Tarkov
Newborn
Bam! Said the Lady
Posts: 10
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Post by Tarkov on Mar 27, 2010 16:20:28 GMT -5
(open) He moved like a ghost through the wintry wood, barely disturbing the thick morning fog that blanketed the ground. His heavy steps were careful and quiet, and his dark eyes scoured the gray landscape looking for life, but despite the lances of sunlight that fought back the fog, he saw nothing except vaulting trees and hungry blue sky. The woods were dead, or very nearly, and he wandered through the wasteland like a lost missionary looking for his own salvation. Were the gods as merciful as was preached? Did they save their children from foolishness such as this? Tarkov grunted sharply out his nose, and his breath curled away and disappeared under the warm sunlight. This journey was not to save the lands, but to commemorate the dead who lived here. It was a waste of time.
These were his thoughts as he emerged from the trees onto the frosty river bank. He scowled when he saw the young creature who sat by the river: a thin white wolf with yellow eyes, who was staring at him as if he could read minds. Tarkov snorted derisively and grinned at Locke, more to hide his brooding than to sincerely provoke him, as if they had suddenly shared their own private joke. "Really, what good are you?" He growled mockingly. "I could be a bear coming to eat you and you stand there staring at me. I would eat you. I should." He licked his lips thoughtfully. "I wonder what you'd taste like."
But the playfulness drained from his face until a dark, overcast glare remained. There was no use hiding his thoughts. The wastefulness of their journey still angered him, buzzing around his head like a plague of flies. He lifted his muzzle and looked downriver. "This trip is pointless," he said suddenly. His voice was deep and rumbled like a landslide; it sounded harsher than he meant it to. "These are ghostlands now, and Mid knows it. He will find dust and memories in those woods, but nothing more. I don't know why we said we'd come." But he knew why he came without Locke pointing it out. Midian was their unsung Dragga, and he was the only one who still had family. It was natural for him to want to see them again. Still, it bothered Tarkov that Midian would so willingly commit himself to this journey if it would only bring him pain. And then he suddenly realized that it wasn't his own happiness he was worried about, but his Dragga's.
'How altruistic. Maybe next time you can jump off a damn cliff for him. It would be just as pointless.' Tarkov snorted in contempt, and padded sullenly to a large, flat boulder that jutted out from the muddy bank over the whispering river. He climbed on top of it, and stretched out in the warm morning sunshine. It glittered on his slate gray fur and red-tinged ears, and cast his bluish shadow down into the sparking water. He put his head on his paws, and stared pointedly at Locke. Little, lighthearted, foolish Locke, who really would jump off a cliff for either of them.
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Post by locke on Apr 4, 2010 20:21:08 GMT -5
Locke stared into the thin, sparkling river, watching the sunlight glitter on its clear surface. His yellow eyes traced it through the woods until it was lost from view, seeing it cut through the land like a long, silver dagger. It disappeared behind a large, flat boulder and a clump of frosted pine, as if gouging the flesh of the earth and forest. Locke smiled when he thought of it. Like the tooth of the hunting wolf puncturing the hide of his prey. The youth was suddenly overcome with pride for his heritage, and he could feel his wild blood beating in his veins. It made him want to howl like a banshee.
But he refrained with care, and drew himself into a royal pose quite unintentionally as he composed himself. His lean, elfin head pointed proudly toward the world and his thin, graceful body sat placidly by the river's sparkling edge. He was not unaware of his surroundings, however, but merged with them even more completely. His ears twitched gently toward every sound, his nose wiggled as the soft breezes came and went. He heard Tarkov coming long before the surly gray appeared, and he smiled.
He knew how upset Tarkov had been over this journey, and he thought he knew why. Tarkov would never admit it, but he was worried for Midian. He was worried Midian would be heartbroken to see his family's empty lands, how devastated he would be if he couldn't find his mother. Locke knew more than he let on; he knew how close Midian was with Ayasha, and how proud he was of his Ge-Radian heritage. He also knew how concerned Tarkov was for their leader, and how much he would sacrifice for Midian. It was one of Locke's many specialized skills. The boy was not only the best scout, tracker, and navigator, but he was also very intuitive. 'Perhaps its my sensitive nature,' he thought ruefully, finally glancing into the woods as Tarkov emerged.
Locke grinned back at Tarkov and shook his head. He would play the game. "Too gamey, too chewy. You wouldn't be able to get me down. And then I'd haunt you in the afterlife as I rattled your digestive system. You'd never take a pleasant dump again." So much for sensitivity. He laughed.
But Tarkov couldn't play the game for long. He was too straightforward, unskilled in the complexities of social behavior. Locke grinned inwardly. He knew it would come to more griping and grumbling, and as always, he was ready for them. He cocked an ear coyly toward his barbaric friend, carefully dressing himself in a frown. As Tarkov settled himself on the boulder, Locke arched a brow at him then glanced again at the water. "Dust and memories are better than nothing," he said slowly, testing Tarkov's limits today. "Maybe he will find more though. Maybe he will find ghosts he can talk to."
He shrugged. "But you're probably right. He won't find anything and then he'll be overcome with sorrow. He'll come limping back to us like a little cub, looking to be nursed back to health. I suppose I'll have to do it, because you will be making sure we get out of here before he decides to sacrifice himself to the gods and join his mother in heaven." He sounded serious, as if he was certain it would happen, but he was sure the sarcasm wouldn't be lost on Tarkov.
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Tarkov
Newborn
Bam! Said the Lady
Posts: 10
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Post by Tarkov on Apr 10, 2010 15:11:08 GMT -5
He looked at Locke coldly for a moment, then grunted and turned his head toward the river. "You're a little arsehole, you know," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. Inside, he was smiling at himself. It was foolish to think Midian would be so depressed as that at the loss of his former pack. It was uncharacteristic of him, both as their leader and as a friend. It surprised him, but Tarkov was suddenly relieved to think Mid would be all right. He glanced back at the little white creature who sat by the bank, and shot him in an I-Understand-Now-Thanks grin, which was the closest thing Locke would get to an admission from Tarkov that he'd been wrong.
"You're right about one thing," he growled suddenly. "You would taste awful. Too full of crap. I wouldn't be able to eat you without gagging." He laughed, and suddenly his stomach was laughing with him. Or perhaps it was complaining again. He winced and flicked his ears against his skull as if to shut out the pathetic sound. "Erg... fuh, well since I don't want to eat you, maybe we should go look for something else for me to chew on before I get desperate." He inhaled deeply. The warm sun on his back was more pleasant than he expected it to be, and now the fog was little more than ethereal tendrils of faint smoke coiled behind the trees. Surely there would be plenty of snowmelt today, and the river would swell tremendously as the hours passed. But in the trees, as the short green stubs of foliage were uncovered, Lera would gather, hungry and starving and unequipped to see the wolves. That is, if the forests really weren't ghostlands.
He shrugged. The best they could do is try their luck. They had to be back by nightfall, or stay within range of old Ge-Radian borders lest Midian return or howl for them. But he figured they had the long swathe of river land to hunt in, which was certainly enough for him. So he stood up and shook his silver fur, then clambered down from his post and onto the soft, moist earth. "Well, what do you say, Whelp? Want to learn how a real Putnar hunts?" He asked mockingly. And without waiting for an answer, he stepped lightly into the trees and disappeared.
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Post by locke on Apr 11, 2010 13:21:34 GMT -5
Locke chuckled. He knew the sarcasm wouldn't be wasted. It was Tarkov's native language, after all. He was the great king of verbal abuse, and should appreciate where Locke was learning it from. Of course, true to form, he had to leave one last scalding remark between them before he recovered from his bitter mood. 'Just as well,' Locke thought as he casually watched Tarkov up on his rocky throne. 'I'm not going to play nice with Mr. Grumpy all day.' He smiled at Tarkov sweetly when he glanced over. "I know," Locke said wistfully, "It's what makes me who I am, I guess: the little prick in your side." He looked panicky. "I'll never leave you Tark. Never ever," his voice was clingy, pathetic, and oozed with humor. He laughed again, and his clear voice echoed like a cheerful bell across the water. He knew his optimism nagged his pessimistic "brother" like a bee-sting.
You're right about one thing; Locke looked up in mock surprise. "Oh, am I?" he said innocently, slicking his ears back along his smooth skull. Tarkov's next remark, however, made Locke wrinkle his nose and stick out his tongue. "You have no manners," he said in his best motherly voice. "I'm just too sweet for you. See? Your stomach agrees. It wants me. Its never had such a delectable meal in its life. Poor thing." He shook his head, and stared pathetically at Tarkov's big gut as if it was a starving puppy. His line of sight was disturbed, however, because the large wolf suddenly stood up and climbed not-so-gracefully down from his warm bed onto the earth of the common folk. Locke stood up and winked. "Ready when you are, mate," he growled back, clacking his teeth together angrily.
Contrary to whatever Tarkov might be thinking, Locke was also bitterly hungry. His stomach was more polite, he supposed, because it rarely made any noise at all. But he could still feel the vacuum in his hollow gut where food should be, and he could already feel the weariness in his body that came with lack of nutrition. As much as Tarkov was focused on his own hunger, Locke was equally determined to feed himself. So he saluted with a sloppy nod, and followed the big gray wolf as he stalked into the woods.
Locke could not disappear so readily in the grayish-green trees, for his coat seemed to catch the sun no matter how dark his surroundings were. During the winter months, he could all but vanish out on the open plains, where his stark white fur blended seamlessly with the blinding snow, but during the warmer seasons, he would have to rely heavily on speed and stealth, for he would have no other advantage than his own skills. He glanced a little jealously at the bumbling Tarkov; he was loud to Locke's delicate hearing, but he was camouflaged by the dappled light and gray tree trunks. When Tarkov glanced over, Locke stuck his tongue out him, and danced playfully out of his reach. When he felt like they had gone far enough into the trees, Locke whispered, "Well, what now oh great Putnar?"
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Tarkov
Newborn
Bam! Said the Lady
Posts: 10
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Post by Tarkov on Apr 18, 2010 1:08:22 GMT -5
Smokey fur and amber eyes slashed through the gray trees like a specter: here one moment, then gone the next. He wove between rays of yellow sunshine and kept beneath the shadowy canopy, staying away from the sunbursts of color that dappled the gray woods lest he be seen. Not as though his caution mattered, however. His companion was bright and blinding as newly fallen snow; and Locke's only redemption was his almost supernatural silence. The youthful creature made little more than a hush as he padded through the quiet wood, whereas Tarkov was hounded by the snap of dry leaves underfoot. In every way, the duo complimented each other. Silence to one, and camouflage to the other. Intelligence and strength split between them. They made a good team, but Tarkov couldn't help but think they'd make a hell of a wolf if their skills were somehow combined. 'Funny how life works,' Tarkov thought. Then he wondered if it was an intentional division by whoever had created them. To force them to work together. 'I'll wring the neck of whatever god's responsible for our creation if I have to go hungry another day because "he" wants to see us play nice together.'
Tarkov glanced at Locke, who stuck his tongue out playfully. Tarkov rolled his eyes. 'We are going to starve in this godforsaken forest!' It seemed as though he'd be wringing necks in the afterlife sooner than he'd like.
A half-hearted whisper broke his grumpy thoughts, and he glanced over at Locke. He wanted to box Locke's ears for his impudence, or at least because he was feeling irritable and it sounded fun, but Locke was rightly staying just beyond his reach. Instead, he sighed and shook his head. "Now, you shut up," Tarkov growled back in his softest voice, which really wasn't soft at all. Yet he pointed his muzzle toward some thick brush up ahead and wiggled his brows chaotically. The bushes were indicative of a clearing, and he could already see the golden-yellow sunlight streaming into the forest through the open canopy, but he doubted any Lera were out there. Nevertheless, it was a good to give Locke a reason to keep his mouth shut, and it was the best place to look for food at the moment. Tarkov almost chuckled as he lumbered away, slinging his belly low to the ground as he crawled toward the hedges. He could sense Locke imitating his motions in the same way one could sense being looked at, and he glanced back to see the white-coated wolf slithering like a snake through the frosty undergrowth. Tarkov's amusement grew profoundly, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter. "You should see yourself," he mouthed, before sliding forward himself and disappearing beneath the bushes.
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