[Anza]

username: Anza
name: Dyami
Native American name meaning "soaring eagle"
gender: male

relationship prompt:
As the wind picked up on the mountain side I felt my raven-black hair to fly across my face in a wild dance. I lifted my head to sniff the breeze. A combination of dust and heat greeted my nostrils. For miles around I could see only cactuses, mountains, and sky, oh so much sky. Like an endless ocean it spread above me in a deep turquoise blue, meeting the mountain side in the distance. Often I would find myself captivated by the mystique of the sky, with its ever changing appearance depending on the time of day, the season, and the temperature. But today I was scanning the horizon not to admire it, but to locate a dear friend. "A friend?" You may find yourself thinking. "What does this strange Kalon possibly mean? He lives in utter isolation on the side of the mountain!"

++++

There in the distance a dark figure started to take shape. Slowly approaching it grew larger and larger, his wings beating in a fierce battle against the wind. The figure grew closer and closer until it crash-landed onto his paw. Breathless the creatures sharp eyes pierced into Dyami's brown ones. His beak pecked lovingly at Dyami's hair.

"What have you been up to little buddy?" The eagle tilted his head with curiosity and opened his beak revealing something shiny. "Don't tell me you've captured some aluminum foil again." Carefully, Dyami pulled out a small metal badge with the initial N.B. engraved upon it. "Why do you constantly steal shiny objects? Now I have to track down the owner." With a sigh Dyami shifted the eagle onto his shoulder off of the glove. "Lets go east."

+++

Approaching the east side of my mountain, his eagle perched on his shoulder, Dyami spied something unusual. A cloud of dust was swirling around the base of the mountain surrounded by dark vehicles. Hiking down the slope, Dyami skillfully navigated the terrain to hide behind a pile of boulders to the side of the dust storm.

"I want this place cleared out!" The voice of a booming Kalon could be heard, "Nothing left of this incident." Whoever this Kalon was, Dyami reasoned, they had no right to trespass on his mountain. Slowly, he stood up from the boulders and approach this strange looking Kalon. Fur grey, a blindfold over his eyes, and blood-red paws Dyami immediately distrusted this Kalons presence. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" The Kalon turned to the direction of Dyami, sniffed the air and muttered "Wonderful." Turning more directly towards Dyami he questioned "Is that oversized stuffed animal on your shoulder the same one that snatched my pin?" Dyami lifted the shiny thing that he had retrieved from the beak of his friend. "This thing?"

"Yes, yes that thing!" The Kalon's annoyed voice responded, hastily he approached Dyami with an outstretched paw. Dyami hesitated. "What are you doing here?" "That's classified." The Kalon responded.
"Your name then?" "Also classified." Dyami was now annoyed with his tone.
"This is private property, I'm going to ask you to leave."
"Not until we find what were looking for."
"And what's that?"
The grey Kalon hesitated, "Its nothing." His tone grew sympathetic "Listen kid, don't mess with my bosses ok? Were going to need this land for um, government services, it would be best if you clear out."
"This is my home, I am not going anywhere."
The Kalon's face grew surprise. "You mean to tell me that you live here?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Very."
"My apologize then. I was told this land was unenahibatable."
"Well your source was wrong," Dyami responded coldly.

The grey Kalon flipped open his cell phone and immediately began to dial. Before he was able to call however, the eagle swooped in and snatched it out of the Kalons paw. "You bird-brain! Hand at over! CIA headquarters will not be..." He trailed off abruptly.
"CIA?" Dyami repeated.
"Alright. We got reports of strange activity in the area. UFO perhaps. We lined our sensors with aluminum foil to attract extraterrestrials."
"I'm sorry to disappoint but that was probably my eagle here, triggering your sensors. He has a fondness for shiny objects."
"Alright were leaving then." The CIA Kalon let out a disappointed sigh "I'm Nelson Blakely by the way, boy."
"I'm Dyami."
The Kalon was clearly in his later years, perhaps he had once had children of his own. His face, although masked by a sense of authority, was concerned about this younger Kalon. "Will you be alright on your own here, in the middle of nowhere?"
"I'll be fine." Dyami replied as his eagle rested on his shoulder and the warm west wind blew his fur. "This is after all, my home."

(The Kalon Nelson Blakely belongs to me.)

[trans]

mmmmmmmmm dropping out got stuck and couldnt figure out where to go with it :"/

[Sathalina]

username:
name:
gender:
relationship prompt:

Total WIP <3

[cyberdragon725]

Mark

[seawoof]

quick reminder this ends in 9 days!
there are only two completed forms and I'd love to be able to hand out more ru's!

[-------]

user / resolute


name / songaa


name meaning
"strong", native


gender / male


lord this boy is
just calling to
me to try out.
i love him oml
thankyou so so
much for this.

Every time he moved, he couldn't help but writhe. He struggled to stir at all, firstly, waterlogged hair weighing him down and matting
up among foul, smaller hairs. Following the hair's disheveled grain, a damp stream of dirty blood seeped down his leg. The current of
the water was enough to begin to clean it, but his shoulder ached while it pressed against the filthy shore. Yet, he was alive, and he'd
feel that more and more with each stiff twitch that was pulling him further from death, and defiantly so. He was always a strong one.
His mother had always told him that. When he was born, he had still been strong, and he had soon grown up a prodigy of his own kind.
When he found the strength to push himself from the river, he sat, and finally looked up. Ahead of him, a bear and a wolf sat together.

He wasn't quite sure how it had all happened. He could hardly remember, before he had found himself a new belonging away from the
purgatory that he had left himself in. Strength was coming back to him in a flood and his seams were beginning to come back together,
and ignorance suddenly felt blisser than when he was a pup. He missed his family, his friends, but he felt he had a bigger calling.
"Wait," his sandpaper tone tone reached out, wavering as he struggled to keep his breath. "Wait. Guys." He tried to laugh away pangs
of adrenaline that thumped in his chest like thunder. He could see the bear sit, and the wolf's image getting larger on Songaa's horizon
until explosive brown clashed with the softer eyes of a mother figure. She stilled, and a damp nose smudged the paint from his shoulder.

With a passing of time, all began to come back to him. His head was better and he had grown stronger and his shoulder was imprinted
no longer with the signature of a wound, but the painting instead of a pattern inspired by this new world around him. Still, an image
stood steadfast in his imagination. He recalled a weight against his chest, then being encased in moving ice, then silence and naught.
It was silent and dark now, like that day, but against him was warmth. The bear and wolf had stayed, a strange combination, and he
found his place better than any family. Yet, any memory had confused and contorted itself, except for those of the wolf and the bear
that stilled in defiance beside musings that were still trying to swim. Songaa never believed in fate, but maybe he could be convinced.

[Softballpup12]

"I'm sorry, we're done." Those were the last words she heard before her heart was destroyed.

[❌ DYNAMIGHT ❌]

username ;;
Wicced!Witch

name ;;
Hototo
a Hopi name meaning "he who whistles"

gender ;;
male

relationship prompt ;;
When Hototo was a child, his father had a bird. It was a great, beautiful thing, massive where it stood on his shoulder, its narrow golden beak plucking careful strands of hair from his dark head. Hototo was completely enamored with him; but his father warned him that he was a wild thing still, untamed, liable to bite and scratch. He was docile enough with Hototo's father only because he had had the golden eagle since he was a chick, and he had earned the beast's loyalty and affection. "It takes many years for a bird to trust," he'd explained to his son, stroking a calloused thumb down the eagle's beak. "We must be patient, Hototo. Your time will come."

But as Hototo grew up, his tribe grew apart from their old traditions. They stopped giving to their children falcons snatched from the nest, and they encouraged them instead to go to the local city to learn. Hototo resisted this, remembering his father's promise, the elegant rise of his bird's arrogant beak, but the elders insisted and Hototo finally bent and did as he was told. He went to town and learned English and politics and philosophy and doodled eagles in the margins of his notebook. He went home each night and watched his father feed his bird with envious eyes, but he did not ask again. He would remember what his father had said; he would be patient. If his time was ever meant to come, it would come.

He was sixteen when their neighbor pulled him from bed with urgent hands. He did not understand at first what she told him; she said something of his father, of his bird, gone into the hills to hunt, gone too long. Hototo leapt from bed and dressed and took his gun and went after his father as best he could figure, tracking him through the morning and into the afternoon. He paused once, when the heat rose and the soil grew swimmingly hot, and then he kept on. Hototo had only his father and his father's bird, and he was willing to lose neither. He walked on, unafraid, undeterred.

After a time, as the sun sagged in the sky and creased the horizon with blues and golds, Hototo heard a strange sound. It seemed as if a whistle from some distant mouth or shrieked through some narrow canyon; and so he climbed down from the peak he had mounted, searching for the source of the noise, his worry for his father edging on desperation the louder it became.

When he came round the corner, steadying his descent with an open hand against the cliff face, he saw what was making the noise and felt his heart drop into his belly. It was his father's bird, sitting atop his father's body, keening, mourning. Hototo stumbled to his knees.

When he returned to the village that night his father's bird rode on his shoulder. The beast had gone quiet and still; he cast searching looks to the sky as they walked, but he did not leave. Hototo was strangely comforted by his presence, even knowing the news he bore, feeling as though he brought a piece of his father along with him. They went together in the morning, him and his father's bird and his neighbors, and brought the body home. Hototo left the town's school, retreated into his house, cared for his father's bird, the one inheritance he had left him--and thought about encouraging the beast to go. He seemed saddened, depressed; his fathers went pale, his beak soft. Hototo fed him and fretted and finally, a month after his self-imposed exile, took the bird in hand and climbed to the mountain peak where his father had once found him, so long ago.

"You have to leave," he told the bird, who twisted his head to look at Hototo with one enormous golden eye. "You have to."

The eagle flexed his feet, shifted his weight; and then he hopped down to the stone outcropping they stood upon and toddled into the spare brush that grew on the edge. Hototo watched with apprehension, both wanting the bird free and wanting him close; and then followed with some curiosity when the eagle did not reemerge or leave after some meager minutes. He knelt in the brush, spread the stringy leaves, and saw the eagle standing in the nest of another, the twisted branches littered with eggshell, with the gory remains of the clutch. It was gruesome, an absolute waste; and then his father's bird cawed at him, and stepped to the side, and showed Hototo one last chick.

Hototo could not help but hear his father's voice as he took the fledgling in hand. "We must be patient, Hototo. Your time will come." The chick was still downy, its dark eyes ringed with smoky grey feathers, and it sleepily bit his thumb as it settled into the heat of his palm. Hototo looked at his father's bird, who looked calmly at him, and smiled. He bowed, his dark hair sweeping the dirt. "Thank you," he said. He knew that once the bird left he would not see him again and so he stood on the cliff and watched him leave. It was beautiful, peaceful. Hototo felt the weight of his father's death lift from his back. He looked to the chick he held and smiled.

As his father had said, it took many years for a bird to trust. The chick grew to a fledgling grew to a young adult; and his dark feathers and proud white head betrayed his kind, a bald eagle, rare among his tribe. He took to calling the bird Mochni, a word from his language meaning "talking bird", for the eagle was constantly chattering. He tolerated Hototo's proximity, allowed himself to be fed, but he would not come onto his arm or sit upon his shoulder. Stubbornly, he ignored Hototo each time he tried.

So Hototo did the next best thing and simply took Mochni everywhere he could, allowing the bird to perch upon a stick or follow along at his heels. He showed no interest in leaving, and stretched and fluttered his wings as he grew, but he did not attempt to go. Rather he would trot after Hototo when he went to the lake to bathe, stand curious on the shore as Hototo washed his thick dark hair. Mochni talked constantly, little chirrups, small honing noises meant to connect him with his flock; so Hototo got used to replying, saying, "That's okay, Mochni," or "I'm here, Mochni."

The village looked on Hototo and Mochni with kind exasperation. Hototo got the markings from a tribal elder that delineated him as the bird's guardian, the intricate tattoos on his forearm that he had traced on his father's arm as a child; and he reminded himself to be patient and breathe deep. His time would come.

Hototo grew older and whittled away his days convincing Mochni to be friends; and he passed his eighteenth birthday sitting beside Mochni on the lake shore, stroking his pearl head, briefly satisfied. Mochni accepted little but gave a lot and he took to sitting on Hototo's shoulder after that, his head, his arm, his leg, wherever he could find a place to hold on. Where before he had been vaguely detached by the time he was two he loved Hototo nearly as much as Hototo loved him.

But a time came when Hototo grew uneasy with the tribe. He was plagued with memories of his father, his father's bird, his childhood; and so when he was scarcely eighteen he took Mochni and he left. They went into the woods together, farther up the mountain, where the air grew thin and the trees tall and there Hototo built them a home. A stream wound through their yard, a waterfall sang the two of them to sleep, and finally, alone with Mochni, Hotoro remembered the easy happiness of being a kid.

[lovestruck]

I think this ends today so good luck :>
Rlly love this guy

[Anza]

good luck everyone c: