neverland in a different color; /open

[c l o v e r ;]

every muscle flinched, every breath was like sucking in air containing tiny shards of glass, penetrating the inside of her lung tissue until she couldn't help but gasp out in slight agony. her echoed beats of the organ pumping blood through her flesh sunk down to the pit of her stomach, mingling there for a moment's time before sinking ever more to the pads of her paws. so each step was counted, counted with the beats that kept the foul light elemental alive and stirring. there it was, emerging from the thicket of rust-trees and aging cherry maples, was a crescent of deep, molded rock. it was a landmark that was fought over like a miniature bloodshed between the packs; even the loners on the rare occasion. but a rogue wouldn't even meet a fraction of their match against on of the three packs standing in their way. currently, the goranzo, the witts of the wolves, had their paws over the sacred mark. and that sacred mark, was a crater.

the sandy-pelted female leaped into it's shafts, the tinted rock jagged and charred like it had once been burning under a significant light; like bending the warmth of the ball of fire hanging in the sky like a marionette. the sun blazed and threw tundras of heat down onto her, heating her skin until the element of light sewn into her genetic coding began to prosper and bend the warmth. not like that of an ember-breathing fire lupine, but that so the female sculpted the glow. the light bouncing off of her cinnamon-and-powdered-sugar pelt fell off of her like dripping rain, landing in puddles of golden liquid at her paws. the thick vapor exploded like bombs, entwining tiny stars around her as if they were dancing faeries. one by one, the sprinkles of light faded and blinked out, leaving only the newly brought spring breeze to sweep at her fur and lift up the light that had once caressed her like she were wrapped in a silk blanket. the female let her eyes flutter close, the vibrations of her heart drumming in her ears. through her closed eyelids, she imagined a layer hidden underneath the outer skin of the crater's interior, one much more soft and durable. the wilds of her thoughts imagined an ancient nevermore dialect written across the sharp stone, in a faint glow of blue ink. not ink. blue blood.

she opened them again. no unreadable language. no blueish ink to establish a finding that would insure their utter right to keep the crater landmark once and for all, without the civilized war between the packs, and thus the loners who had no chance. without the crater, goranzo would find another way, a much more deceiving strategy at that, to force it back under our reigning name. poor lovely, as the secondhand commodore, she, Clover of a retched line of earth, poison, and water, was a wrecked soul doomed to stumble into mistakes that cannot easily be fixed. but she must go on. secrets are what kept her innocent, and what she told and spoke couldn't be undone or blanked. what she gave out publicly to anyone is what made her guilty in charge. that is why she found herself in deep thought, without telling a single wolven about her inner-tempest who managed to manipulate even the smallest of fragments in her life. and most of those fragments is exactly why she was part of the drugged beast trying to resurface as the new and final face of Clover.

the sun flickered in and out of few, probably behind a silver-lined cloud. if there were such a thing, anyway. Clover circled, her emerald pools wavering over the location of the crater's wall where she imagined the inscribed dialect. her wet, ebony nose brushed over the air nearest to the surface, cautious not to touch the wall itself. her mother, the dearie Lyra, had taught her well enough about the feminine gods of the lupine and of the Moon, which was the central point of the tides and of the water wolves' power. she could feel the icy sphere drifting in circles around the Nevermore, it's energy a faint touch against herself. like having someone swipe at the air next to you, letting it swirl and brush around like a ghastly creature kissed it to make a field of happiness. like so, nothing of the sort existed. she let in a cooler gasp, more like a deep breath. holding it in her cheeks like those of a squirrel stuffing acorns, her lungs flamed and Clover released her sigh. the shards of glass feeling had subsided, but instead they felt as if thorns had been inserted in her veins. every movement towards the wall and what might as well be hidden beneath it setting up warning signs; turn back.


words; 807
muse; is ohkay, i guess. ;3
notes; open thread. for anyone.

[daemon ?!]

It was beautiful outside. It was quiet, peaceful, serene...it was always serene around the crater, though. It was disputed so many times now, but it was finally the property of the Goranzo, the rightful heirs. The Gods had given this piece of land to them, and them alone, and no other wolf had a right to own it or even set foot near it. There was so much beauty surrounding it, it could make even a hard hearted Tytanus or Flyanta choke on it.

However, this peace was soon to be disturbed. A ragged breath came from a few meters away, and as blood dripped to the floor, a paw was visible -- it was a bloody red color, matching the splotches that had dirtied the floor. The blood seemed to sizzle with some sort of unknown acid, and the ground smoked a little when the paw met the hard ground. Another ragged breath choked through the dusk, and now gleaming golden eyes were visible through the veil. The setting sun drowned the air in a painful cry of death -- the sun was taking its final breaths before it was to give in to the silver glow of the moon. Evening was hanging like a disease, and it was beginning to choke the being that was struggling through the shadows.

Another step, and another pained breath. Sides were beginning to palpitate from the effort of standing, and more blood dripped onto the floor like rain. Each drop made the earth sizzle and smoke from the poison contained within it. Blood dripped from the large wound in his side, and his red fur was now matted with the sticky liquid. His maw parted, and his tongue lolled out from within its depths. Deadly drool began to sink from the edges down to the ground, and normally ivory colored teeth were now bathed in red. From the sun or from the injury and the blood now racing from his maw, one couldn't tell. His tail whisked back and forth behind him through the pain. It was growing more and more clear that the effort of staying standing was becoming too much for the male, and he staggered before regaining his footing. His legs were shaking as the blood ran down his side.

This was the mighty leader of the Goranzo, the alpha male. What was the most powerful wolf in the territory was now reduced to a bloody mass of flesh and fur. It was a pitiful sight. If only Daemon didn't decide to take on that twelve prong buck...then maybe his leg wouldn't be shattered and his side wouldn't be gouged by the powerful beast. The deer was dead now, of course, merely because Daemon had the power of the elements on his side, but he was too weak to actually eat it. The kill went to waste, and a lower life form would probably be pecking out the rotting flesh by now. The poison laced within the deer's neck was still able to kill...he hoped that the creature that was feasting on it was dead by now...He growled in pain as he limped once again, spitting out poison laced blood onto the floor.

He looked up, his golden eyes flickering through the shadows. He saw Clover, his beta, roaming the crater, seeming to be tired. He took in another ragged breath, and he too could feel the glass shards floating in the air. Despite the beauty of the crater, it gave him a slight amount of worry to come here. It was so sacred that even the alpha male barely dared set foot inside.

He stumbled forward again, ashamed to show his face in this pitiful situation. An alpha male, of Goranzo, no less, getting beaten up by a stag. A lowly stag...He growled and struggled forward even more, but the pain in his side and his leg were too much. His breathing was more forced by now. Each breath that he took in sent sharp pains to his side -- the blood seemed to be slowing a little, but the pain was growing worse. He wondered vaguely with each breath he took if it was going to be his last. He looked back up from the floor, his nostrils flaring with futile effort. He stared at Clover, who seemed to not know that he was there, and almost took a step back. No, he was independent, he didn't need help from anyone, not even a trusted beta. He instead stood stark still, letting the onset of night slowly engulf him. Daemon would rather die than ask for assistance, and that much was growing clear.

As Clover began to relax her movements, the sudden, dull thud of a body reverberated throughout the crater. The mighty Daemon, master of the Goranzo, had fallen. Blood seeped around him in a poisoned pool, and his breathing was ragged. He was finally unconscious, the only thing that would allow any other creature to help his poor condition.

829

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[Í c á r ï !]

Blood. Its scent was thick in the air, penetrating Ícárï's nostrils and making her want to gag. She was a healer and no less, but her stomach was slightly weak and such vast amounts still got to her. This was no small injury, but instead something of immense pain and sure life endangerment. Whomever it belonged to Ícárï had no idea, but determined healer she was, the sight of the crimson trail sent her running to pursue it. She paused to sniff hard and long; nothing but the stanch scent of blood permeated her nostrils and she had no indication of who was ahead. It could be a loner, disoriented and lost in their insufferable throbbing. It could be much worse: a member of a pack not Goranzo. No matter, though, Ícárï could not bring herself to leave them here alone if such was the case. It would be the blood of another pack shed on Goranzo lands... a great conflict, surely. Suddenly she pushed forwards once more; her sharp claws clicked against the crater's surface in an expeditious rhythm that indicated her urgency.

The further she pressed, the more she began to pant, and thinking about this she caught the sound of ragged breathing ahead. Yes, great pain they were in. Yet they were moving forward still, stupidly. Ícárï could not help but wonder who in their right mind would move away from assistance and instead into the depths of the crater. 'Idiot. How is it that my job is always made so much harder by imbeciles who think that running away will solve... oh. Oh.' She had caught a familiar scent ahead, now, amongst the blood: that of Daemon, her alpha. And here she was cursing him for fleeing! Calling her alpha an imbecile. She considered punishing herself in some way... slamming into a wall, some kind of physical reprimand, but knowing who was injured just pushed such thoughts from her mind. They were priority, her alpha was more important. "Daemon!" She called softly ahead, for she was not much behind now.

Ícárï got an answer, too: the sound of her alpha collapsing.

She froze in her stride, and her breath caught. This was bad, much worse than she had expected and for that matter, had ever dealt with. But in this moment of astonishment, she caught a third and final scent, one that comforted her... Clover, the beta. Listening closely, it was apparent that her gait was stronger than Daemon's had been. She seemed steady, well enough to assist Ícárï... and Ícárï would need all the assistance she could get. "Clover! Clover, come here, please. Daemon... he's hurt..." Commanding a beta could have been an unwise choice, but in this situation the thought barely passed through her mind. She tread those last few yards, and in the dim light could see her alpha quite clearly. His condition made Ícárï's heart sink considerably. The wounds he had suffered were devastating. His side, carved severely; his leg, resting at an unnatural angle.

A question hung in the air, daunting... why? Why would their trusted and beloved alpha have condemned himself to such a fate? She doubted that these wounds were self-inflicted, but his lack of requesting assistance was apparent. He now lay dying, and Ícárï was just sure as hell glad that she'd caught wind of the blood far back. If she had not, there was no guarantee Clover would have even noticed, and then he would have been lost. Ícárï wished desperately she had more knowledge of and experience with her element... to read the truth from Daemon's mind right now would be substantially helpful, almost to a life-or-death point. But this she could not do, so she was at a loss. "Clover," she said in a quieter voice, "I don't..." She wasn't sure how to direct the femme, what to say, how to explain. Ícárï was shying away from the blood; it contained poison, she could tell, watching the male's blood toxicity take effect on the crater: how it smoked, the faint sizzle. Should she touch it? Could she, without ending up dead herself? She didn't know. The poison element was not something she was familiar with.

Would Thirteen know? It was becoming more and more a game of pride... to admit to her alphess that she wasn't clear on how to approach the situation could potentially remove her of her rank. But... this was life or death, and what happened, happened. The pack was better off with Daemon than Ícárï... she'd be far less missed. Thirteen had to know the answers, and be alerted of the situation. Ícárï couldn't wait for the answers, and she could not desert Daemon to find her alphess. "Clover. I need you to find Thirteen, tell her that Daemon's been injured very badly... his leg is shattered, his side gouged. If the two of you can grab anything helpful on your way back here... to splint the leg, to ease the pain or the bleeding... anything at all, it would be immensely helpful. We can't move him, and I can't leave him. Please?" She waited for no answer, just hoped Clover would listen. And so the healer began using the most ancient of cleaning methods... licking clean the wounds. It was all she had at the moment. His blood was bitter; she could taste the poison strongly. She tried to spit her mouth as clean as she could get it now and again, but it wasn't priority. Her death wouldn't matter. It was a devastating fact, but one she knew to be true in comparison to losing Daemon.

---

words. 932.
muse. not good at all.
notes. I wasn't sure exactly how things go here as far as if there are herbs, etc... so I kept it open for either way. x3

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[c l o v e r ;]

the first thing that registered in her mind was that her leader had fallen. with a quick pirouette on her paws, she smelled the stench of blood before she saw it. tufts of plush-red fur were matted with scabbing blisters of a thick liquid oozing out of deep cuts and scraps marking his side. the air was heavy with an acidic hinge, and she practically gagged at the smell. what frightened her more? the fact that her alpha, her kingling of the mighty goranzo, was lying helpless? or that her dearest healer, Icari, was licking up the steaming blood trying to clean the wounds? as a master manipulator of herbs and medicines, Icari should have known damn well that the poison laced in the bloody puddles would kill her. it was a matter of moments before both of them would be drifting off into a dreamless slumber. she heard muffled voices, actually, one voice. the healer's, pleading, almost, to find another lupine. ah, yes, to go fetch thirteen. she'd know exactly what to do, of course she would.

she had to assist Daemon. she had to argue that overlooking someone higher ranked than you was mortally wrong. she had to nudge Icari away from the drugged liquid, demand that she stop trying to kill herself. but deep down, in the pit of her stomach and at the pads of her paws, in her heart that Icari thought that their leader's life would mean more than her's. Clover wanted to speak out, in a protest on believing both the pros and the cons of such a belief. Daemon, for one, shouldn't have challenged whichever he had, it obviously was pride or of a jealous glory that had gotten to him; eating away at his common sense. and on other words, if Icari would wander and let inner-medium hear those around her; and what Clover was really thinking. the light elemental fae broke into a dead run, in one leap she scaled the high wall of the crater and was bounding into the woods surrounding their land. with knowledge, she'd use her power to figure the route to get to the queen faster.

without thinking, nor concentrating until her temples burned like disks of metal glued to her face being heated up under the sun, a waver of light began to entwine like a rope. using her senses to calculate Thirteen's whereabouts, she thundered over decomposing logs and curves in the woods that would damage the time that she already did have much of. Thirteen had to be with the other wolves, the other beta, every other Goranzo lupine. except for them, of course. the wanderers. Clover let the rage subside, trying to think only about keeping one paw forward at a time, bounding against leaning stumps of bark and boulders blanketed with moss. just keeping moving forward. have to get Thirteen, have to get Thirteen, for Daemon's sake, i have to fetch Thirteen! Clover opened her maw in mid-flight through the woods, lyrics of both a call of begging and one for assistance ringing against the trees, like a vibrating echo that bounced off every surface it touched. like screaming your name at the lower-most chasm of a crested canyon, or the winding diamond tunnels at the center of a mountain. Clover's howls were practicaly desperate, but it was for their alpha's sake. and their alpha's sake always came first before others, for the pack and it's future to stand strong.

words ; 578
muse ; = blah. sorry for the suckiness.
notes ; none. D8

[T H i R T E E N »]

T H I R T E E N
you might as well just do it alone and i'll watch you go

<sub>‘There are some days in my life where I still cannot believe I am here. There are other days where I wish I had found the courage to jump. Others…well, those odd days in my life where I am actually glad to still be here…those are the ones I will always cherish until the day I finally do end up dying. Waking up is something that I have mixed feelings about now a days. I’m either glad or not. Still, I know deep down that it somehow isn’t my fault, but my brain doesn’t seem to recognise that feeling. It has been a long set of years now, and I’m still counting them down. Never the less, there has to be a wolf out there somewhere who will find a second of their time just to look at me like I matter…’

A golden ball of fire continued to pulse heat down over the floral lands of the Goronzo territory. The occasional breeze was blessed and it made all of the life give off a new air. The long green leaves bent down as the trees itself were bent near the tops, a faint rusting of the leathery foliage floating on the rare breezes that came past. The sounds of lake waves could be heard as well, along with the occasional bird song and other animal noises. To all who lived here, spring was truly a time of mixed feelings. Many hated the heat and cold mixture of weather, but knew deep down that those of the other packs would be feeling it too, and knew not to complain. They also knew that the food was great around this time, so filled their bellies high and even horded food away for the harsh snows that tended to appear in the spring of Nevermore.

It was very calm in the territory, and it was perfect for her liking. It had been a while since she had gone wandering around. She had no real duties to her pack, apart from just being around. Sure, she was the Alpha Female, but with all of the brains around, her job was lacking in any real roles. Still, at least she actually belonged somewhere for a change. Most of her life had been spent wandering around Nevermore with her rather terrible past and head hung low. She was the perfect target for abuse in her teenage and younger years. Her coat was the first thing other wolves found to chip away. Her fur was a crisp white, but tinted with rose and it covered most of her skinny little frame. Add to that her blazing orange eyes, and it was a disaster waiting to happen. Her parents praised her uniqueness though, but no other wolves seemed to think like her parents did. Add to the mix her bright mind and fragile emotional stability and she was a walking punch-bag for the other pups. Somehow, she just seemed to have an ability of making things worse my walking down a ‘wrong path’ with regards to her future. Oh, she wasn’t ashamed of the path she took, oh no. She was actually quite relieved when she found another wolfess with similar feelings. It was just the rest of the world who looked down on her and objected with a passion.

Pumpkin orange eyes stared out into the distance as the lithe female lay on a broken oak tree. Her paws lay out in front, claws and toes stretching as a yawn came out from her partially open jaws. She had been lying there for quite some time, and had seen no other wolves around for a while now. She guessed that they would all be around somewhere in the territory and beyond, enjoying the fine spring day they had been blessed with.

Evidently not…

Her small ears twitched as some birds flew over where she was lying. She tilted her head up to the sky, trying not to look to the Sun which was sitting quite near to her gaze. “Oh…how I wish I could fly away and be rid of such a wonderful day…” Her voice was soft, but it was very sorrowful at the same time. Tail swayed gently over the bark of the oak tree as the she-wolf placed her head down on her paws, lids falling over her eyes as she cleared her head again. She was quite good at daydreaming, and did it quite frequently. She kept on remembering her past each time she closed her eyes, making her flinch and recoil as she opened her eyes again. A sigh came out of her lips as jaws clamped together soon after. It was such a lonely place, but she was quite used to the feeling of loneliness. The she-wolf was just about to try and close her eyes again, but something caused her attention to waver. The air was soon very different, and it seemed no longer still. It made her slightly nervous at the rapid change. “What is going on?” She could feel loads of tension, and her body began to quiver and shudder as the sounds of a anguished call filled the air, causing birds to fly from their nests and flee. It was such a depressed noise! The timid wolfess placed her paws hard over her ears and shuddered on her palm tree, clamping her eye tight shut.

‘What in the world is going on?! Why can’t I just escape all of the pain and hurt of this world…?’

She just kept on shuddering for a good few minutes until the sounds vanished from her mind. She found a small shred of courage and pulled her paws from her ears. Silence. Quickly jumping down from her oak tree, she lifted her head to the sky and let a tear fall from her eye. “What in the world was that…?” Shaking her muzzle, the lithe she-wolf let her head fall down to the ground. She was just about to walk off in the opposite direction, until she heard the howl ringing in her head again, followed by heavy paw steps. To her, it sounded familiar. Sharply turning to the direction of the howl, her eyes widened. It was one of her Betas, Clover. And something was deeply wrong. Rushing out towards her, out of the green and into the crater-area, she skidded to a halt and panted. Something was deeply wrong, she could feel tension in the air again, but it was greater than before. “Clover? What’s wrong?!” Panic was evident in her tone as her words just flew out carelessly and without any clear warning.</sub>

[Í c á r ï !]

I C A R I ;

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"Thirteen."[/color] The whisper rolled off Ícárï's tongue with a certain softness that was layered in emotion... sadness and fear and anger. Ícárï like Thirteen as a person; she seemed, well, good. Sadness, for the prognosis was bleak and to tell her beloved alphess that Daemon had fallen, that death was creeping upon him filled her with a fear. And anger, a passion that burned inside of her, deteriorated her emotional stability as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that this injury could be the very end for Daemon. It was cruel, a heartbreaking shred of news that Ícárï felt was her responsibility to break to Thirteen. How would she react? Did she have a close friendship with Daemon or was it mere formality? These were questions that lingered in the, unanswered and nothing that Ícárï could answer. Ther was one way only to find out...

All the while going over these things in her mind, Ícárï had been poisoning herself with Daemon's blood. She could feel it settling uneasily in her stomach, her pulse hastening gradually. Her body would try to fight it off but probably fail. Yet another grim reality... something Ícárï had to deal with but would confide in no one. She was smart, and smart enough to realize that chances for survival were not in the favor of either party: not Daemon nor Ícárï. But trying... not to try would be to fail herself, something she could not live with. If at least the healer could save Daemon, then her own life wouldn't matter so much. No, not much at all. That was clear. Deep breath... gratification. Something was evident and true in the muddle of thoughts that cluttered her mind. Her life had no value when compared to Daemon's. Daemon was alpha. Friend of Thirteen. Strong. Protected. Valued. Ícárï was none of that. It was not something she was pleased with but something she had come to terms with long, long ago.

Death would not be pleasant, of that Ícárï felt positive. But death would answer a question long embedded in her curious mind... what was it like to die?

A task. Yes, Ícárï needed to return to her task. She swallowed twice, hard, her throat dry. She left Daemon, intending to for but a moment, and cleared her throat. She emerged to find Clover and Thirteen standing together, both with plain worry and fear painted upon their faces, their expressions. Maybe she already knew. Maybe Clover had told Thirteen, but she didn't think so. Regardless, Ícárï felt a need to herself. A responsibility that weighed heavy on her shoulders, her chest, a weight that threatened to suffocate her. Not like it mattered. Death was not far off, anyways. "Thirteen. Thirteen, I..."[/color] Her voice was calm, collected; the female saw no reason to let her inner panic leak into her tone. If there would be nothing good come from it, it would not be done. The Goranzo healer could do nothing to make this any harder than this already was.

"I have some news, some bad news. Daemon came down into the crater and he.. there was blood, I followed it and he collapsed. He's injured, severely. His side, his leg... He's in horrible shape, and I can't guarantee he will make it. I can guarantee that I will do everything in my power to help him, but... do you know anything about herbs? I need some things, a painkiller perhaps and something to keep it clean..."[/color] All the words had come out in a rush and took less than a minute to be said. She had no time to spare. "If not, I... I cannot leave. The herbs would help but are not necessary entirely. But you can at least help by telling me what you know about his... element. His blood is toxic, I know, but how so? Enough to... to kill me?"[/color] She had let fear creep into her voice; rather, she had been unable to keep it from showing by then. The female was well aware that blood caked the fur around her mouth and that Thirteen would become quickly aware of what her healer had done. No turning back. Metaphorically, anyways. The healer did look back frantically to Daemon, desperate to return to him and help him get better once more.

---

words; 719
muse; pretty good.[/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]