once they find this boar its going to be hard to keep the woman from descending like the hand of Dira to smote the creature. The cold fury in the eyes of her would-be murderer makes her look like the war hammer opposed to the hunter. Shooting without thinking is a damn awful waste of arrows and an easy way to lose the easy bag. "Mount up, Drykras, we going to eat well tonight!" Breaking bread with the very person threatening -multiple times- to kill you. This is not what she had in mind when she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes this morning. She backs up and parts the grass with her hands, poking around here and there until she comes up with the fletched arrow that was fired at her earlier. The shaft is thicker then she expected, and fletched with perfectly straight feathers. She holds it up and tests the tip, pricking her finger easily on the head. "Mind if I keep this? You did give it to me, after all. In way." She shoves the shaft in her mouth and winks, then a shift in the light and the girl is once again a dog, bounding ahead to find the trail she lost. With all this time spent insulting each other in creative ways, the pig could easily be a league away by now. She starts with her nose pressed to the packed grass that was her fall, and works backwards. The boar must have freaked out just as bad as herself, for at the junction there is a sudden change of direction. Rhy lets loose a whooping bark so the Drykras can follow her and follows the trail with nose shoved to the dirt and tail in the air. In her mind she is very aware that Mealla has a perfect shot at her fluffy, flagged ass. And she is also aware that she must look much more appealing now that she is wearing her fur. But she sticks to the idea that humans are not vicious, not really anyway. This crazy bowman might be the tipping point between kindda pleasant and clearly deranged on the sanity scale of the human race. Oh well, assume the best, watch your ass, and question these animal instincts.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla’s eyes narrowed as the Kelvic picked up her arrow, and she took a step forward automatically, reaching out, the demand to hand it back right now already on her lips. Arrows were not to be wasted – they were not free, for a start- and she tried to recover them whenever possible in order to be able to reuse them, even if it meant braving a downed but not out Glassbeak’s claws. Every arrow was precious to her. There were only twenty of them, and if she ran out, then... it could be the difference between life and death. “I no give it to you!” she snapped, but the Kelvic was already gone, and Mealla swore silently that she would get the arrow back, even if she had to wrestle the damn thing for it. The arrow was hers, and, as such, would remain hers. She wanted to say more, to curse and to spit, but the flash of light had startled her. She’d never seen a Kelvic change, had never seeb one transform, and she felt her eyes widen against her will and her heart begin to pound. How did they do that? One moment a human, and the next... In the blink of an eye... Truly they were creatures of magic. She had heard stories of their creation from her father – her mother had always been ever silent when it came to stories – and she’d never entirely believed them, but now-? She stared at the retreating dog, utterly frozen. Now she did. Now she believed, and she wondered for a moment how hard it would be to shoot a dog. Her desire to do that had not changed, even if Sama’el would not approve. In fact, it had increased since the Kelvic had stolen her arrow. She did not like people taking what was hers. Shaking her head to snap herself from her surprise, Mealla reached out with her one free hand and grabbed Andraste’s yvas, pulling herself onto the horse's back. It still lacked any grace – certainly not as much as Sama’el – but the move was becoming less and less jerky. It wasn’t long before she straightened, and she dug her heels in, sending the Strider after the Kelvic, her bow and arrow still gripped in her hand, the others tied to the yvas. She’d yet to be able to afford a quiver. The horse broke into a canter, and then a gallop, and soon she drew level with the Kelvic. She felt the usual joy as she rode – the joy that came with the feel of the wind in her hair, and with the feeling of being close to Zulrav, and she resisted the urge to give voice to that joy. There were other things that needed to be attended to. She urged Andraste on, using only her knees and body - her weight- to guide her, not needing reins and voice, and steered the horse in front of the Kelvic, whereupon she stopped suddenly, bringing Andraste to a skidding halt. Dust rose, the horse tossed her head, but somehow Mealla managed to keep her balance – her back straight – as she directed her gaze at the hopefully stopped Kelvic. “No run,” she said, still attempting to speak in Common, her words no more clear. “We stop. We think. We plan. So that I not shoot you by... by problem... mistake.” And then she held out her hand, her gaze firm. “And arrow. Mine. You pay else. Give it.”

[Rhy]

Just as Rhy was settling into the track, and giving herself in to the inherent prey drive of her breed, she is stopped by a could of dust and the musty sent of horse. She sneezes with a violent shake of her body and looks up with narrowed eyes that said, quite plainly, 'what now?' But Mealla isn't hasn't stopped her to chew her out, or threaten her, she's looking for a plan. If a dog could blush Rhy would be turning a lovely shade of red under her ears. Of course she can't go after her boar like she always has, she's got a partner now. They actually have to work together or all they will do is get in each others way. She ponders this problem and stares at the ground, ignoring the Drykras outstretched hand. A simple plan forms in her head, and a way to tell it without shifting. Humans don't realize that shifting takes a ridiculous amount of energy, so she hopes the Drykras will understand. With arrow still in her mouth she starts digging away the topsoil in front of her with her forepaws. Once the thin, tangled mass of grass roots is pulled away she turns her head sideways and draws an extremely rough approximation of a boar on one side of the clearing with the tip of the arrow. Then on the other side she draws a horse and a dog, signalling their little trio. The only thing differentiating them from the pig being longer necks and, in case of the horse, a longer tail. She lifts her head to show the Mealla and make sure she is following. Next, arrow back in the soft soil, she makes a rough looping motion to show the tracking and following of the creature from the little figure that is her. A jab into the soil at the end of the 'tracking' indicates a full stop. A line from the horse shows the other two following with her as she tracks, and another jab shows a full stop. Finally, a wide arc from the horses line indicates an arrow fired from Mealla's bow hitting the creature, and a straight line from her own line shows her running after the creature should it not die right away. Her little illustration done, Rhy lifts her head to see what the woman has to say. And, thinking better on that heavy gaze from the Drykras, raises herself up to balance on her hid feet so she can take the arrow from her mouth. The arrow is no worse for wear having been between a dogs teeth and used as a paintbrush, but it is covered in a generous amount of saliva. To bad she can't keep it. A bit of artistic handling and it would have made an excellent gift for Gianne. Oh well, a boar tusk would be fine material for as many new bowheads as she can make.