Blind Justices
08-19-07, 09:01 PM
-closed-
It was hard to see the moonlight this far into Concordia. The trees pressed all around, the foliage above so thick that it shaded the five creeping figures from any light that might have come from the full glowing globe of silver or the glittering stars that sprawled out from it. Even with her eyes having long adjusted to the midnight darkness, Melancholy Valencia found her shoulders brushing harshly against sandpaperish scraps of bark, her feet tripped and scratched by brambles and roots. The simple sandals of coiled rope and hempen thread she wore were left behind at camp, unable to protect the padding of her feet now. Even though she couldn't feel it, the burning of her cheeks belied her embarrassment and she wondered if the other figures were able to sense her embarrassment. As if the forest could hear her thoughts, her foot came down awkwardly on a thick piece of fallen branch. As she felt the hard wood press against the ball of her foot, she tried to adjust her step, but it was too late. A sharp crack snapped around them, and all movement stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she felt four pairs of eyes focus on her.
"Sorry..." she whispered, her wavering voice not quite blending into the wind that blew lazily through the trees. She could hear a slight scuffle through the grasses that could have been an errant squirrel, but as she found her naked back pressed against the rough trunk of the tree, she knew it was more than just a wandering rodent. A hot breath brushed down her neck, the spicy scent of a male flowing off her attacker. She recognized it as the scent that came from the bedroll across the fires from hers the night before, and hung her head in shame.
"Fool!" the baritone breathed, and somehow she knew that his voice would not be heard by the others. He was a man who walked barefoot at all times, his chest and back bared to the sunlight above. He knew the landlore here, where to avoid the hooved Dranaks and tempting Moontae. On the huntings they went on - like tonight - he was always the first to bring down prey or enemy. He was also the first to change, and the first to bring down retribution on those who made fatal mistakes, like speaking out into the night when they needed to be most quiet. Tonight the small werewolf pack was not alone. The vampires were also out, stalking the treetops.
Mela felt his strong hands grip her neck, the rough tips squeezing just slightly. It was a warning more than anything. She would be killed and left behind if need be. She was the stranger here, infected by one infected by one of them. There was a gap that couldn't be bridged in the family, the death of the one that had turned her keeping her from ever quite being one of them in full. The hand moved from her neck, and again the pack was moving. Melancholy began to move after a few moments of composing herself, moving more slowly than the others with the effort of staying silent in an unfamiliar territory. Not one of the four seemed to notice that she was falling behind, and she didn't quite care. For now she was just concerned with keeping her feet from getting tangled in Concordia's carpet of wicked weeds.
It was hard to see the moonlight this far into Concordia. The trees pressed all around, the foliage above so thick that it shaded the five creeping figures from any light that might have come from the full glowing globe of silver or the glittering stars that sprawled out from it. Even with her eyes having long adjusted to the midnight darkness, Melancholy Valencia found her shoulders brushing harshly against sandpaperish scraps of bark, her feet tripped and scratched by brambles and roots. The simple sandals of coiled rope and hempen thread she wore were left behind at camp, unable to protect the padding of her feet now. Even though she couldn't feel it, the burning of her cheeks belied her embarrassment and she wondered if the other figures were able to sense her embarrassment. As if the forest could hear her thoughts, her foot came down awkwardly on a thick piece of fallen branch. As she felt the hard wood press against the ball of her foot, she tried to adjust her step, but it was too late. A sharp crack snapped around them, and all movement stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she felt four pairs of eyes focus on her.
"Sorry..." she whispered, her wavering voice not quite blending into the wind that blew lazily through the trees. She could hear a slight scuffle through the grasses that could have been an errant squirrel, but as she found her naked back pressed against the rough trunk of the tree, she knew it was more than just a wandering rodent. A hot breath brushed down her neck, the spicy scent of a male flowing off her attacker. She recognized it as the scent that came from the bedroll across the fires from hers the night before, and hung her head in shame.
"Fool!" the baritone breathed, and somehow she knew that his voice would not be heard by the others. He was a man who walked barefoot at all times, his chest and back bared to the sunlight above. He knew the landlore here, where to avoid the hooved Dranaks and tempting Moontae. On the huntings they went on - like tonight - he was always the first to bring down prey or enemy. He was also the first to change, and the first to bring down retribution on those who made fatal mistakes, like speaking out into the night when they needed to be most quiet. Tonight the small werewolf pack was not alone. The vampires were also out, stalking the treetops.
Mela felt his strong hands grip her neck, the rough tips squeezing just slightly. It was a warning more than anything. She would be killed and left behind if need be. She was the stranger here, infected by one infected by one of them. There was a gap that couldn't be bridged in the family, the death of the one that had turned her keeping her from ever quite being one of them in full. The hand moved from her neck, and again the pack was moving. Melancholy began to move after a few moments of composing herself, moving more slowly than the others with the effort of staying silent in an unfamiliar territory. Not one of the four seemed to notice that she was falling behind, and she didn't quite care. For now she was just concerned with keeping her feet from getting tangled in Concordia's carpet of wicked weeds.