[Dust Bed] Licking Your Wounds.

[Musca]

It was the smell of the blood that first led the Zith into the graveyard, still hanging onto the afterglow of her hunt. It was delicious smell- fresh and relatively well fed, practically a delicacy in Sunberth. Musca liked her lips, anticipating the metallic taste on her mouth. Truthfully, she really wasn't all that hungry- the scummy humans that took refuge in the underground mines near her home in the catacombs had certainly made for an interesting snack. Uninteresting game, but food was still food, and how could she protest when her prey was at her door? Or, more accurately, how could she resist her ravenous stomach? Yet preying on the scummy humans certainly did have downfalls, a consequence to an easy lifestyle. Firstly, some of their ready flesh were corrupted by diseases and scabs, making the taste of their skin hard and unpleasant to chew on. The pus that seeped out of their wounds were especially disgusting. And if they weren't ravaged by diseases, they were near to bones even without Musca's help. But there was plenty of them so it wasn't that much of an issue. Her second major problem was that the steady supply of food had made her incredibly lazy and unwilling to ascend into the world of civility above ground. But today, after days no end of dithering around her bed made of carcasses and chewing absently on her leftovers, she finally decided to end it and venture up. It would be a nice change, plenty of new faces and places to see. And plus, she was beginning to suspect that her humans were getting scared to near her grounds. But the moment she hit the surface (she went through an exit of a mine shaft near the cemetery) the smell of fresh blood instantly seduced her. Within chimes, she was hunting down the enticing scent, eyes wild. It didn't take her too long to see the owner of the delicious smelling blood. There were three of them, all gathered up around the bleeding man, face full of concern and carried it their antics and expressions. Two of them were women, mildly attractive of course. She smoothed her wild hair into the side and started advancing towards the trio, slowly, purposefully. Her eyes glinted wickedly, the edges of her lips curled. For they were in the house of the dead, and it would simply be rude not to honour such a place without some blood shed. If one would notice her now, certainly they would be fascinated by the woman. Though a black cape shrouded her shoulders and her body, through the opening of her hood, her wicked face could certainly be seen. When she was close enough to the three, she instantly balked when she heard their conversation centring around healing the man. Instantly, she quickened her pace, completely aghast when the woman poured liquid over the wound- masking the sweet smell from her. Instantly, her mind imagined herself pulling the arm of the woman out of her socket, puncturing her claws into her stomach and dismembering all her other limbs until she was unrecognisable. A growl emitted from her throat, low and threatening. It took all of her self control to remain in the same spot, only the slight swaying of her body betraying her and the twitch of her wings. Musca had learnt a lot from these civilised beings. One of them being that humans generally disliked to see bloodshed in front of them. She wasn't about to go wasting such a lesson. "My, my, my. What an interesting place to heal a man on broad daylight. I think this is the definition of 'irony', yes?" Her tone was contained, polite at best. But there was no smile in her face, nor did she emit a friendly aurora. She eyed them dangerously, as if counting the wounds she could inflict on them and vice versa. It was like they were being watched by a predator.

[Wrenmae]

"Unusual, foolish, predictable." Shroud swung out from behind a tree, his face a dark judgement on the events transpiring. It hadn't been his intention to follow any of them, but when his fragmented self, Wrenmae, took them to the graveyard to pay respects, he had little choice but to oblige. Now it seemed as though he would never be rid of his choices. There was the girl he had helped save from capture with Zandelia, she looked familiar...as if he should remember her from somewhere else. He did not. Roka and Chameleon were familiar faces as well, recruits he had brought to the Crimson Edge previously. How the women tittered over his injuries and how remarkably poignant a location to sustain life...this decrepit monument to the dead. Now a Zith approached, her body the sensuous appeal of a practiced whore...but her eyes, wings, and claws the dangerous glint of a predator. It was a good look, all business and bile, pleasure and vice. He was in a linen shirt, earthen brown pants and his long dagger sheathed at his waist. Glancing between them, he strode down the liens of sagging stones toward the group, running a hand back through his hair. "Never travel alone if you can help it, Roka," he chided, pausing a small distance away from them, eyes on the Zith, "If you haven't a partner to keep the worst of the mob from attacking you, then you deserve whatever it is they beat you for." He was cruel. Rightly so. Sunberth was a monstrous place...the weak died and were consumed in turn by the strong. Simply the way it was. "Lucky Cham stumbled upon you, so make your repairs and make them quickly...we can patch him up better back at camp." He glanced at the female Zith, raising an eyebrow. "A lot of your kind here the past few days...knocked out of trees and sky by the storm?" He shrugged. "If you're looking for carrion, look no farther than this graveyard...but if you've a mind for fresher quarries, you're welcome to follow us back to camp."

[Musca]

There was relatively nothing that surprised Musca, thanks to her nose. But the man's presence incited a small flinch from the woman as she turned wildly around to cast a withering glare at the stranger. Maybe it was the adrenaline of her irritation that concealed him or maybe her nose had become slightly messed up by her hiding out in the catacombs for too long- whatever the reason was, this new presence made her irritation flare up, unwilling to accept that it was her negligence that led to her surprise. For a human, he seemed clean. No ghastly wound, no pus in sight. If Musca wasn't so pissed off, she might've considered flirting a bit with the man. But before she could send him a scathing little comment, or a claw in his face, he turned to the trio and proceeded to tell them off, citing the dangers of Sunberth with his eyes still on her. Musca liked him better then. At least, enough not to slash his face off. When he was finished with the three, he addressed her with an impudent raised brow, asking about her kind. Musca narrowed her eyes, suspicious by his easy tone. "We're an excitable bunch," she replied, vaguely, "we like roving around in places we don't know." Her interest in him began to wane, and magnetically, her eyes fell back into the wounds of the half naked man. Involuntarily, she licked her lips. Whether or not the man had noticed her hunger, he made a comment about finding meat in some camp. Reluctantly, she dragged back her sight towards the man and smiled patiently, the tips of her sharp teeth flashing in plain sight. "Camp? I must thank you for your generosity, human," she stressed the last word, her voice rich and smooth, the slightest layer of eroticism evident, "but I am quite sure I don't trust you enough to follow you to this camp. As you said, Sunberth is a dangerous place. I'd hate to be preyed upon men that can't control themselves. And besides," she flashed him a savage smile, "who invites a Zith into their homes?"

[Roka]

The sting was a heated one as water passed over his wound, he remained noiseless, a hand crumpled into the patchy grass underneath him. He tilted his head into Lusa's thigh, brow tensed. A chill of discomfort ran through him from top to bottom, it made him feel nauseous. It was bearable, he could stand it and hold his tongue, and he set forth to do so.

His senses hadn't caught it, he was too distracted, the beating wings, the crunching steps, not even the smell had reached him, she smelled of the dead, it was eerily befitting. Like the reaper in the flesh had come to greet him. A hiss rose from his lips as he looked to her. A Zith, of course, because this day would not be complete without the appearance of one.

His hand discretely reached for a blade tucked into a strap at his thigh, it wasn't much, but if need be he would do his best to provide time for the women to flee.

He remained quiet as she spoke, his eyes narrowed upon her; he was much busier trying to think of a way around her. Then an additional had escaped him, and he cursed himself for allowing himself to be so unobservant. This time the voice was familiar. Ahh it was Wrenmae.

Roka laughed, one that was strangled with the discomfort he had been silently withholding, a cough followed in its place. He couldn't quite understand the reasons behind Wrenmae's chiding, but he said what Roka was sure many would think. "I guess I'll have to work on playing better with others."

Roka hadn't seen it, but he felt the Zith's eyes upon him, and he knew why, he had been lucky in his past encounters with this breed, he heard her lap at her lips, a hungry pretator. A growl rose in his ribs, he could smell her intent to feed upon his flesh, and his grip tightened on his dagger, if she approached she'd receive nothing but his blade kissing at her heart.

[Chamaeleon]

"Why is it that you always seem so displeased with me, Wrenmae?" Chamaeleon said lightly. She knew the Zith was there, and that the presence of the creature agitated Roka, but she trusted her friend to keep an eye on the beast for her while she worked. She had her Symenestra Lash curled up and hung off her waist should the Zith attack. She wouldn't have let Roka face the woman alone. "Remind me to scold you when you are bleeding all over the ground and ask for my help. Afterall, that silver tongue of yours won't save you forever." She turned at him to show she had something of a smile on her face before glancing to Lusa and holding out her hand for the lengths of cloth.

This was hardly sanitary, but it had to do until she could acquire something cleaner and redo the bandages. She would see if the camp had any clean bits of cloth she could use, and if not she would just have to find some or boil her own.

"Relax a bit, Roka." Chamaeleon tried to sound soothing, although his growling was causing her to be increasingly wary of the Zith. Was it tensed to pounce? She began to wrap strands of cloth around his shoulder as many times as they would allow before tying them off under his arm. She was relatively new at this, and her job was patchy, but she was trying her best for the sake of Roka's well-being. Blood seeped from the edges of the wound, further near his neck than she could manage to reach, and she eyed it distastefully. Maybe she would have time to do it better in the camp and away from prying eyes.

She leaned back to look at her work critically and smiled at Roka. Now was not the time to be too critical, she realised. The witch hunt was ongoing and there was a seemingly hungry Zith to be avoiding.

"This is all I can do now, in the present climate. Did you want to come back to camp too?" She couldn't help the note of worry that slipped into her voice and didn't try to disguise it afterward. She was worried.

[Lusa]

Lusa did her best to concentrate on the task that Chameleon had given her, though it was becoming more and more difficult to contain her nervousness at the Zith's presence. Lusa was an herbivore, a prey animal, and the very fiber of her being was urging her to run, escape. She tore another strip from the cloth, and placed it in Chameleon's outstretched hand, all the while keeping one eye on the predator. It was nearly painful for her to defy her instincts this way, something she never would have done before she had begun living amongst humans. She looked to Wrenmae, who she simply could not figure out. He seemed to be a different person every time she saw him; how confusing.

[Wrenmae]

"Perhaps it's because I always seem to find you in dangerous situations." He quipped sharply, striding down to end of the graveyard and looking out to the street. People swarmed there, moving here and there like shadows. Some were violent, arms that pinwheeled with deadly intent. Others were slack and still others fell to the ground in grotesque shapes. He looked back at them, eyes to the Zith and then Roka. He pushed Lusa aside for a moment, gentle, but insistent, taking a look at Roka's injuries. "You'll get worse if you stick with the Crimson Edge, stick in Sunberth," he said at last, sighing and leaning against a gravestone, "But you'd stand to do better when in the company of allies...so let's make sure it's all of us going back to camp and not just a few of us." One hand on Lusa's head, he tousled her hair for a moment and offered a rare smile, "Not bad, kid, watch Cham and learn a trick or two...medicine is worth its weight in gold out here." As they cleaned Roka up, patching as best they could, Shroud turned his attention back on the Zith. To her he offered a wider smile and a shrug, "Your choice, Zith, but honestly your chances are better in a group than alone. You may have wings, but the people here have bows and most aren't keen to see an unaligned Zith drifting place to place." He chuckled, "Distrust is a catching sort of fever, and your ilk aren't renowned for their benevolent reputation." Looping Roka's arm over his shoulder, Wrenmae helped him to his feet, hissing in exertion. "Follow us...or don't. But we have two others like you with us already, and we haven't 'taken advantage' of them yet."

[Musca]

Their reactions to her presence made her almost sigh in pleasure. Such blatant hostility- such a fear that trembled their steady hands. Her eyes travelled towards the smallest of them, and perhaps the most intimidated one, and broadened her grin, fully displaying her predator teeth to the small human. But despite all her antics, she really didn't feel like eating. Not anymore, anyway. Not when she was among a group that seemed to like each other enough to kill her as a group effort. Musca laughed daintily, "The woman is right, Roka," his name was all but mewed, rolled in her tongue like it was a treat to be savoured, "you shouldn't overexert yourself. The wound would surely open up, and you certainly wouldn't like that, would you?" The timbre in her voice hinted that he really shouldn't want such a thing. Especially if she was around. "And I guess I should extend such a comfort to the two of you women. I have no interest in preying in any of you right now. So relax, your aggressiveness is making my blood boil." The new human had a nice smile. "I'm quite vain about my wings, human," Musca gave a laugh, "I object to you belittling my lovely wings. But you're quite right about the state of Sunberth right now. A lot of humans have taken refuge in the underground- I take it that this is not common human behaviour?" She shrugged off handedly, her wings moving at the rhythm, "but as you say, I am nothing but an unaligned Zith who's about to get lynched, why bother solve the mysteries of the human race?" The sarcasm that dripped in his words made her laugh, finally, she found a human with some humour! She didn't answer his underlying question, instead, she took a step closer to the human male, the slight distance between them measurable by a breath. This close, he would've seen the curiosity that was held in her eyes, her carelessness and excitement for the unknown. Her grin was wide and impish- daring even. Her voice dropped into a whisper, her tone taking an unconsciously sultry timbre, "Really. Is that so, human. Then I shall gladly follow. But be warned- I have limited self control." With that statement, she whipped around to her heel and once again distanced herself from him. "So where is this camp of yours?" oockind of a boring update. sorry guys.

[Roka]

The sound of the Zith’s voice was disconcerting. Its purr of his name made his intestines twist uncomfortably. An image of her teeth sinking into him filled his skull and hardened his breaths. He was no stranger to being considered a meal to a passing hawk, and she was all too close a fitting description to that. He connected now that maybe that was the root of his dislike of this species.

Roka grunted at the movement pulling him to his feet. His face pinched in wince as a pulsation stuck his side. He could bare most of his weight, but with an unpleasant tremor reverberating over him. His head bowed looking down to his feet to focus on each step before him, his hair curtained before his face, but he still felt the adrenaline pumping from the Zith's appearance allowing him to flow less restrained but with the same consequence.

His shoulder felt a bit better, but still the cloth chaffed against the slash and his jaw clenched against the burn of it. Roka's fingers didn't release his blade but tucked it under his palm in a most unnoticed position. He felt more hostile now, pure instinct whispering to him to take out any peril there and then.

He felt sick like this, more defeated then he had when he sat there quietly alone in the Dust Beds. Roka wasn’t interested in proving anything to anyone, but to feel susceptible was a blow to any man’s pride and one he didn’t feel he could afford.

Her inching in on them to accept Wrenmae's invitation was nearly enough, his grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger and he lifted his sight enough find her face within view. His pupils slit with the filtering light through his lashes, a malicious look not usually upon his face. It was a look present when he had stalked his target until he was upon it, and had calculated the next moves available to him and the prey.

He gave her a smirk vacant of fear, as if to say he almost hoped she'd make an unwise play in her list of available moves, for he would be ready even still. His tensing body turned the pain to a dull stab, but it felt as if any open wounds would split.

[Shadowfang]

Near the top of a large, sturdy tree was where Shadowfang awoke lying facedown on his makeshift bed of thick sticks wedged together between two branches. The bed was uncomfortable, unstable, and generally not at all load-bearing, but it kept him out of reach of any potential threat. He had chosen to take his nap a good distance away from the Crimson Edge camp so as not to be disturbed by the midday sounds of people bustling about. So far, he had been successful.

He opened one eye, looking groggily through the slits in his stick bed. He could only see the dirt and leaves on the ground, illuminated by the sun. He could hear faint noises, people in the camp training, talking, laughing, and going about their business. There was an iron smell of distant blood in the air. It was not out of place, however. This was Sunberth after all. Of course, the Witch Hunt that was currently in progress helped to add to the usual noise and violence. He shifted a bit on the branches. Dirt and bark were tangled in his fur and hair and his jacket was hanging on a close by branch stub. His arm hung off of the bed of sticks, slowly swinging back and forth in the gentle breeze.

All was well.

He closed his eyes once more, hoping to get an hour or two more of sleep before he was forced to move. Was he worried about falling? A bit. But he gladly took the risk to avoid having to come in contact with anything or anyone that wanted to cause him harm. Was he worried about anyone finding him? No. His bed of twigs and sticks was high above the ground, almost in the forest canopy. Someone would have to be looking for him in order to find him; and people rarely looked up.

From time to time, one or two people would traverse the path below him, going to or from the camp. No large groups had passed by so Shadowfang had not been disturbed. However, the metallic smell of fresh blood seemed to be getting closer.