Lips Of An Angel
07-08-2013, 08:20 PM
Orica looked around her with a giddy sort of smile that only comes when you absolutely know you're doing something wrong. She was never the one to leave home. Creed and Cross and Gali had snuck out plenty of times, but she was one of the 'good' pups. She actually listened to her parents and was sad when they had to scold her over something. And yet, with her legs begining to turn lanky and all her pup fur shedding away with spring, she felt the itch to wander. She gained the confidence and curiosity that led her challenge the borders - to go across them and beyond. It was helped in now small share by the fact that they'd changed homes. All she'd known in her short life was Glaciem with it's icey peaks and tundra and timber woods. But here in the south there were a hundred other scents and sights. All just waiting to be explored. It stirred something within her. Her white paws beat out a light-hearted song upon the green earth as she raced forward without so much as a single drift to hamper her way. It was incredible! Her blue eyes flew wide with excitement as she pinned back her ears, lowered her head, and dove into the speed. She focused on the farthest horizon, whether it was a sundappled tree line or a distant ridge of blue hills. She focused in and she ran to it. And when she reached it, she would stop, look around her with a lolling tongue, pick another horizon, and then run again. She'd never run like this before and the adrenaline went straight to her head. She didn't realize how hard she'd pushed herself until her legs began to feel like jello and her lungs burned like wild fire. Panting violently, she slowed her pace, coming to a walk beneath the trailing tendrils of the willow trees - not the short bushy, rock willows that they'd had in the north - real willows, that stood high as pines and glinted silver in the sunlight, and danced with a dreamlike slowness at every tug of the breeze. They were beautiful, but Orica wasn't able to appreciate them until after she'd had a breather and long drink from a nearby winding stream. Well, this had been fun. Orica considered herself the better for her little adventure. She'd take a rest to recover her strength and then head back home. Padding up to one of the trees, ivory legs lowered her frame carefully around the wonderfully scented roots. Snuggling up against the trunk, she let the lids close slowly over her eyes. .... But she hadn't been asleep for an hour before the most ear shattering bellow snapped her awake as violently as if she'd been shot. The uneatherly screeching continued, joined in by feral growlings and snarlings. The very ground underneath her trembled with the weight of some terrific monster heading her way. No! Already here! She could see the grey shadows of figures among the grove - playing out like a game of shadow puppets behind a threater curtain. Only a thin wall of willow branches serpated her from the climax of the ill fated hunt. She could just make out the lupine figure dashing for the wolf's leg. And then she heard it. The horrible wet SLAP of meat as the moose's leg connected with the lone hunter. After that heartstopping moment the figures went seperate ways. the wolf flew back, crashing to ground, and the moose fled, still terrified. Orica had jackknifed to her paws, but now she remained stock still, her little heart thudding as she wondered if she'd just witness a wolf's death. But no, the sound of a low grumbling curse told her that the crazy hunter was still alive. Normally she would've been frightened further by such language, but this was a matter of life and death! She had no thought but to help, and immediately raced through the veil of trailing, silver leaves. And there she halted again, now barely three yards from the fallen wolf. She could see him clearly - a large wolf (she would've called him a giant had she not been used to her father's size), with fur of light grey mottled with darker grey markings, unqic and yet subtle. She could see anger in those blue eyes that rivaled her own in brilliance. But pain was no doubt soon to follow - judging by the trail of dark red that spread across the male's chest and down his belly. Though still a few months away from being a yearling, Orica had logged more hours of healing training, than most would've thought possible. Almost as soon as she'd been allowed to take walks out of the pack cave with her sire she'd started asking her packmates about herbs, and her Uncle Rogue had taken her around to show her all sorts of plants. Her time under the teachings of her Aunty Solliel had sealed the deal. At the first sight of blood, her instincts kicked in. With that assurance for the wounded wolf, she spun round, her bushy tail whipping in her wake, and she set immediately to work. With the balance of a cat she rose suddenly to her hind legs, fores tucked like a fox's as she tipped off tender willow shoots from the branches. Then back to the earth went all fours and she rushed over to the male's side, where she meekly deposited the greens beside his muzzle. "I-I've had some training as a healer," she said, her high voice trilling out so quick it sounded like birdsong. "Chewing on these will help dull the pain and keep your head clear." Her voice was kind and soft, but terribly urgent. More urgent, than she meant it to be probably. But she could see how serious this wound was! Could a wolf even recover from something that bad? The first words were barely out of her mouth before she was turning away and rushing back in the direction of the stream she'd found. "Hang on just a moment," she said over her shoulder, "I'll find more herbs!" |
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