Thread: DELETE

RE Me and Campion - Werewolves aren't all the same Lan inhaled the needles of the predawn air. Inwardly, his sinuses cringed from the unexpected cold snap for which he had not prepared. Yet even in the cold, there was a purity - it was a cold lacking the stench of the open gutters of the city streets, for which he was thankful. The only sounds were the muted clatter of leaves as the wind gave soft gusts that insistently tore them from their summer reposes to make a new blanket on the forest floor. It it had been day, the riot of reds and yellows would have been a feast for the eyes, but in the muted starlight, colors were far too muddled. There were no other sounds, because he was likely the only person for miles around. Who else would desire to be out with no roof, no fire and not enough warm clothing? When the Baron had caught him flirting with his daughter a second time, he'd rather hoped the old tyrant would have a stroke as the purple of the man's face had been like to bust an artery, but luck was not so kind. Instead, he'd been stripped of his post in the city and told to quest these wooded hills for 'monsters', with permission to hunt as he needed on these untraversed lands. Passable with crossbow and significantly more than passable with sword and axe, he had not gracefully gone out and starve or fallen to wild beasts, but had flourished in the wilds. Now his five and a half foot frame was leaner, the fat of a city man gone as taut lean muscles and tendons played across one another like a bow and tuned string. His dark brown hair had grown out to his shoulders and he was only ruggedly shaven of facial hair. Shaving well was a luxury that cost nicks and the scent of blood drove off his real prey, which was only for food. Something impinged upon the meanderings of his isolated mind and he glanced to the side. A dark mass lay on the ground, and he could only clearly see glowing eyes and sharp white teeth as it softly snarled. Yet that snarl seemed to require significant effort. Lan struck sparks and his lantern lit, illuminating the gloss midnight blackness of the gorgeous coat belonging to the bitch caught in a poacher's cruel leg trap. His own lips curled back, but he donned chain gauntlets and grabbed a leather sack. Before she could realize his intent, he whipped it over her head and tied it, then carefully opened the torturous jaws of the foul trap. The least he could do for the poor creature who belonged here was to take the time to remain with her as she bled out and let her pain cease. But as he turned from the trap to her, his eyes narrowed at the sight of her wound. Instead of now flowing freely, it was mostly closed. What magic was this? The Gaels had worshiped spirit animals in these lands not that long ago. It could be that this was one such and he would do well to not anger it. Softly his words came forth. Please lady, connect not the one who releases you from this vileness with the one who created it. I mean no ill or harm to you. He tore the spring from the trap, rendering it useless, and the most expensive part to keep, then tore the bag from her head, quickly stepping back and crouching low, so as not to appear aggressive. The leg was so close to healed and he readied himself for any attack that came from her. I too must hunt these woods to live, and if I catch the one who set this, he is a dead man. Please go your own way, and I will go mine with no enmity between us. Watching her carefully, he then took a stave of wood and tapped the ground around, setting off several more traps, which he disarmed. Then, slowly, he backed away from her, moving away into the forest as the predawn grew in the distance and his lantern was no longer needed. That was not wise. He told himself. It would have been much safer to have run the bitch through and skinned her for that perfect coat. Yet somehow his actions gave him extreme satisfaction and he paused on the trail to set some traps of his own. But these traps were designed to catch those walking on two legs, not a creature low to the ground. There was a poacher with a debt of blood and pain to pay out there. My midday's heat, he was camped and asleep in the shade, the events of the night but a memory.