( ➴ ) ── of creatures and home

[mtuan,]

.. 𝐇𝐔𝐎 𝐗𝐔𝐄 𝐘𝐈. 𝘿𝙊 𝙄 𝙆𝙀𝙀𝙋 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙒𝘼𝙍𝘿 𝙊𝙍 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀 !!
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𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆

(tags) fox, ppl @
tent (mentioned)
(misc.) shrug emoji
1,034 words
not @ the way casi
doesn't take this s
eriously LOL
mtuan, kim mtuan

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𝐀
𝐊
𝐀

𝐂
𝐀
𝐒
𝐈
𝐌
𝐈
𝐑

Despite the thunder in the gloomy skies, a thin trail of cigarette smoke makes it way through the tree tops, the beginnings of a light drizzle doing little to fizzle out the source. Leaning against one of the towering trees, the tall man knew a storm before it hit, the smell of dampness and the misty fog doing little to hide the disgusting weather that was to hit the little group of 'animals' that hid away in the middle of nowhere. Casimir could already feel the way his fringes that had been shoved out of his face had begun to fall into his eyes once again, the dark mop of unkempt hair already beginning to dampen with the humidity of the atmosphere. It didn't help, of course, as the wind began to pick up through the leaves, swaying said strands to plaster against his temples. It certainly gave the man something of a wild look.

Kind of like one of the lost boys in one of those fairytales. Peter Pan. If he could recall correctly.

Running his fingers through his hair with his free hand, the man takes another inhale of his cig, relishing in the slight burn as it entered his system, only to be expelled just moments later. To be honest, the weather didn't bother the man much. As he stood in nothing but his jacket and some pair of black waterproof joggers and boots. Whatever clung to him elsewhere, he simply allowed. Never one to fight the weather when in truth, the cooling soft drizzle of rain that began to fall feeling nice against his heated skin.

The drizzle that starts to hit the forest reminds Casimir of home. Of the impoverish slums and the saddened eyes. Of the unwanted kids and those who were wanted- but couldn't be kept for the family had nothing to raise them with. How abandonment had turned to comfort in Casimir's case, friends lost and families ever the more nonexistent. He recalls the way children had always been forced to stick together to survive, how he'd met... many surprising faces while running the streets of the wealthy, shooed away when they begged for just something to sustain themselves with. He even recalls a particular boy just two years older than he, but so much more battered and bruised. So hardened by the time spent without outside comfort that he'd found comfort in his own lonesome. Grumpy and considerably terrifying to some of the other children. And maybe Casimir too, if he'd known any better through without his own naivety. But Casimir simply missed him, instead. Though their time came briefly before meeting any one member of the current little group of 'animals'. Before they'd assigned themselves roles and decided to call themselves by said roles, rather than their birth names. He was like a whisper from Casimir's past.

Of the countless days he, himself, had sat in the rain, the young man had allowed the water to run off his crouched frame in hopes of washing out his grimy hair and the dirt that clung to his face like dark smudges. How he'd tilted his face into the sky and allowed the clouds to cry heavy tears. (And maybe he'd wept with them in his youth.)

The boom of thunder draws Casimir back into the present. To the little group that struggled to survive even now. Running from the royal guards and those who wanted the children dead. (And yes, although they were no longer all underaged, they were still children, nonetheless- spirited and naïve.) Somehow, Casimir doesn't know how they've come so far. Casimir doesn't think he could have made it this far without them. And maybe, just maybe, the cynical part of said man had hoped it'd be him ending up missing and dead, rather than someone they all sought and needed to survive. They were down one member- why hadn't it been him?

Another drum of thunder brings on an onslaught of the storm, fast and quivering with no room for preparation. The cigarette butt is dropped to the forest floor soon after, a boot-clad foot grinding it against the dirt as if for safe measure, though it would surely have been put out by the rain, regardless. Of course, Casimir doesn't do anything against the onslaught of the storm, somehow still finding comfort in the torrential downpour, despite all odds. The others in group may have already started sheltering from the chaotic weather- others were not Casimir. Clearly.

Of course, it's the sharp call from Fox that beckons Casimir's attention towards the other. His alias falling with ease as the other man catches his attention and- oh yeah. It's the way they no longer used their birth names with one another that perhaps kept the group knit together so tight. They were all someone. But the someone from their (his) past seemed so far away. Even when the others hadn't chosen to, Casimir finds himself clinging to any identity he could prior to his now-alias- mustang. Casimir, Xue Yi, Huo. Pieces of mustang he couldn't exactly let go of, yet.

"Coming." The man assures through the howling of the wind, "So, why did we assign this job to mouse again?" Casimir cracks, the corners of his lips lifting just as the tall man reaches to grab for a flying corner of the poor tent currently flapping wildly in the wind. Oh, Casimir knew it'd ruffle some feathers on mouse with the next one, yet he couldn't help it. Not when all three boys looked like the sodden animals struggling in the rain that they were. "Maybe we just need to make your temper flare higher," he chuckles, attention turning to the other boy, as he pulls the tent down as much as the man could towards his fellow groupmate, "Give you the boost of fighting energy you need to get this tent set up."

"Or maybe, we just sleep in the mud tonight, doesn't seem like too bad of an idea to me-" the quivering teasing is cut off when owl joins the fray, her earnest efforts a stark contrast whatever the hell mustang had been attempting with the two boys.

[lush]

❝ ⸺ ✯ 𝙈𝙊𝙊𝙎𝙀 ❞
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxhe/him | 20(?) | location; river | tags; racc | mentions; tags, fox, mustang, mouse, ram




moose probably logged a total of two hours of sleep last night. not due to any reason, of course. but he just always seemed to struggle to sleep most of the time. whether it be because his mind is racing and he can't keep it quiet long enough for him to sleep, or he just doesn't feel tired. moose spends a lot of nights by the river, listening to the water flow, occasionally putting his hand into the cold water to feel it. he always had loved it. he loved the cold, the feeling of the water on his hand, dripping down. the feeling of getting into the river and becoming drenched. it was often a weird dream moose had, to just want to jump into the river and get fully soaked in the water. emerging himself completely. but of course, he can't do that. especially if he didn't dry fast enough, which would just leave him completely frozen during the night. and that was what moose had to internally fight himself with last night. don't jump into the water, don't go back to the camp soaking wet and sad because you're cold, don't do anything stupid. all of those little arguments in his mind left him just staring up at the stars, not even aware of the amount of time that was going by. the sun was starting to rise and light up the sky with pink and purple, moose had finally fallen asleep. which only lead for him to be awoken shorter after. he didn't mind, of course. he mostly did it to himself. but with the wet, rainy weather, moose found it hard for him to stay awake as he sat under the tree, admiring the view across the river.

moose felt bad. he knew how awful the rain could be in situations like this, especially when they didn't have the best kind of shelter. it could lead them into a situation much worse if the rain had gotten any harder. they were already struggling to keep what food they had dry and not messed up, and to set up some shelter again. it made moose sometimes wish they could somehow make a real shelter. like, a cabin somehow. of course, moose knew how awful and time consuming it would be, and not only that but just a whole hassle. if what they had worked, why change anything? moose leaned his head against the wet bark behind him, feeling the squish as the weight of his head secured onto it. his hair was soaking wet, and probably now mixing wet, soggy tree bark to make some disgusting type of cereal.

he closed his eyes with a sigh.

a part of moose felt guilty in moment, for not helping. not helping bear with dinner or to attempt to help fox with the tent but inevitably get yelled for messing it up. fox yelling at moose wouldn't a surprise when moose would probably just stand there like another tree waiting for an instruction. and the last time he tried to set up a tent on his own he had accidentally gotten one of the poles stuck and it wouldn't go down, which set them back a bit, because fox (probably) had to come over to the rescue for him. moose was the worst with those things. especially now with the rain, causing everything to be slippery. and with moose's stupid grip and his mindset, he probably wouldn't be the best to work with right now, anyway. he was loving the rain. it fixed his problem of him wanting to get submerged in the water, but it wasn't really helping anyone else. if fox yelled at him during that, moose would probably just be so spaced out with the way the water and the cold felt against his skin- he wouldn't even care. which...probably would cause frustration and that isn't what they need right now. not when almost everyone was frustrated currently. the only person that would probably understand the whole mess of thoughts moose was having was probably ram.

ram and him got along surprisingly well. they always understood each other and their motives. when moose was in a lazy mood, instead of yelling at him or throwing sticks at him to get him up, ram would sit by him and talk about how she feels the same way. moose was so grateful to have someone to relate to genuinely, without having to stretch out far or try and learn about new things for them. so when the girl wave, moose could only smile and wave back.

hearing the crashing of the tent behind him, moose could only flinch at the sudden sound. he turned his eyes briefly to the situation, to see fox yelled at mouse, and calling over mustang. poor mouse. moose probably would have gone over there to help if it wasn't such a wet situation and if fox didn't already call mustang over. mustang probably was the better fit anyway- seeing how he worked and helped and moose just kind of sat in a ball position by the river, soaking up the rain. whoever had to sleep near him tonight was probably going to be suffering, having to just watch him track so much water in. moose ran his hand through his wet hair, feeling the bark at the back of his head. his hair felt much softer when it was wet, but it also felt a lot thicker. almost harder to run your fingers through. and it probably didn't help he was practically dragging a bit of the tree with him everywhere he goes, now. but he was too tired to care. hopefully this night he can actually shut his brain down long enough for him to fall asleep properly. then in the morning he could actually be useful.

drawing a small smiley face into the mud next to him, he sucked in a deep breath. it may have been a muddy situation, and it may have not been ideal, but at least moose could draw much easier. maybe just looking at the bright side, as simple as it is, could calm down some nerves or some anxieties. the only problem is that the more moose drew, the more mud he'd probably track onto his hand. and as easy as it is to clean up with a trip to the river or just holding his hand out in the ran, it would still make his hand feel like of rocky, n a weird texture would follow after him. if only thinking about the consequences of his actions could actually cause the idiot to stop, maybe he wouldn't be such a mess all the time. he tried to just completely indulge himself into the drawings he was creating with the soft mud, but the moment he heard the squish of footsteps by his side, he lost track of where his current drawing was even going. turning to the sound, moose offered a small smile. raccoon.

raccoon was his best friend in the entire place. they took care of each other, and kept each other company. moose was so grateful for her, he genuinely would feel so lost if she wasn't around for him. and even though they had their disagreements, moose always was grateful for her. plus, knowing him, he'd probably just back down two seconds into the argument and agree with her. not out of laziness or fear, but just because he didn't want to even argue with her. she was one of the people moose felt the most at ease around, he wasn't gonna accidentally mess that up fighting over a weird looking rock anyway. he loved her a wee too much. pushing himself farther over to make room under the tree for racc, his smile only grew as she got closer. and once she had sat down, moose grabbed his hair to squeeze out as much water as he could, before leaning his head against her shoulder.

"i didn't know the bell went off." he said simply, his bottom lip being chewed on ferociously. looking down at the wet food, moose could only let a content sigh out, before grabbing it from her. with his pressure now on the wet bread, he watched it leak bread flavored water. "thank you." he said quietly, pulling the meal closer to his chest, followed by his knees. he was in kind of an awkward little huddle, practically in the fetal position. it was comfy for him, even if it made him appear like a child sometimes. slowly, moose took a bite into the wet sandwich. he made a face at the water that came straight out of the bread, but he only continued to chew the food. the meat was still ok, but the bread was the only thing really holding in water like a weird sponge. it made moose cringe at the feeling. if he got past if fast enough, it didn't bother him. but the first bite still caused him to shiver. "how's your cheesy roll?" moose asked, swallowing the wet bread before taking another bite slowly. hopefully it wouldn't rain tomorrow. or at least like this.

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

───── 𝑪𝒀𝑵𝑹𝑰𝑪 ── ❝𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫❞ ── 𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑩𝑬𝑵 ───── ● ── ─ ─
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LOCATION; camp ─ TAGGING; Ram ─ MENTIONED; Bear ─ WC; 1,383

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*
Hound plucked a twig out of his wooden cup and took another hearty sip of the brew that had already proven bitter and tasteless on the first two. A wanted man, he had not had the chance to ask the herbalist what leaves had been put into the drink he had tasted after a supply run, but this had not deterred him from picking up plants along the prints he would track through the woods and turning them into inventive blends. It was a work in progress, but he had not managed to poison himself yet, which was, in its way, a type of achievement ─ and it was good to have an ongoing project, lest he wander into the woods and begin climbing trees. It was not a matter of pride ─ because that was not a thing with which Hound often concerned himself ─ that he had not asked one of the more knowledgeable creatures about what could possibly make a pleasant herbal drink, rather than the thought simply not having crossed his mind.
indentindentindentHe turned his cup upside down and the rest of its contents splattered onto the rain-battered riverbank. He wiped at his nose and sniffled once, still the furthest thing from discouraged as he stuffed the last of his soggy bread into his mouth and wiped the crumbs from his beard with a sweep of his thumb. Setbacks hardly ever seemed to wound him, which also applied to the memory of how he had found himself living on the road instead of as another houndmaster Gereben, like his father, Gerhard. It took a certain kind of man to not sustain scars on his spirit from having endured such a specific and unforgettable source of danger as being driven from his home by the dogs he had helped raise and train ─ either stupid, foolishly brave, or forgiving to a fault. And whichever one of these Hound happened to be, it was often difficult to tell.

indentindentindentWith not much in the way of brothers and sisters, the nobleman had known where to aim his blow after Gerhard had abused his trust and stolen from him. He had robbed him of a legacy, and were the itinerant tendrils of Hound's thought to ever wander that far, he might have seen it as ironic how this punishment had only set himself on a path of looting and theft. Yet he had not left those highwaymen who had since raised him with a fouled understanding of good and evil, but with his sense of honor intact and a slew of skills to apply to something somewhat better than robbing whoever and wherever and taking a little more than they needed out of greed. Those men had made sure that he could ride the most stubborn of steeds, wield a sword as another limb, and track a hare through a snowstorm.
indentindentindentAnd fear his potential demise in the form of a curse, but Hound had never had enough sense to dread something longer than a fleeting moment where the threat stood acute and cogent right in front of him. Such as at night, when he would choose to set his bedroll on the ground by the fire rather than crawl into a tent to be with the looming dark. It was not only due to this that it had been a long time since he had spent a night alone with the stars, unobstructed and winking in the thousands in that hazy purple-blue of the dome above, but because his defection from the band of highwaymen had led to him being taken in by a colourful group of creatures. And, well, for him, it was a delight to be Hound rather than Cynric ─ in part because this was a name, and a face, etched on posters next to the names of those who had committed much more gruesome deeds than himself.
indentindentindentHis sleeping habits ─ alongside with the number of storms he had experienced while living out in the open with the highwaymen ─ were why he wasn't much bothered by the gusting winds tearing at his cloak and combing the fur of his collar with invisible fingers, or the pouring rain that made it stick up in all directions. And why he did not even realize to help with the tents, as all of his belongings were scarce and tightly bundled into a pack that would withstand the wet and cold. It was not often that Hound seemed to be the type to pay incisive attention, but with the trained eye of a tracker, even he had noticed the birds disappearing from the skies as he had sat crouched over his bubbling pot of mysterious leaves ─ right before the storm had rolled in.

indentindentindentNow, some of the creatures were huddling on the ground, appearing much like soaked ravens nestling in gleaming plumage. Among them was Ram, veiled in a mood that Hound's unfocused mind could not penetrate or think to assess. But his feet were already moving, considering they never stayed still for long, and instead of settling down next to her, he began to pace in a winding circle around her. His booming voice cut easily through the noise of the storm, even while it could not do much about the rain that lashed from this way and that, bringing his usually groomed hair to his forehead in dark, wet strands.
indentindent"When I was a boy, we would always know a storm was coming when the hunting dogs would howl up a row at the smell of thunder."
indentindentindentHound's steps grew more light and fleet, sauntering as if he were moving through the starting steps to some elaborate, choreographed dance like the performers that would walk the streets during festivals ─ mind the squishing of the muddy turf under his hunter's boots. A metallic scraping rose from the scabbard as he drew his sword, pointed it at the distance, and brought it level to his eyes. The rain barely had time to ping off the side of the blade as he turned into a nimble pirouette, carving the point of his curved sword through the tempestuous air with a barely audible swoosh. He kept moving through the motions and circling around Ram even as he talked, punctuating his words with practiced twirls and parries of the blade.
indentindent"Do you think it is instinct for animals or if they smell it and think to themselves that is the smell of a storm? What about when the wind turns on a hunt, do they think there comes the hunter or is it merely the way of prey to flee any strange smell?"
indentindentindentA flash of purple light from the sky briefly turned the world monochrome, and soon after, the rolling clap erupted and pressed deep into Hound's ears, but his feet did not falter ─ and neither did his mouth.
indentindent"The smell of wet dogs is wonderful isn't it, warm and welcoming? We couldn't fit the entire lot into our hut, but we would sneak some in, and they would lounge drying by the fire and try to sneak scraps from the table. A fireplace would be a blessing in this frigid rain, but I suppose the gods bestow different boons than laying bricks and lighting kindling." Another set of steps and a pivot of the blade. "Do you suppose Bear's cooking might be a boon or is that a matter of good bread? Or might the baker have asked for a boon to bless his bread? Have you eaten yet?"

indentindentindentHound finally sheathed his sword with a flourish and gave a silly little bow at the wind and empty air, his imaginary audience, then straightened with hair glistening from the rain plastered to his brow. He finally settled his dark eyes on Ram, then crept closer, like a child walking on eggshells to ask a parent for something they wanted. He crouched beside her and began absentmindedly rifling through the leaf mould at their feet with gloved fingers. The earthy, slightly sweet and decaying smell of autumn reminded him of apple peels, although now thoroughly waterlogged.
indentindent"And what may your plans be for today, most radiant miss Ram? Think the trapline will have yielded us any quarry in this rain?"

[Euthymios]

𝐹𝐴𝑊𝑁 ✧ 𝐹𝐴𝑌𝑅𝐸 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑅𝐸𝑁 ━━━ (𝟎𝟎𝟏) ━━━
role ( the fawn ) tags ( fox, mouse, owl, moose ) wc ( 1680 )

Fawn was wrestling with a particularly plucky dandelion root, jabbing and stabbing at it with a force best associated with vexation, when the sky began to shift unto its due dreary route. Of course, in the wake of the sun’s brutal cascade above, she hardly noticed. Especially since their yard was full of dandelions, poking their infuriatingly bright heads out of the ground. (Thankfully, none of them were white yet - Fawn would've pulled her hair out if she saw even one dandelion with seeds.) Stubborn, stupid thing! Come on-! Her jabs weren't exact, their course skewed sideways from frustration, so they just missed their target. Soil stained her hands, deep smudges of brown with varying degrees. Her sleeves were rolled up in response to the insufferable heat, so sometimes, the soil crept up there too. Her nails were dark crescents after several hours in the garden. the soil on her smooth skin would've shocked anyone else, but Fawn merely shrugged. There was no point cleaning them really, except for when mealtime came around. Her hands were always dirty and coarse, prints of nature's stubbornness written for all to see. Weeding is a tedious chore to all who undertake it. Sweaty, time-consuming work, which left dirt stains on her blouse and stockings, just like those on her hands. Still, she pursued this one love that alone had persevered through the bitter years of her youth. Curiously, it pressed upwards, unfaltering yet small. Pathetic, yet standing tall. Anyone who would care to listen would soon hear the girl prattling on about the beauty of a sprout. Repetitive? Yes. Absolutely, utterly, unnecessary? Maybe.

But Fawn believed her entire life could be defined as just that: a sprout. Very simplistic see, but beautiful. A sign of new life: renewal and regeneration.

Fawn herself was not much in terms of appearance, golden brown locks hanging haphazardly around a mien full of youth and yet earthly contemplation. She had very little to fill her frame, it was better to describe her as gangly or slender. And Fawn was nothing big either, her slight frame pointing not to one of mischief and worldly athletic exploits, but abstinence. It was her blessed fortune to have been brought in by Fox and the others, but around her always hovered a general aura of lack. Never enough. Not one to make a fuss over 'trivial' matters, she kept her jaws shut and said little when pressed. Her response remained the same when asked; "I'm fine." Never mind that Fawn was so greatly removed from the rest that her own presence was felt so lightly. Fawn was not a social creature. So now, left to her own devices, mind absorbed in the greens she so painstakingly tended to, fed, and plucked, she couldn't have wished for anything else. Except, a drink maybe.

SNAP - Her slight form was abruptly pitched backwards, humiliatingly onto her bottom, when the root suddenly gave under her relentless attacks. The entire plant, roots in tow, tore out of the ground, spraying soil every which way. Fawn yelped as she went sprawling on her back, but the sudden shock soon gave way to relief. Finally...

The scent of rain weighed down on the air, more by the minute. Clouds drifted lazily overhead, their bellies swollen with rain yet un-hindering their movements. Her attention strayed from her place of work to gaze aimlessly above. The clouds puzzled her sometimes, and as a result, she often spent some time just staring up. It was not considered unusual by any means for a youth of her age to find fixation on silly abstract topic. She did not even remember being scorned for it. In monotony, there was peace and complacency to be found. Arguments - between Fox mostly - and the occasional excursion provided the sole source of unease in her life. Can't we all get along, realistically? I have enough trouble with the weeds as is. It's not practical to add more to the plate. or something along those lines. Whatever - she moved on briskly because to dwell upon these thoughts was to invite in eddies of unease and other similar emotions. Fawn did not want that - her emotions always proved to be damningly tumultuous, like wild mustang colts. With deft fingers, she separated root from flower and leaf, laying all three out before her when she contemplated what to do with them. See, dandelion leaves were edible, and Owl had told her once dandelions could make a salad. But Fawn had no love for dandelions, plants which might as well be considered a very minor form of a plague. Besides, dandelion leaves were so horribly bitter.

Fawn collected herself, dusting soil off of her blouse and sleeves before heading over to the large pail to deposit the weed. She kept the leaves; maybe there was a use for them outside of consumption. She wasn't particularly sorry to see the rest go.


Well, she wasn't wrong, per sé. But this was no longer what she might call 'raining.'

Barely a few hours after she had been summoned for supper, the first drops fell, cold and clear. She heard the first low groans of the wind jostling lofty boughs. Not long after that, as the sun was retreating beyond the hills, as night fell and temperatures dropped, what she had assumed would be a 'small rainstorm' quickly turned into unabridged chaos. Howls, yelps, cries of dismay. Rain poured down in thick sheets, soaking everything in sight - including herself - and turning the ground into thick, squishy mud. All she could do was sit in the shade of the trees, hope the branches blocked some of the rain, and remind herself that at least she would not need to water her plants today. For the most part, she followed what she dubbed 'the rain cycle'. When it rained, it rained - gushing that life-giving liquid upon her garden, giving much more than she was willing to do on an average afternoon. It's unnecessary to have to water her plants every single day, and with summer just on the horizon, she preferred to spend less of her hours under the scorching hot sun.

Regardless however, being rained on was not much better.

Like her comrades, Fawn was soaked to the bone. Obviously. Water literally dripped off of her form. She hadn't gone more than a few paces outside of her tent before the freezing assault of the downpour alighted upon her shoulders and chased her with alarmed yips and yelps into the trees. But initially, she found no shelter besides the oaks, and she was driven reluctantly into the yard, which wasn't much better. After several ten-minute intervals of dashing about, she was here in the mud, curled up, wet, shivering and very, very miserable. Gods, she hated being wet and cold - the other creatures were in similar states, but she didn't believe they would enjoy it - but it wasn't exactly a foreign feeling. She had spent too much time being drenched from head to toe in the dirty town alleyways for it to be a foreign feeling anymore. In this situation, the obvious solution was get in your tent. A perfectly brilliant plan, except there were no longer any tents to duck into. Even Owl's treehouse had been reduced to a pile of wet lumber. There was too much shouting going on for her to want to walk out, either. She didn't need to be near the other creatures to understand how angry and frustrated they were.

The wind drew warmth away from her body, leaving only cold in its wake. Fawn's clothing was thin, of course - skyrocketing temperatures in the afternoon dissuaded her from wearing anything thicker than a light t-shirt. Now, she regretted it. At least my hands are clean now. The freezing rain had done a good job of washing away the dirt and grime on her hands, leaving pale, porcelain skin behind. Curling up tighter, if possible, tucking her hands near her stomach, she continued to brood in silence, only jumping at the occasional snarl of thunder and lightning above. The weather scared her sometimes.

The real battle seemed to be with the tents, for they had all been knocked over like twigs. Tarps lay sprawled like dark wings flapping upwards mightily, with hands clinging to it with equal desperation. Fawn jumped when one actually flew at her like a giant bird but it did not strike her. She leaped away from the curses of the certainly irate Fox and Mouse, still audible over the lamentable din of the storm. It blew away into the trees and was gone, riding on wind currents surely too fast for her to catch. Surely? Her gaze wheeled around to see if anyone saw, but no one did. Everyone was occupied, so she decided to take matters into her own hands. Movement would help keep her from freezing anyway. On limbs as shaky as saplings, she stood, convulsive with shivers, teeth chattering louder than her heartbeat. Cold, she was so cold. Right...It went that way. Her gait was uneven with the cold but she stumbled on in pursuit of the tent. It had gotten quite far, surprisingly, and Fawn fretted it was lost. But her search and effort were not for naught, and she managed to catch it in her two hands. Ah but it was snagged on branches and the wind demanded it possessively. The dandelion root came to mind again.

Slowly, she bent it in two and clasped it against her cold person. It was a long trek back, made longer by the fact that Fawn felt half-frozen and the wind made walking hard. The tarp provided little warmth. Unsteady legs slowly bearing her forward, she collided gently with the storm-warriors; Fox in particular. "I- h-h-have i-it here. This th-thing, I saw it blow away.. Her speech was disjointed, her jaw nearly numb with cold as she presented it to them. "Which t-t-tent does this t-t-tarp b-b-belong to?" even her speech was not free of stutter.


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[senna_]

───────➴𝐑𝐀𝐌

bria var ● she/her ● 23 ● location; campground ● mentions; raccoon, moose, mouse ● tags; hound

Everything was an ongoing case of pure hopeless disaster at that moment. If not disaster, then disarray, or simply a complete frenzy of anxious energy. The more Ram watched, watched as the shimmery tent threatened to cave like a puddle on Earth’s floor and wither into the soggy brown soil, the more she almost felt bad. Almost, being the keyword. It wasn’t to say this was a daily occurrence for Ram, sitting off to the side, engulfed by the dimmed shadows of the forest’s grand, near-ancient trees, hidden by the darkened blankets that were ever-so despite to swallow whole anything and anyone who passed underneath. Guilt was a terrible thing. The way it emerged suddenly, snaking in and out of one’s veins like an indisputable habit of impairment and slyness, ready to snap at the inside at all hours of the day, but always willing to wait on the right moment… It was excruciatingly painful to deal with. The target was always one’s state of vulnerability, when said person was at its weakest. For Ram, that moment appeared to be now. While the rain did not usually pour down on her parade and wipe it clean, there were always nasty side-effects that went with it, for life was never as kind as one would hope. And while Ram usually found the handful of motivation at its highest whilst dancing about with the ways of the rain, her physical appearance, drenched to the skin and looking much like a drowned rat found on the edge of a river’s mouth, very likely showed otherwise. Today, she felt like that rat. But you mustn’t ever refer to me as that, her inner voice threatened, as if sensing that someone was listening in on her thoughts. I am Ram and Ram only.

It was almost odd, in a way, how much Ram cherished the name that had been given to her. She was newer to the pack, having only been with them for a rough seven or eight months, but she had already become so possessive over the title she claimed as her own. Bria Var, her name assigned at birth, was nothing to her. Strength and punishment were what defined those words; her parents had always loved names with meaning to them. While Ram appreciated the “strength” side of it, it seemed she was given the opposite: punishment. Being left with the man she unwillingly had to call Father, having to work day and night to keep their shack-like house afloat… If that wasn’t a bad enough punishment, then never getting ill or losing something that could free her from the work was. Things had whipped around, though. She was happy. Thriving, even. She had freedom — that’s what she liked the most. Doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Of course, there were strings attached, such as chores and helping out, but that wasn’t the end of the world. It was far better than being the prey caged in an unbreathable atmosphere, where high levels of toxicity killed the air in her lungs and brought forth an entirely new person. Beastly, apathetic, with little light flickering from within. Now, the flame was a roaring fire, lit brilliantly with energy and passion. She was ready to go.

Well, on most days. While the guilt had climbed a good portion of the mountain inside of her, it had slipped, just as she had earlier, and vanished into thin air. She was back to feeling contented with her decision to sit out in the chilly rain and scope out her surroundings in peace. Her eyes followed a wisp of peaceful blue fabric as Raccoon hurried past her; Ram could never truly understand how she managed to bound about through the depts of the woods in barefoot and a skirt. Feeling the fabric tickle her ankles would make Ram want to physically rip out strands of her hair. It looked pretty on Raccoon, though, she would say that much. The way it billowed out around her lower half, dancing elegantly with the pace of the wind. It almost made up for her cheeky behaviour; a nice balance, between mischief and innocence. For all Ram knew, though, Raccoon used the long length of her skirt to her advantage; perhaps she rolled who-knows-what sorts of goodies in the fabric. It was always so hard to tell with her.

She sat in silence, watching as Raccoon danced her way towards the riverside, contentedly joining Moose. Moose was probably one of the only people Ram would willingly go to. There were a few of them, but Moose was always so approachable. There was a time where Mouse was, too. At the thought of him, Ram could feel her throat tighten, cheeks flaring red, and she snapped her gaze towards the caved-in tent once again. She wasn’t angered with Mouse, per se, but… It was complicated. He knew as well as she did that their relationship was about as sturdy as that tent. It wasn’t something Ram wanted to talk about. Was that even something to speak of out loud? What happened would happen. That thin strand that connected the two of them was wrapped tightly around her wrist, and it was only a matter of time before the cut-off circulation pained her too much to risk another second trying. Or worse, the rope broke completely. There was only so much fishing Ram could take. She hadn’t the patience to wait endlessly for the bait to sink, or not sink, and make the decision for her.

On the note of bait, it seemed as though she had become such a thing. The rat she was once again; Hound had found his prey. Ram was convinced that magically, Hound and Fawn had switched places at some point in time. Hound was a literal child trapped in a man’s body; Ram could never successfully wrap her head around how he managed to gather so much energy. And he was so happy. All the time. The second his deep voice cut through the delicate lines of rain, Ram knew the torture was only going to increase. Perhaps his nagging would physically cause her head to burst; the weather did her headache no justice, but adding an energetic, “I don’t know when to stop” Hound to the picture? It seemed unbearable. And yet, silently, Ram didn’t dislike Hound’s company. To his face, absolutely, but when he left? If he left? He left an evident space of loneliness; a cut-out shape of emptiness in human form. She’d never tell that to him, though. In fact, Ram didn’t dare to think it whilst he bounded around her. She was paranoid when it came to the idea of mind readers, really.

She breathed in sharply through her nose, the sweet scent of rain almost literally trembling her senses. “Did you howl like your hunting dogs, Hound?” she sighed, voice audibly sounding oh-so bored as she rested her cheek against her soaked palm. “Were you a good boy today? Could you have predicted the death of our dear sweet tent?” She hated that he actually said something that was making the gears in her mind rattle – the first time that whole day. He did have a good point in asking such a thing, as much as it killed her to say it. The smell of rain was prominent. The way a storm emerged in the sky, painting it black within a matter of heartbeats… Surely an animal would know it even more than humankind. But she remained silent on the subject.

He was still going; twirling about like a ballerina who was performing a routine at their first ever recital. “You look like a wet dog right about now,” she told him, quirking a brow as she eyed his soaked top, which was practically clinging to his skin ─ uncomfortably, undoubtedly. “You fit the whole package, Hound! Wet skin, dog scent, howling with the wind. You’ve made it. Well done.” A sarcastic clap of her hands followed that, then she dropped them, fingers tracing the idiosyncratic cracks in the rock she was perched on. He was still going; chirping and twirling and having the time of his life. “Have you?” she asked in return when he mentioned eating, eyeing him like he had grown another head. “You’ve enough energy to power the whole group. Did you eat all of our dinners?” Then, with the tiniest shake of her head, almost defeated-like, she added, “No. I must say, I’m not overly fond of soggy bread.” She knew she, like everyone else, didn’t have a choice in the matter, but it was out before she could have seriously dwelled on it, anyway.

Another sigh escaped her lips, and Ram raised her hands, palms up towards the sky. “Maybe I’ll take a shower,” she drawled. “Or go fishing. With this much rain, there ‘ought to be some fish that’ve fallen right from the clouds. A nap would be fantastic, but ─ ” she motioned lazily towards the sad-looking tent ─ “that’s not doing anyone any good.” She shrugged, then turned her attention onto his sword, which he’d just recently put back away. Probably for the best. We don’t need him taking off anyone’s head right now. “What’re you doing with that sword, Hound? Prepared to fight right about now? The Gods themselves, maybe? I’m sure they’ll love a good quarrel.”

[Speak]

𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓

[gender] cis-female [age] twenty-five [name] kiran spada [ location ] camp [mentions] everyone [ tagged ] bear

"Are you sure you'll be alright in this weather dear?" the old woman asked her eyes focusing past the slender young woman and through the open door to dark rolling clouds that stretched across the sky.
Fixing the clasp of her cloak Spider checked the contents of her bag once more to ensure she'd gotten everything she'd come for, "I'll be alright granny," this woman wasn't her grandmother, "My father's farm is only a ways down the road, I'm sure I'll be able to beat the rain." Her lie left her body just like a breath being exhaled, "You just remember to brew the tea just as I've said and you'll feel much better. I'll see you next time!" An easy smile spread across her face as she waved goodbye to the old woman and headed down the dirt path with a soft-spoken but flat "Farewell."
The weatherworn hut the old lady lived in had been an excellent hiding place before she'd found the creatures in the woods but it was time to move on. When she'd heard the old recluse had a grandchild who ended up becoming a fairly skilled soldier Spider thought that she'd found a way in. Just unfortunate for her and that granny that her grandchild only seemed to care enough to send a few coins now and then, no visits and no heartfelt letters. It was a setback but hopefully, with this new group she'd be able to turn the situation to her advantage.
Only a few steps into the woods and with a crack of thunder it began to rain. She felt as if she was standing underneath a waterfall, Spider was already drenched to the bone, the skirts of her dress were heavy with rainwater and the bottom was caked in mud as she trudged her way back to camp. Though she'd smelled the petrichor that morning Spider was surprised by the ferocity of the storm, it seemed that the sky was angry about something as a clap of thunder roared across the dark clouds and reverberated in her chest. Startling maybe, but not scary, other sounds haunted Spider's dreams and echoed in her mind during those dreaded quiet moments. Clutching the bag closer to her chest Spider curled into herself in an attempt to keep her prize for the day relatively dry, at least enough to be edible.
Just beyond the trees, she could hear unintelligible shouting hinting at the state of the (mostly) harmonious camp that she'd left only this morning. Canvas littered the ground or had been squished into the mud while the few tents that remained upright were being held by various figures irritated by the heavy rainfall. Though she'd been in the camp for a few weeks Spider couldn't say that she knew all of the members of this so-called family well enough yet. It would take time to figure out the best bait to lure out her target and to earn enough of their trust that they'd go along with whatever story she'd tell them.
Moving past those struggling with the tents, it wasn't like she'd be able to help with that anyways, Spider instead caught sight of a large figure. It probably wouldn't make her any sort of trusted comrade but at least she'd be able to earn some favour with this. "Bear! It's not much but," opening the bag she had a few mostly dried rolls and a pouch that contained a mixture of crushed dried meat and berries, "it might be enough to go around. The granny I'd been staying with gave me this as a farewell present." the sheepish smile was something that came with practice, after all, it couldn't be too obvious that she was fishing for favour from the leader of this collection of creatures. From what she'd gathered Bear was a family man, someone who wanted to care for the others around him (naive) and that made him useful in getting her further in with the rest. Her initial plan had been to come back with some extra treats for the kids and other members, but this storm had just made her bag of goodies all the more precious. What a lucky day to be The Shivering Soaked Spider.

[Foe Paw]

──── ♖ Bᴇᴀʀ
----x • he/him • 37 • loc. •tags. spider, mentions raccoon
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────bear was having a dreadful time of it.

────now, rain didn't always herald sure misery. a summer rain bringing relief from the baking heat of the sun, an intense storm serving as a shield from the eyes of hunting guards - a lifetime of depending on the mercy of the weather to water his crops and make sure his livelihood would go on served to strongly associate the rain with a most literal blessing from the heavens. few feelings would ever match the heights of relief when storm clouds closed over one's head after a long drought. that feeling carried him well into his outlaw days, leaving him with the disposition to be rained on with good graces. surviving a rainy day when one was in a camp in the wilderness was a question of taking the correct precautions and having prepared oneself.

────and that was the crux to bear's disgust at the moment, because he could only attribute this all-rounder of a disastrous camp to a profound lack of wisdom on his part. many of the tents had been raised in low areas, instead of solid ground, and so had flooded. the rain flies hadn't been set, either. bear, to his shame, had let that unfinished task go without insistence, since the weather seemed like it would have kept. and so, having failed that preparation, at this point they'd all be sleeping in a foot's worth of rainwater. they had rain tarps, although the power of the gales was keeping fox, mouse and mustang from setting them to keep some of it off their heads. at this point it felt like even if they managed to defeat the winds, the rest of the forces arrayed against them might as well turn the night into a lost cause. and to the point that was currently most aggravating to bear, their campfire, having been built centrally and out in the open like it usually was, had succubed to the deluge immediately.

──── after the initial scramble to put away what was necessary under the miserable covers of their flooded tents, he went back to trying to figure out dinner, lest they starve to death to complement the drowning in rainwater that was clearly writ in their future. he put away his halfway cooked dinner, frustrated to realize that with no fire, the beautiful haunch of venison owl had brought down recently and that he'd left to make tonight fresh, rather than salt it for storing like the rest of the meat, would likely go to waste. no, it would be fine, he told himself, setting his jaw when the disgust at the idea of wasting food reared its head at him. if they could rebuild the fire later, he'd make a slow cooking soup with it and leave it on the stove throughout the night. although, reconsidering, maybe he had more time than he thought before the meat went bad - the temperature had dropped to bone-biting, even worse with their being soaking wet. they'd need to relight the fire, in an effort to stay dry and sufficiently warm.

──── he caught himself eyeing the dark skies with the creeping dread of one who was intensely aware that this rain, and the cold that followed, could kill them. gods, if only he was back at the farmstead with its solid wooden walls and the black stone hearth - none of this fighting with wet tinder to light a campfire nonsense. he could make sure the children were all warm and safe, and his husband would──

────bear stopped the train of thought cold. shook his head abruptly. turned his head back down to his hands, realizing that when he jolted, the knife bit deep on the side of his hands. he dumbly watched the blood well up and be washed away in the rain, before putting the bloodstained knife away from the food to be washed and bandaging it tightly. he returned to his work.
fool. how long had it been since the farmstead was burned down, anyways? he might as well dream of taking his creatures to the moon to escape the rain, instead.

────no time to think about it. he had work to do. he went back to making food, the type of fare that they had to rely on during rain - sandwiches generously filled with cheese, carrot strips and onion salvaged from his half-cooked stew, and his spice mix to compensate for the unfortunate dampness of the bread and the lack of more varied fare. raccoon came by to collect them, and he gratefully handed off the part that he'd already made to her.

────he was finishing his small pile of damp sandwiches when spider arrived, with a slightly chagrined smile and her explanations. he made a rumbling noise of acknowledgement, mostly to let her know he'd heard her while he thought of an approach.

────spider was a new addition to the group, and smiling expression or not, bear thought she still had the air of a wild animal among others that it was still undecided on biting or tolerating. that was expected, almost normal of their new members. one didn't decide to live in the woods for joy of getting rained on ─ almost to a person, they'd been driven there. if bear himself could lose every day in his past to a haze and forget about it all, he would. so he could understand the instinct to reply with whatever was on hand. here spider was, offering up information ─ she had been staying with someone's grandmother, apparently, and made enough of a positive impression to be gifted food ─ and yet, from previous experience, bear knew that asking about it enough would start to come up with conflicting information. shifts just slight enough in spider's stories, not quite matching the order in which things happened, that pointed to it not being the entire truth of what might have went down. where had spider been? had there even been a welcoming old grandmother anywhere? most importantly, did bear want to know?

────eventually, he decided he didn't. if spider wanted to give more information on her own, that was one thing, but he wouldn't ask and make her have to lie to him for whatever reason she decided she needed to. "every bit helps." he replied honestly, accepting her offered bag and starting to parcel it out along with his sandwiches. it was good rainy day food, portable, easy to eat with gloves on. he rumbled in appreciation, now that the dinner could even be called varied and plentiful, with spider's help. bear pushed one of the small piles of food towards the young woman, before pausing to look back at the chaotic camp to measure their progress, picking the next highest thing on his list of priorities now that food was done. "spider, how good are you with lighting fires? need to fix it. the fire." he took a second appraising look at her, noting the cloak (good) and the shivering (bad). "cold? cloak not good at keeping rain off? can go get one of the better oiled ones. drier, too."

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[ohm.]

𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐓
cisfemale || 12 years || location: oak tree by the river -> camp || tags: general, open
inventory: small bag [flint and steel, water flask, 14 tiny clay frogs, string, compass]

Rabbit often likes to imagine that she is a frog. In her childhood, she would often visit the river bank with her mother to collect clay for her pottery, and during the time they would spend wrapping their collections in damp cloth for storage, she would marvel at seeing the same tiny green creatures hopping around them, almost as if they were doing a dance. They didn't seem to care even the slightest bit that they were digging around in their mud. Ever since then, the thought has crossed her mind frequently, of what it would be like to live in the mud and eat bugs every day, or to jump around with no other cares in the world other than to survive the elements. Frogs, as far as she knew, didn’t have to worry about manners and rules, or about being tracked down by royal guards, or about having to leave behind the ones they loved. But at this moment - being caked in mud, cold to her bones, and alone in the dark - if this was what being a frog felt like, that dream of hers ended now.

Rabbit is awoken to the feeling of her clothes covered in mud and drenched in rain. She must have slept through the start of the rain, but given how quickly the storm had intensified, it could have only been a few minutes ago. Still, it felt like just a moment ago when she was sat drawing out pictures in the dirt, with the light from the evening sunset just starting to fall on her face. The others are going to be so upset with her. She can already see the look on their faces when they see her coming back to camp so late with no jacket, and the comments and questions she can already hear buzzing around her like an angry swarm of flies... Wiping her hands on the grass beside her and making a sprint back in the direction of the campground, her mind is as cathartic as the storm as she tries to put together a plan to avoid all of the drama. With her hands shaking violently, she pulls her bag close to her to keep her warm as she runs, and it's hard to tell whether the cold or the anticipation is affecting her more. 'Okay, okay... so sneak in from the back? Then grab a jacket so no one notices,' she muses out loud, 'Maybe I fell asleep in one of the tents, so one has to--'

Over the sound of crashing raindrops on leaves, she stops in her tracks to hear faint shouting and arguing coming from the direction of the campground. Squinting, she can make out Fox and Mouse struggling to keep up one of the tents in the distance, and the warm glow of fire is nowhere to be seen. With everyone swarming the site to keep things under control, it looks like her plan isn't going to work anyway. She runs towards the group, trying not to trip over anything with the rain splattering on her face and blurring her vision. "Ahh! This is c-crazy!" Rabbit cheers through clattering teeth, the mud splashing beneath her feet as she jumps up and down in excitement. Thunder erupts from the sky and echoes around the forest, and all of Rabbit's previous hope of being discrete is thrown out, as she can't help but let out a roar of adrenaline-fueled laughter.

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

───── 𝑪𝒀𝑵𝑹𝑰𝑪 ── ❝𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫❞ ── 𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑩𝑬𝑵 ───── ● ── ─ ─
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LOCATION; camp ─ TAGGING; Ram ─ MENTIONED; Fox, Mouse, Mustang, Bear, Rabbit ─ WC; 1,204

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*
When the most tender of blushes rose to colour Hound's cheeks, it hardly had anything to do with the lashing wind and cutting rain, but it was all contrasted by the dashing smile — one almost meant for himself — that he aimed at his own feet. Hound pulled a hand out of the leaf mould he had been absently examining and slicked back the strands of dripping-wet hair hanging over his forehead, not minding the bits of debris that had been sticking to his glove.
indentindent"I might have gotten in trouble once... or twice over just that," he admitted with a fleetingly chastened gleam of his teeth. All of a sudden, he bounced to his feet and widely gestured his palms toward the horizon, as if willing the overcast world to morph into the picture he sought to paint. "But imagine! The midnight sky is clear, a deeper blue you could have thought possible, the moon is wide and bright, and you're but a young and excitable lad when your pack starts singing her a song!" All traces of shame, if there ever had been any, had leached away from his demeanor as he cupped his hands around his mouth and gave his best imitation of a howl — which was, admittedly, not that far off, but the practiced nature of it would only serve as further proof that he may have done it far more often than he had divulged. But most prominently, it managed to be loud, and they could all thank the storm for masking his racket and keeping it from carrying over to the next town — and into the ears of Fenrir soldiers.

indentindentindentHound pivoted around to face Ram and shot her a grin before sauntering over to the nearest tree, where he proceeded to lean against the gnarled bark, unbothered by the rainwater running along the bough and dripping from the overhanging branches to splatter onto his shoulders. He sighed with the rue of a jilted lover, only seeming to notice the tent debacle now that Ram had done him the courtesy of mentioning it. He watched Fox, Mouse and Mustang wrestle with the heap of slick canvas that billowed and fought against them, threatening to tear from their undoubtedly rain-chilled fingers with each powerful gust of wind. The gloomy valley in the trajectory of his mood did not last long — they never did — as he soon brightened and gestured a hand toward the scene.
indentindent"We really should consider getting some dogs to alert us before the rain starts falling, because I was a little late to notice. The birds start diving for their nests, and BOOM! The sky's erupted into thunder and lightning, and it's pouring by the bucketful." he threw his hands for emphasis, then crossed them over his chest and swept a little arch into the muddy ground with the sole of his boot, as if it would keep his tireless feet from carrying him to pace loops and circles soon enough. "But we shouldn't sour our tongues by griping about this rain too much — with these temperatures, it will soon be snow, and then it's yuletide before we know it," he mused, and the smile he aimed at Ram was subtler and somehow innocent — he truly believed in each and every word that came from his mouth. Then his mood launched into another crescendo, marked by the increase in the volume of his voice: "And yule! Gods! Isn't it a truly remarkable time? You could be soaked to the bone and shivering in a trench, and not help but feel that heartening spirit that will get you through the longest and darkest of winters."

indentindentindentA volley of thunderous laughter erupted from Hound's chest at being compared to a dog. He leaned his temple against the rough bark and a few locks of hair came tumbling right back onto his forehead, but he let them be.
indentindent"Doesn't me being a wet dog make you a wet ram? But trust me, it's not a terrible look! I would bet money that you could be rolled around in mud and emerge looking as radiant as ever." For a moment, Hound seemed to lose track of their conversation as he found himself distracted watching a rivulet of rainwater race down the tree, but as soon as his focus had wandered, it snapped back into attention. "I have eaten! Although not all of them, just what I was handed. The bread was indeed soggy, wetter than a bath rag, but the taste was all there. Our friend Bear knows his way around the hearthfire." He dug around in his pockets for a moment, producing a cloth tied into a pouch with a piece of string.
indentindentindentHe sauntered back over to Ram and plopped himself down onto the stone next to her, close enough to end up shoulder-to-shoulder. He took one of her hands into his gloved one, turned it up, and set the pouch into the middle of her open palm before letting go. It was the mix of dried meat and berries he had received alongside the wet sandwich and thought about saving for later, but this was a much better use than tossing them into the air and trying to catch them into his mouth while passing the time in the woods.
indentindent"If you aren't hungry, we should go find your appetite in the woods, get the blood flowing and spirits going." He got back onto his feet and looked around for a moment, then pointed his finger toward the direction where they had last left some snares. "There are some snares we could check. Maybe this weather has driven the rabbits into our traps? Either way, it's all the same whether we get rained on here or over there!" he announced, nothing but sure of himself. If it was possible, he brightened further at the mention of his sword and set an affectionate hand down onto the hilt peeking from beneath the folds of his cloak. "Preparedness is a virtual, or vertigo? That's something my father used to tell me all the time. You never know what you might come across in these woods: thieves, bandits, beasts..."

indentindentindentWith that, Hound set off toward the woods, still listing everything that could be swiftly dealt with when one had a sword and the will to wield it. He only paused when Rabbit came splashing by and gave off a sympathizing whoop of his own at her exclamation. He had not even checked whether Ram was following — or listening — as he went on.
indentindent"Speaking of rabbit, have I ever told you about this man that lived with us for a while? He would only eat rabbit, and once he finally went mad — rabbit starvation is no jest, my father would always say after that — he ran off into the woods with socks on his hands and we never saw him again." The story was delivered in a cheerful tone, and it was evident that Hound had not considered the possibility of him being dead in a thicket somewhere, but was rather confident in the idea that he was merely living a happy and fulfilling life somewhere out there. Possibly with the rabbits.

[strawbs.]

────── 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝑶𝑳𝑭 𝑪𝑼𝑩

basile moore | male | seventeen | location; somewhere not over the rainbow | tagged; none

just days before breaching the castle walls, basile had never thought of a life beyond that. as second son, he didn't really ever feel disappointed that he wasn't in line to be king. he stood proudly with his head high being the youngest of the fenrir family. he was still loved and cherished the same, well, he thought anyways, though it felt like there was always something missing, and he never saw satisfaction in the things he did. it was something basile knew being a king wouldn't fix. but he also didn't know what would. he was just child not that long ago, content with whatever was happening and wherever he was meant to go, but now, on the cusp of turning eighteen, basile notices things that he didn't before, and because of this, he realizes how isolated he feels.

he realizes how often he sits alone in the garden, or how cold he feels in his bed at night even with the covers surrounding him, hugging him to sleep. he's realized how often he lays restlessly, picking at his skin or biting his lip anxiously. he's no longer looked at the same way they look at his brother. basile has never felt so lonely and cold; even when the weather is beautiful, he doesn't enjoy the colors the same anymore. every day that passes, he notices more of the little things that he was so blind to. his fingers twitch, wishing to grab hold of something that's not there. he itches, and for the first time ever, he looks to the walls. the walls that have kept him safe, but feel more or less like a cage.

it was so stupid of him, so dumb and reckless, to do what he just did. it was late into the night, the moon clouded over by darkness and the stars stolen from the sky. so stupid, but he never felt so alive until this moment, exhilaration burning from within him. he looks back at the walls that sheltered him, but now he was on the other side, with his knees bruised and his hands scraped. a part of him was hoping the kingdom would notice quickly that they're little basile was missing, yet another part of him didn't ever want to be found.

thunder loomed in the distance, but basile didn't hear it as he soared through the trees and shrubbery, head ducking to miss branches that attempted at clinging to him. he ran until his lungs burned, until his entire body ached, and ultimately, until he collapsed, breathing heavily as he dug his fingernails into the dirt. it was a reminder of where he was, that he was still alive and not dreaming. that the earth was still beautiful when there's no cage around it. this time, the thunder blared, snapping basile out of his trance. the first rain drop fell off of the leaves and landed onto his cheek as he stared up at the stormy sky. for a split second, he was scared. god, he was terrified. he had no where to go but back to where he came from. then he remembered who he was.

he was basile, someone who never backed down from a challenge. so, he got back up with a huff, stumbled forward a bit, and began running once again, in order to get as far as possible from the castle.