Spa day
Today was the day, he was going to go harvest those chicken-of-the-woods growing near the heart of the mangrove, they should be ready by now, and with the colder weather beginning to set itself upon the lands, he didn't want them to die. With a basket hanging from his jaws, the healer set off in search of his quarry. Nimble paws carried him with practiced ease over the gnarled roots of the mangrove trees, and it felt like no time at all before he was coming up on the fungus covered tree. The lichens and mosses growing over its higher boughs were of little interest today, but the thick orange mushrooms clustered in the fork of a low branch looked ripe. Setting the basket down between one of the the natural hollows formed in the roots of this tree, he reared up onto his hind limbs and braced his forepaws against the trunk. Tapping the top of the largest mushroom, it gave a hollow sounding thunk in response that promised a ripened prize. Careful as could be, he tipped his head to one side and slipped the thick cap between his jaws until he felt the bark of the trunk brushing his whiskers. A gentle twist of his neck, and it snapped free with a quiet tearing sound. He dropped it into his basket with a goofy, broad grin on his face. Perfect! Now to grab a few more, and dry them in the afternoon sun while he got a few more chores done. The process was monotonous, once he settled into the rhythm. Stand up, hold the cap in his teeth, twist his head, peel the ripened fruit away. He didn't need too many, and part of him hoped if he left a few behind they would continue to fruit until the cold winds breached this deep into the mangrove and killed them off. Only time would tell. With a half filled basket of goodies, he began to scamper back towards the edge of the mangrove and the warm clearing at his den site. At least, he was hoping to. However, a bright flash of violet and mauve caught his eye from the corner of his vision, and the swamp dweller was forced to a standstill. When he turned to look, it seemed to have moved. Definitely not flowers, then. Off he went in a new direction, following the moving shape adorned in brilliant hues. It was only when he was a bit too close for comfort that he realized it was a wolf. An extraordinarily large wolf. Leaning against the thin trunk of a mangrove tree, he watched the stranger move along. She couldn't have been much older than him, but she was certainly large enough to pick him up and carry him off. Her pelt looked a bit disheveled, and her posture spoke of a less than gleeful demeanour. Slowly, he lowered his basket of mushrooms down to the space between his forepaws, hoping it would stay pinned between his legs, and that that would be enough to hold it steady for now. "Ya look like you're havin' a rough day." he stated simply, perched on the roots and ready for a quick getaway- with or without his mushrooms. Verdant gaze pinned the dark coloured fae with a decidedly blank stare, waiting to gauge her reaction. |