Welcome to Gaia! ::

(36. You think you've found a red bird feather--but on leaning nearer you discover that it is a white bird feather, doused in blood.)



There was a bustle in the forest, something making enough noise, setting the swamp humming at just the right frequency -- or something -- to call out two strange figures. Kin who did not make a habit of simply wandering out of the deeper, darker parts of the swamp, but today, curiosity had urged at least one of them to move...

And Wards came along, because, well. Someone needed to accompany Story. And he liked the big buck, strange and slow as he might be. Close as brothers, Wards was loathe to let Story get far without him.

So when they'd been assigned the task to find bright red feathers, Wards led the way, doubling back twice and then a third time to do his best to get Story moving a little faster.

"This way? Was it this way that you said you thought you spotted a flash of red?"

"The cypress with the claw marks," Wards repeated, turning back to look over each of the trees in the near distance. Cypresses a-plenty, yes, but one with claw--ah! There!

He moved ahead again, not to leave Story behind, but to go investigate and decide whether it was worth it for his big friend to take the time to travel further in this direction. Now that he'd spotted the tree, he could pay more attention to the roots and growths and all the bits of bird and nature scattered in between.

Like that feather. A pristenely white feather, for the most part, save those few splats of bright red color. And they were splats, indeed, all too clear as Wards drew closer and discovered that there had been some sort of pitched battle here. One or the other of the occupants had lost said feather, and no little amount of blood. That was the red Story had noticed. Wards was abruptly glad there wasn't more to see.

He turned back, shaking his head. "Not here my friend. This isn't for us, and it certainly won't please the stag if we go trotting back to him with this. We should look for something else." And leave grisly bits behind.

Wards lifted his nose into the breeze as well, scenting what might be blowing their way. Ears tipped forward, he took a few steps toward a passage between trees that was draped with long strands of hanging moss. "This way, perhaps,: he offered, taking another step, then two. "Out of sight, where no one would disturb them while they dozed and dreamed of new songs to sing..."

Which was not at all what they got the moment Wards's antlers shifted moss out of the way. Instead, a mare came charging out of the shadows behind the veil, ears pinned and long neck bowed to aim her antlers toward the intruders. "Off! Off off out!" she demanded, setting Wards back onto his haunches so much that he had to scramble not to topple backward. A fall stopped by a solid, jarring thump against one of Story's legs.

(9. A beautiful song pulls you away from your search. You find a fledgeling songbird, which is undergoing its first moult--the perfect age for bonding. Post a link in this thread to this roll with a note that it's for the bird drawing to be entered for a songbird!)

Wards the Way couldn't help but laugh, once he'd been pushed back onto his feet. Oh he scuttled away from the angry mare, no question, but not with quite the burst of speed he might have put on otherwise if he hadn't been so distracted by his amusement, or by slowing his steps to make sure that the jab was all the abuse Story had to take.

"Not your type?" he asked his slow-moving friend, eyes alight. "I would hope not. I don't think I could stand idly by and watch you bind yourself to one like that, wise and clever and learned as she might be or not."

The trill of a songbird rode the sound of their combined laughter, coming from the direction they had now chosen.

"I know, I know, and all's well and good and as it should be, there. Still, it's been a long since I heard laughter like that come thundering out of you. Perhaps we should haunt the mare's hollow now and then, just to keep you both off your guard."

The truth was that he'd never subject his friend to that sort of shrill abuse for fun, and oughtn't even consider visiting the mare again just to see if she was still screaming. Life out in the light was far too startling for someone who'd gotten used to the knocking of settling trees as his nightly "ruckus". He was still chuckling, all the same.

Shaking his head slowly at the birds' reactions to Story's attempts, he stepped around his side and headed over to bend a knee, dipping down to apologize, then ask the same question of the songbird. Which direction would it lead them? While it considered him, he straightened to his hooves, and when he flittered off, he tilted his head after it. "That way."

It might have been entertaining to, ah, liven the mare's life a little by keeping her ever on her guard, but that was a fleeting fancy, as easily forgotten as it was dreamed up in the first place. Those were frivolous that were easy to cast off, unlike many of the things that occupied Wards's mind at home.

They weren't, though, at home, as evidenced by the curious quest they'd taken up for the stag. Wards looked up at Story then toward the saplings in question. He'd nearly trampled on the bark curls before he saw them, and ducked his head to catch one in his teeth, only to lift it again, curl bouncing merrily.

"They might be good for something," he offered, once he'd had his bit of fun. "But not exactly what the stag asked us to find, I think. Still. Perhaps one or two wound around your mighty ankles..."