[ Respond | Andarin: The Mountains ]
Posted by WICKED | PAGAN on February 3, 2009, 8:33 pm, in reply to "ouch. [any/all]" She is on the way back from Desreal when she hears it – the terrible scream of fear and rage that is vaguely familiar to her and quite obviously coming from the direction of home. Before she even has time to think, she is flying over the ground, her hooves barely touching the Earth, her ears pasted flat against her head as she prepares to attack whatever it is that is threatening one of her fellow Wolves. The air rushes by her, the landscape rushes by her. She can only hope it is not too late.
129.7.254.33
But it is. It is too late. The charred body only barely resembles that mare Artaxxas who Wicked met but one time, way up on the cliffs above Andarin. Her heard is crushed hideously and there is blood all around and the black witch feels her stomach lurch violently. First, it is rage that courses through her, but the she sees the scar, the place where the shard has been ripped from her fallen body. It is Kale’s shard, Stelios’s shard, and suddenly the only thing that Wicked can think about is finding the one who took it, whatever the consequences may be.
He is not hard to find, for the blood that drips off of his legs is red and grass is green and the trail is not hard to follow. She does not know his face or his name, but she knows that he has it, that he killed for it. What does that mean? She does not know.
Wait, stop, she calls to him before she even knows what she is going to say or do next. He has just killed a Wolf, so she knows she should run at him, rage at him, smash his skull in just like he smashed the skull of poor Artaxxas. The Earth within her eggs her on, sensing his weakness and begging her for a chance to fight. It has been so long since she drew blood. But something in her makes her hesitate, if even for just a moment. Why? Why did you do it?
gold
WICKED
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