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 Posted: Mon Jun 20, 2011 5:28 pm
 Deciding to be a pack wolf felt a lot like tricking herself sometimes. She would find, now and again (and again, and again), a buildup inside herself of distaste and unease. Too much chatter, or too many questions about herself, and her chest would lock up like a little pillbug, and it was all she could do not to steal away in the night and just run until she was solitary once again. It had nearly happened once, but then she remembered Partridge - her plump little friend, and the naked heartbreak on his face at the tale of the bird-girl who'd abandoned him. After that, no matter how often she thought about it, she knew that she couldn't just fly away.
So, she was trying something different. Taking wing for just a little ways, to spend some time with a wolf she did not generally want to escape from. She had asked to be shown the pack's boundaries, as a way of landing herself outside the usual trajectory of her...packmates? No, of her hosts. This place would allow her to sit on the fence forever, so long as she played it sweet and soft and nice. Which, she noted dourly, was not helping her problem. And ignoring the problem to play on the borders was unlikely to solve much either, but you never knew! She flicked a black ear and glanced at her speckled companion, curious as to whether her inner monologue had been blocking out one of his.
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Posted: Tue Jun 21, 2011 3:41 pm
 Partridge had problems of his own, as usual. All little problems, but problems all the same.
First, indeed, was the newly cropped up pups of Aleutian and Verse. This Par had forseen long before, but it had still shaken his poor little heart to see the new fur-bundles, the looks of love between the parents as the little ones nursed, the coos of the family. He doubted anyone had noticed his inner crush anyway, which . . . he forced himself to believe was a good thing. Yes, better not to get in the way of the happy family.
The second was, as always, Dove, whom Par still thought about sometimes in spite of her long-standing disappearance. The pudgy male always wondered if maybe the female would one day return, with a new song in her breast to share of her adventures. In time, he hoped, he would think of her less and less, until she was nothing more than a happy, but bittersweet, memory. Another inner heartbreak before he could even open his mouth.
It was because of these she-wolves that Partridge feared to lose Thrush for whatever reason as well. It was a nasty game of finding the right balance: he was aware that she liked to spend time by herself, but it worried him that she tended to stray towards the fringes of the pack. Was she thinking of leaving, done with spending time amongst a pack? It filled him with fear to consider losing her, like his stream of bad luck with friendship and love would once again sour a budding bond.
And yet Par didn't know what to do about it. He was even more afraid that if he smothered Thrush, she would be forced to leave. But if he didn't give her attention, maybe she would leave anyway . . . Ooooh, he was in a conundrum!
Thrush could easily see the turmoil in his face as he tried to hum a small tune to accompany their pawsteps.
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Posted: Tue Jun 21, 2011 3:46 pm
 Several nights after his meeting with Marion Bear-Heart, Twiddle turned his path southward. There was no particular reason why - much in the way a human might flip a coin, he scanned the skies, saw clouds in the north, and decided to move opposite of them.
It was nice to have something sunny in his life after all.
Twiddle didn't remember if he had gone this route before, but it was obvious that the land grew thick with trees as he did - all leaning towards the sun. Birds filled the air with song, though in the silences between he thought he heard a song not from the throat of any avian.
Perhaps it was a hallucination, perhaps not. Better to investigate than to assume.
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Posted: Thu Jun 23, 2011 6:48 pm
Ah, but he was worrying. Thrush sighed, a quiet and delicate little thing, and ducked over to check him in the shoulder, her pale eyes glinting curiously. "Where's your song, Par? You look about upset enough to shed your fur."
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Posted: Sat Jun 25, 2011 2:45 pm
"I-I what?" He snapped to attention with a jerk.
Did he really look so troubled? Oh dear . . . Partridge swallowed and tried to fixate his worried expression into one of congeniality. "Oh! Um. Yes. L-Let me think, let me think . . ." And thought he did, once again screwing his face - this time in concentration. There were quite a few songs tucked in there, but he was rushed to find one so as not to alert Thrush more than she probably already was. With a shaky beginning, he tried:
"In Scarlet pack where I was born
There was a fair maid dwelling
And every youth cried well away
For her name was Barbara Allen
Twas in the merry month of May
The green buds were a swelling
Sweet William on his deathbed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen
He sent a youngling unto her
To the den she was dwelling
Saying you must come to his deathbed now
If your name be Barbara Allen
Slowly slowly she got up
Slowly slowly she came nigh him
And the only words to him she said
Young man I think you're dying
As she was walking o'er the fields
She heard the death cries knelling
And every howl it seemed to say
Hardhearted Barbara Allen
Oh mother mother make my bed
Make it long and make it narrow
Sweet William died for me today
I'll die for him tomorrow
They buried her in the old graveyard
They buried him in the choir
And from his grave grew a red red rose
From her grave a green briar
They grew and grew to the mountain top
Till they could grow no higher
And there they twined in a true love's knot
Red rose around green briar."
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Posted: Sat Jun 25, 2011 2:51 pm
Yes . . . That was not a sound he could find in any bird's voice. Too guttural. Too tentative. His ears perked, Twiddle thought he heard a female's voice as well, probably what had started the song in the first place. Through the tall grass he peeked, his good eye focusing on . . . Rather large birds.
Or they looked like birds, but no wings were in sight. Colored, but four-legged. The first he had seen before on several occasions, the second only once: from where, Twiddle didn't remember. It was like deja vu.
Patiently, quietly, he listened to the male's song to its end. And then he peeked his head forward out of hiding, saying, "It is a well accepted fact that plants do not consciously seek one another and grow into knots."
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Posted: Sat Jun 25, 2011 8:25 pm
She had meant the quip about the song figuratively, and she found herself quite tickled when her friend responded in the literal - until she came to recognize the song. She knew it, though of course she hadn't heard the song since Tom o' Sevens sang it for her - back then. Her face went flat for a moment, but then she sighed (inwardly, one mustn't disrespect a performer) and went on listening, feeling pangs of melancholy as the song unfolded.
Thrush had only just begun to smile and compliment him, when the sudden appearance of a wolf lurched her heart into her throat. In a flash she had braced herself into a position of menace, particularly for any wolf unfortunate enough to be her size or smaller. She bared her teeth, and tried to pick the right words out of the undignified jumble in which her brain had dropped them. "Back up," was what she came up with, a sharp and frightened command.
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Posted: Sat Jun 25, 2011 9:03 pm
Thrush didn't need to say it twice.
Poor Par, all he could think was, My bad singing attracted a monster! Oh gods, we're going to die!! When would his bad luck streak end?!
For, of course, Partridge was not focused on the fact that the stranger was not in an aggressive posture, or that he had a bad eye. No, he was more focused on the fact that he had obvious scars, a bloody ribbon about his neck, and what looked like a dragon painted on his back.
Oh gods. Ohgodsohgodsohgods. He pulled in a CONVICT.
"D-Don't eat us!" he immediately yelped, suddenly pinned to Thrush's side.
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Posted: Sat Jun 25, 2011 9:08 pm
This . . . was not at all a position Twiddle was used to. He certainly was not large or small by wolf standards, nor physically imposing, nor with sharp and honed reactions like a warrior would. In fact, nothing about him projected the air of a wolf who would fight back if attacked.
So to have two wolves' first impression be "hostile" was . . . not expected. Twiddle blinked owlishly, re-bridging the lost distance by pulling himself fully out of the bushes. "Your companion might be delirious from fear," he told the clear-eyed one. "Assuming cannibalism is a stretch."
And then, of all things, he plopped his bum down. "What was that song?"
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Posted: Sat Jun 25, 2011 9:44 pm
Even with Par's influence close at her side, Thrush felt the sudden fear that had rushed up inside her dying swiftly down again - this wolf was moving slowly, yes, but hardly in a way that came across as menacing. If anything...there was something about his mannerisms, just every so often, that gave her the feeling he might be sick.
Still, once aroused, her suspicion was slow to forgive and forget. Her face stayed stern, choosing not to acknowledge the cowering wolf beside her. "People yell unpredictable things when they're startled," she answered, and it sounded very much like a reprimand. Why on earth was he sitting? Her stomach twisted with unease, but she went ahead and ignored that as well. So, they would talk. As long as he stayed where he was, she could get control of the situation again. "It's called Barbry-Allen."
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Posted: Mon Jun 27, 2011 6:02 pm
Partridge was flustered still, wondering if maybe should he shut up he could somehow fix everything he had caused by opening his mouth. And then the stranger asked a question and, rather than ignore something a convict posed should it imporve their chances of surviving, he went to answer, "It' Ba-"
And then Thrush answered correctly instead. The pudgy male's mouth was left slightly agape with the formations of the words, ruddy-colored eyes darting to his companion in surprise.
She . . . knew that song already? But nobody ever knew that song!
. . . Of course she'd know that song. Par's bad luck ringing in again. If he wasn't stiff with fright, Partridge might have flopped on the ground right there in hopelessness.
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Posted: Mon Jun 27, 2011 6:27 pm
"Unpredictable is a part of the startled part, yes," Twiddle agreed, still confused by their hesitant postures. Then again, he wouldn't know what sensibility was in the instinctual sense: Twidz was a walking "go ahead and kill me if you want" wolf, the way he hardly defended himself and openly approached others.
This actually had sprung a theory of his: he had irritated someone enough to warrant nearly being beheaded with bites to the neck. And then some unknown being had come along and whisked him from Death with the black ribbon, which was now stained beyond any possible clean future.
And then Twiddle blinked as he realized something. He did not know what a "song" was, and yet had asked for it.
This was the first time he had heard music. Not birdsong, but true music.
He . . . was at a loss for a few extra seconds than normal. And then: "Could you sing another?"
It did not matter who did it.
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Posted: Tue Jun 28, 2011 4:51 pm
Oh, Partridge. He was so worked up that her having known the song he sung was setting him off. She swallowed a sigh and shook out her coat instead, unwilling to sit down and imply that she was willing to spend time chatting with this stranger. Still...if she was going to be objective about this, at least he was interesting. No names, no introductions, just...whatever he seemed to be thinking of, and what he thought was unusual. So, at least there was that. She narrowed her eyes, weighing his question, before turning deferentially to Par. "That lies on the whim of the singer."
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Posted: Wed Jun 29, 2011 4:54 pm
"I, um, well, er . . ." What was he supposed to say? His fragile mind was just shot at the moment; he was lucky to formulate words, let alone remember lyrics.
The convict wanted a song? Why? Why wasn't he making them barter for their lives, or snatching Thrush for prison rape, or . . . or . . . Partridge shuddered.
"I-I don't even know your name," Par countered mildly, which was the closest he had ever gotten to being against someone. He seriously wanted to alert Thrush and make a run for it while the guy was sitting.
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Posted: Wed Jun 29, 2011 5:03 pm
Twiddle cocked his head to the side. "Neither do I know yours. Does that prevent the power of song?" Maybe so . . . It wasn't like Twiddle knew the ins and outs of "music". Maybe it relied on the power of the names of those who listened, drawing beauty from the presence of known lives. It was beyond logistics, but then again Twiddle was just fine with that.
So. "Twiddle, if you must know it to continue," he said, straightening his head. "Does the ritual require I know yours as well, or does the song work without them?"
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