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 Posted: Wed Jan 12, 2011 8:25 pm
Croc had set out at noon, as he almost always did. His nights were longer than those of Matope's good little kimeti; often enough, he wouldn't make it back home until the wee hours of dawn began to trickle through the swamp - if indeed he could make it home at all. He slept while others rose in preparation for the day, drunk on the night and exhaustion from the hunt. By lunch, however, he was whole again. The dull pang of hunger touched him and he went a-walking.
That was when he found the tracks. Fairly fresh, he decided; the earth was still wet with the impression, where the top layer usually dried within the hour, depending on the weather. It was a kimeti's track, a small hoof padding slow, musing. Cautious?
Croc followed the direction of the impressions until they disappeared beneath bramble. As he went along, he could see his sigils marked upon the tree bark.
A mostly uneven scrawl, as he'd had to use his nose, but the meaning was clear enough: territory belongs to a kimeti (Crocodile Smile), chat and lunch provided.
Really, he couldn't see how he could be more hospitable!
And yet, the tracks did not lead beyond these trees, but around. It seemed as if this small kimeti (likely a doe) was avoiding his humble abode. It depressed Croc to think that word of his lunacy might have gotten around to the surrounding swamp, but then, he supposed it was inevitable.
He told himself that he followed out of curiosity alone. With no one there to see his evil red eyes narrow, or the way his nostrils flared with the possibility of a scent, he was allowed to believe what he wished.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 1:24 pm
Thinking Bird decided that no kimeti who offered free lunch could be mean.
So she continued following the hoofprints she had seen before. They were old tracks, she thought, as she delicately sidestepped a small swatch of dead reeds. They looked like tracks that had been sitting awhile; the impressions in the boggy, silty earth were no longer wet, though water still pooled in the deepest parts.
Her head was bowed down low to the ground as she walked along. Her ears were pulled back, and her grey eyes squinted towards the tracks beneath her. Where were they leading? Who did they belong to? Thinking Bird's tail flicked back and forth, brushing away stubborn insects.
Finally, she stopped a few hundred feet away from where she'd last seen another hospitable set of markings, still staring obliviously towards the ground.
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Posted: Sat Apr 09, 2011 10:19 pm
Croc might have set his pace to a trot when he thought he caught a scent lingering on the underbrush. The tracks of the visitor petered off across a patch of foliage, but continued beyond through the mud. Headed to the edge? But not for panic, at least. Perhaps there was a chance for him to meet the wanderer (oh, he was not lonely, not at all) after all, if he'd only pick up the pace.
He took only the occasional moment to sniff the foliage he had to pass, trying to pick out something singular within the taint of earth. Though faint, the scent lingered. By the time he found her, he had a fairly good idea of her size and her predilection of stopping on the occasion of interest, or perhaps uncertainty. She was dust and a feathering of fur, with just the hint of a blush shaping the shoulder that he perceived through the dead reeds. She seemed lost.
"My dear," He hailed her, all steady saunter now as he approached, "If you're looking for something, wander no farther. I'm obliged to serve you -- in fact, I insist."
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