Post by Therdde on Aug 10, 2008 10:39:33 GMT -5
Characters:
Jolon - Male Dog
Freyr - Male Dog
- Field of Flowers -
The middle of the night provides the perfect cover for Jolon. He is on his way to see Jage. The dog knows how she worries if he doesn't check in every few days. After a quick check on Sketch, he sets out on his familiar journey, striding easily through the darkness with his ears perked for the sound of danger.
All things are not well tonight, and the mastiff knows. But it's mere coincidence, or perhaps fate, that Freyr chose to take this way home. But one his way, a movement finds its way across his hazy vision, and now he's taken to tracking. The dog walks with a stiff, but still heavy gait. Nonetheless, he's learned long ago how to silence his steps. That, crossed with his dark pelt, blend him in nicely with the night's shadow.
Eh? The male stops, ears swiveling. He hears nothing out of the ordinary, but he has a distinct feeling of unease. Part of him realizes that it is more likely to be his paranoia instead of an actual threat. Sniffing curiously, he finds the breeze unhelpful. Damn. After another moment of uncertain pause, he continues cautiously along, eyes darting.
As Freyr directs his speed to now close the distance between him and his quarry, his breath grows more and more audible; it's not unlike the the sound of dry leather dragging against gravel. Yet the mastiff doesn't notice, or otherwise does not care.
Again he stops, twisting to look around nervously. Yeah, he hears something now. Shifting uneasily from paw to paw, Jolon grows softly. No, he's not going another step until he figures out what that noise is. He can't risk bringing danger to Jage. The dog is tense now and all his senses stretch to locate the sound. It's close.
"Where are you going?" The voice is hardly recognizable anymore. It's only the faint accent that would give the speaker away. Until a few moments ago, Freyr could not make out the figure out, although he had his suspicions. But now they're confirmed, and the mastiff doesn't look like he's ready to leave the other dog be. Not after the way the elkhound has been acting.
Jolon freezes. He knows that voice. A heartbeat passes before he answers, "Hunting." The dog's tone betrays nothing, though the word comes out too rushed to be truthful. He's caught and he knows it. Fur bristling, he tries to contain a grimace. This is not going to be something he can explain away.
Freyr's face could have been chiseled out of ice, as frigid and unchanging as it is. "Where are you going?" He repeats, locking eyes with the elkhound. His footsteps haven't stopped at all; he still approaches, not sparing Jolon any safe distance.
Jolon replies with a hard glare of his own and, "I'm leaving, Freyr." He doesn't mention Sketch. If he's lucky, the mastiff might be just senile enough to forget about her. It's clear that if the other male has any problem with the elkhound leaving, this dog will have no problem "convincing" him to see his point of view. His lips curl slightly, offering a glimpse of teeth.
The exposed fangs are given brief consideration, and then the mastiff returns to Jolon's gaze. "Leaving?" Freyr moves to circle the elkhound, his voice lowering in pitch to something just hardly above a growl. "Why?" He's taken note of the direction Jolon was heading, but he has no desire for speculation if he can instead draw the answers from the younger dog.
Jolon is quick to keep moving, trying to keep Freyr from gaining any advantage when circling. "All this hatred and violence is making me sick. Hell, we could actually make some allies-- friends!-- if we weren't so rabid with hate. Our hate for man has poisoned everything else." His voice is bitter, though he tries not to let his declaration distract him from the mastiff. He wants so badly to give Sketch a chance for something better, and he knows he's not going to let that dog stand in his way any longer.
"And what are these allies you propose? Pets? Whipped, useless? What?" Freyr's patience is ebbing away steadily. "But if you want to run to them..." He stops, letting Jolon move along ahead of him. "Then go. But know who you are leaving behind." The mastiff did not intend it as a threat, but with the venom already pouring off his tongue, it doesn't sound like anything else.
"Not just them! Wolves have shown some promise." Jolon sighs. Freyr can't understand. He didn't understand for a long while, either. The dog is surprised that the mastiff seems so accepting of his leave, but the final comment hits a nerve. Bounding forward, the elkhound brings himself dangerously close to the other male. "You think I would leave her?" he snarls, hackles spiked and fangs exposed. "Not with scum like you around." The dog's teeth click menacingly. His body trembles with barely controlled rage, eager to show Freyr just how wrong he is.
"Wolves now, too?" He'd never had real hatred toward wolves, he'd even respected Storm, although she no doubt despised him. But every encounter he's had with them, had not been a terribly positive experience. He could never see them as allies. Why couldn't Jolon see reason? As the elkhound reacts, Freyr's own body language mimics his more and more. He can hide his hurt, but not his anger. "Stupid. Foolish, naive little pup." He's snarling now, barely forming the words to speak. "I'm letting you go. But you are /not/ going to return this way again."
"I don't need your damn /permission/! You don't have the strength anymore. /You/ can't do anything to stop me, senile old fool." Jolon snaps, his voice a growl. Taking a step toward the mastiff, he dares the aging canine. It seems that this dog doesn't take very kindly to being called a pup, or hearing threats toward Sketch. No, he'll protect her whatever the cost. If that means fighting Freyr now, or later, or even the whole pack at once, he'll do it. There is a determined gleam in his eye as he studies the dog before him, calculating.
Freyr is only just leaving his prime behind. But Jolon is right; he's lost much of his strength over time. From the sickness that swept the land not long ago, starvation out of providing for the less able of Russet, and then there's that old wound... evident only through his voice. He still has his pride, and perhaps that's all he has left now. "You come near the copse, you come near any of /them/, and you will die." The mastiff doesn't budge, but just about every muscle is trembling, urging him to fight. "You don't know what real strength means."
"Oh, and you do?" Jolon is skeptical. However, he seems to have lost a little of his nerve when the mastiff does not back down. He needs to get Sketch to Jage's territory before Freyr gets any wise ideas. "Next time we meet, you won't live to talk about it." It's a promise. Once the girl is safe, he'll be free to exterminate threats. As for now, she is his top priority. His instinct is to fight now, but he realizes that any injury now could seriously endanger both Jage and Sketch if he can't protect them. Though his paws are reluctant, the male steps back, inching away from the copse and signaling his momentary defeat. Lose the battle, win the war. His eyes dart to possible escape routes, looking for the fastest way back to Sketch.
Freyr wasn't expecting Jolon to back down so quickly. But it doesn't relieve the mastiff... it frustrates him. He knows the elkhound isn't going to leave without the pup, but he refuses to be the first to attack. For all Jolon has said, Freyr doesn't /want/ to hurt him. If he did, the mastiff wouldn't have even spoken in the first place. But he's also resolved not to let the turncoat get his way. Whatever that takes. And so he simply watches Jolon now, making sure he doesn't step an inch nearer to the copse.
"Until then," Jolon says, watching the mastiff closely as he backs up. After a few careful steps, he turns and runs to the north, paws desperately churning. He doesn't know if Freyr will retaliate, but he knows it's no longer safe for them here. The faster they can find Jage, the better. The dog's heart is thundering painfully. He is loathe to have retreated, and his meeting with Freyr has filled him with fear for Sketch. She's not yet grown, and the mastiff has a fierce temper. He promises himself once he evacuates the girl, he'll put an end to Freyr.
Jolon - Male Dog
Freyr - Male Dog
- Field of Flowers -
The middle of the night provides the perfect cover for Jolon. He is on his way to see Jage. The dog knows how she worries if he doesn't check in every few days. After a quick check on Sketch, he sets out on his familiar journey, striding easily through the darkness with his ears perked for the sound of danger.
All things are not well tonight, and the mastiff knows. But it's mere coincidence, or perhaps fate, that Freyr chose to take this way home. But one his way, a movement finds its way across his hazy vision, and now he's taken to tracking. The dog walks with a stiff, but still heavy gait. Nonetheless, he's learned long ago how to silence his steps. That, crossed with his dark pelt, blend him in nicely with the night's shadow.
Eh? The male stops, ears swiveling. He hears nothing out of the ordinary, but he has a distinct feeling of unease. Part of him realizes that it is more likely to be his paranoia instead of an actual threat. Sniffing curiously, he finds the breeze unhelpful. Damn. After another moment of uncertain pause, he continues cautiously along, eyes darting.
As Freyr directs his speed to now close the distance between him and his quarry, his breath grows more and more audible; it's not unlike the the sound of dry leather dragging against gravel. Yet the mastiff doesn't notice, or otherwise does not care.
Again he stops, twisting to look around nervously. Yeah, he hears something now. Shifting uneasily from paw to paw, Jolon grows softly. No, he's not going another step until he figures out what that noise is. He can't risk bringing danger to Jage. The dog is tense now and all his senses stretch to locate the sound. It's close.
"Where are you going?" The voice is hardly recognizable anymore. It's only the faint accent that would give the speaker away. Until a few moments ago, Freyr could not make out the figure out, although he had his suspicions. But now they're confirmed, and the mastiff doesn't look like he's ready to leave the other dog be. Not after the way the elkhound has been acting.
Jolon freezes. He knows that voice. A heartbeat passes before he answers, "Hunting." The dog's tone betrays nothing, though the word comes out too rushed to be truthful. He's caught and he knows it. Fur bristling, he tries to contain a grimace. This is not going to be something he can explain away.
Freyr's face could have been chiseled out of ice, as frigid and unchanging as it is. "Where are you going?" He repeats, locking eyes with the elkhound. His footsteps haven't stopped at all; he still approaches, not sparing Jolon any safe distance.
Jolon replies with a hard glare of his own and, "I'm leaving, Freyr." He doesn't mention Sketch. If he's lucky, the mastiff might be just senile enough to forget about her. It's clear that if the other male has any problem with the elkhound leaving, this dog will have no problem "convincing" him to see his point of view. His lips curl slightly, offering a glimpse of teeth.
The exposed fangs are given brief consideration, and then the mastiff returns to Jolon's gaze. "Leaving?" Freyr moves to circle the elkhound, his voice lowering in pitch to something just hardly above a growl. "Why?" He's taken note of the direction Jolon was heading, but he has no desire for speculation if he can instead draw the answers from the younger dog.
Jolon is quick to keep moving, trying to keep Freyr from gaining any advantage when circling. "All this hatred and violence is making me sick. Hell, we could actually make some allies-- friends!-- if we weren't so rabid with hate. Our hate for man has poisoned everything else." His voice is bitter, though he tries not to let his declaration distract him from the mastiff. He wants so badly to give Sketch a chance for something better, and he knows he's not going to let that dog stand in his way any longer.
"And what are these allies you propose? Pets? Whipped, useless? What?" Freyr's patience is ebbing away steadily. "But if you want to run to them..." He stops, letting Jolon move along ahead of him. "Then go. But know who you are leaving behind." The mastiff did not intend it as a threat, but with the venom already pouring off his tongue, it doesn't sound like anything else.
"Not just them! Wolves have shown some promise." Jolon sighs. Freyr can't understand. He didn't understand for a long while, either. The dog is surprised that the mastiff seems so accepting of his leave, but the final comment hits a nerve. Bounding forward, the elkhound brings himself dangerously close to the other male. "You think I would leave her?" he snarls, hackles spiked and fangs exposed. "Not with scum like you around." The dog's teeth click menacingly. His body trembles with barely controlled rage, eager to show Freyr just how wrong he is.
"Wolves now, too?" He'd never had real hatred toward wolves, he'd even respected Storm, although she no doubt despised him. But every encounter he's had with them, had not been a terribly positive experience. He could never see them as allies. Why couldn't Jolon see reason? As the elkhound reacts, Freyr's own body language mimics his more and more. He can hide his hurt, but not his anger. "Stupid. Foolish, naive little pup." He's snarling now, barely forming the words to speak. "I'm letting you go. But you are /not/ going to return this way again."
"I don't need your damn /permission/! You don't have the strength anymore. /You/ can't do anything to stop me, senile old fool." Jolon snaps, his voice a growl. Taking a step toward the mastiff, he dares the aging canine. It seems that this dog doesn't take very kindly to being called a pup, or hearing threats toward Sketch. No, he'll protect her whatever the cost. If that means fighting Freyr now, or later, or even the whole pack at once, he'll do it. There is a determined gleam in his eye as he studies the dog before him, calculating.
Freyr is only just leaving his prime behind. But Jolon is right; he's lost much of his strength over time. From the sickness that swept the land not long ago, starvation out of providing for the less able of Russet, and then there's that old wound... evident only through his voice. He still has his pride, and perhaps that's all he has left now. "You come near the copse, you come near any of /them/, and you will die." The mastiff doesn't budge, but just about every muscle is trembling, urging him to fight. "You don't know what real strength means."
"Oh, and you do?" Jolon is skeptical. However, he seems to have lost a little of his nerve when the mastiff does not back down. He needs to get Sketch to Jage's territory before Freyr gets any wise ideas. "Next time we meet, you won't live to talk about it." It's a promise. Once the girl is safe, he'll be free to exterminate threats. As for now, she is his top priority. His instinct is to fight now, but he realizes that any injury now could seriously endanger both Jage and Sketch if he can't protect them. Though his paws are reluctant, the male steps back, inching away from the copse and signaling his momentary defeat. Lose the battle, win the war. His eyes dart to possible escape routes, looking for the fastest way back to Sketch.
Freyr wasn't expecting Jolon to back down so quickly. But it doesn't relieve the mastiff... it frustrates him. He knows the elkhound isn't going to leave without the pup, but he refuses to be the first to attack. For all Jolon has said, Freyr doesn't /want/ to hurt him. If he did, the mastiff wouldn't have even spoken in the first place. But he's also resolved not to let the turncoat get his way. Whatever that takes. And so he simply watches Jolon now, making sure he doesn't step an inch nearer to the copse.
"Until then," Jolon says, watching the mastiff closely as he backs up. After a few careful steps, he turns and runs to the north, paws desperately churning. He doesn't know if Freyr will retaliate, but he knows it's no longer safe for them here. The faster they can find Jage, the better. The dog's heart is thundering painfully. He is loathe to have retreated, and his meeting with Freyr has filled him with fear for Sketch. She's not yet grown, and the mastiff has a fierce temper. He promises himself once he evacuates the girl, he'll put an end to Freyr.