Private Roleplay Ijaknaqqik - Printable Version

for Euphemia ! forward dated to 5/5! and tag for mention!

bedrest was a personal hell for the young sharadoii. morning to night spent in the shelter of his sister, ~~Cloud Lash~~, shrouded with herbs and poultice after poultice. her tender touch was a soothing balm at first, but quickly shifted into a doting annoyance. her scolding a quiet hiss in his ears as she lathered his throat and scruff with a horrid-smelling paste. not to mention the awful tasting mixtures shoved into his jaws!

he'd had many long day. but nothing quite like that. thank skedzay, eventually his sister ceased her care. the moment she allowed him from the hearth, he bolted to be greeted by gentle breeze and lavish sunlight. his wounds still ached, but something duller. more tolerable. meaning he could continue his hunts, albeit slower. she'd ordered him to take it easy as to not rip open the wounds again...but he is nothing if not stubborn.

and so, when he's allowed to leave the shelter further than a few feet, he finds himself galloping amongst swaying tall grass. with a relieved expression he sprints; welcomed by the winds and the call for a hunt, even if cloud lashes' warning echoed in the furthest reaches of his rational mind. his footsteps thunder against the earth as he aims to startle pheasant that'd ambled within the safety of cover. from the ground they would flutter if he was lucky.

skill: [none]

Outside of Dawnbreak, Euphemia felt she could breathe. The weight of so many eyes, so many relations, so many she had known in the womb, so many strangers, so many expectations. At times, it was no wonder the maiden felt so overwhelmed and smothered by it all, and other times she felt like she was still a small child, albeit in an adult’s body, but one that was railing against the tough realities of the tangible world.

So, it was solitude that she sought. Though not usually a woman who enjoyed solitude, it was a respite. At long last, the inner choir of her mind quieted. Especially now that the interminable winter had broken, and the snows had mostly melted away. Frostfang Vale itself was the haven that it ever was, but the outside lands beckoned and seemed welcoming in ways she could not have anticipated several months before.

The scent of blood stung her nose like a rogue wasp. Euphemia stopped and lifted her maw to the wind. Perhaps it was an easy meal – or something more sinister and dangerous. Aware of her shortcomings when it came to guardianship and those sorts of things, the silvered shewolf stalked right towards it; and the situation became more compounded, though not impossible to comprehend.

A man, with all the scents of apparent herbal healing, attempted to flush birds from the brush. The woman’s stomach clenched with disappointment that no, an easy meal was not to be had, but as aforementioned, she was not a solitary being, and she appreciated the chance at interfacing with another. In fact, the idea of talking with someone who was in no way related to her (via blood or pack) was highly enticing.

However, she did not want to spoil his own hunt. So Euphemia sat and watched and waited, propped up on long forelegs to afford her a better view.