Lips Of An Angel
07-16-2013, 07:22 AM
"Demyan..." Orica yawned a little, her eye kids drooping as she surrendered to a sleep she needed quite badly. A smile hovered on her muzzle. The last thing she said was done so quietly that it might've only been a thought, slipping out of her tired mind. "Doesn't sound like the name of a bad guy." Had they not been so close it would've been impossible to hear. The words were gone as quickly as they had come, though, and were replaced with the sound of soft, steady breathing. Just like that the male was trusted. Orica's tender neck and little head were only a pace away from the professed murder's jaws - But the girl had never slept so soundly. Above the willows, the sun forfieted the day without a battle; the night took over in a dusky lavender haze which only grew deeper and darker as time went by. The moon, in her thinnest state, came out to dance among the stars, and shown so clearly that she might as well have been full. It was a night that would not be soon forgotten. . . . But sometime in the night, right around its darkest hour, Orica's eyes fluttered open and glowed blue into the half-blackness. She found her paws with barely sound and, scenting the breeze for any signs of danger, trotted off again. She did so until she reached the edge of the Weeping Woods, where forest gave way to plains and hills. There was a rocky hillside there, studded with bushes and dotted with the yellow topped mullein stalks. Setting her teeth around the base of one, Orica gnawed herself off another water carrier. Back to the stream she went, its little song calling to her in the darkness, and she dipped in her muzzle to let the tiny current wash over the leaves. With this in tow the girl wasted no time in returning to the sleeping male - to Demyan. With an effort, she rolled the rock back and placed the new stalk among the others, adding to the herbal mattress she'd been creating. But this time, instead of replacing the stone, she used herself to keep pressure on the poultice - which was easier now that the male had adjusted his position. She curled into her little myffin shape again, her back pressing against his belly just enough to keep the plants in place, not enough to hurt the wound. Again, had it not been for healing, the girl would've blushed at such close contact, but thi gas being as they were, it felt the most natural thing in the world to curl up beside him with her head near his forelegs. She closed her eyes, content that her duties were done for another couple of hours, and went back to sleep. . . . Morning came bright and rosey. Shafts of pink-gold light cut slant wise through the woods and the willows glinted a pale green silver as their tendrils floated in and out of the glow. Meanwhile pollen bits and dust specks danced in the heaven made spot lights. It was still so early that even the birds had not yet begun to sing. What awoke the little girl, she did not know, there were no new scents or sounds, just the breathing of the mist colored mountain beside her. The world was at peace. Dewdrops dotted the surrounding grass and roots like a sea of diamonds. theyd painted a pair of spiderwebs white-gold. A few had even caught upon Orica's black coat. They were a testiment to the fact that the night had been cool to the point of chilly. But even the coldest spring night was nothing compared to the weather Orica had slept through in her birthlands. She didn't open her eyes, (for all children know that once you do, you can't truthfully claim that you weren't awake) but instead nestled deeper into the fluff of her tail. She would get up soon enough, of course, but for she was happy to let the world pass by. All that had happened was frankly still a mystery. A part of Orica worried that the passing of that day would mean the passing of the male's sudden good will. But Orica wasn't the sort to dwell in fear; she'd had her fill of it under the eyes of that 'sister'. Whatever would happen, would happen. There had been a brief moment back there, when the male had lumbered over, that Orica had made herself ready to receive death. Perhaps 'ready' isn't a word that can be used alongside 'death', but at the very least, she had been waiting for it. She had steadied her throat, waiting for the giant's teeth to take the first plunge down into it. But he had done no such thing. Whatever did happen this day, even should the male's spirit become sour and thorny once again, he wouldn't kill her. Of this Orica had become quite certain. And with the security in mind, she snuggled deeper into the male's side. |