i watched the proverbial sunrise

She swept down the mountainside quickly, rushing to outrun an angry elk that careened after her. Midnight hadn't even been stalking the goddamn thing! There was no wolf on the planet that was ridiculous enough to hunt a goddamn elk all alone, particularly not someone quite as small as her.

The inky wolf zigzagged to evade the thundering beast, her lungs burning with exertion as she struggled to keep her distance. Fuck, she didn't even know why she was being chased, but for some reason it felt best to yell: "I'm sorry, you giant fuckwad!" Counterproductive? Probably, but she didn't know how else to appease the massive bull. "Someone fuckin' help!" the wolf hollered, hoping a massive pack would abruptly swarm and take down her assailant. Please.

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super tired so just gna speedrun this post yo no edit lmfao

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[narrow width=800]forgive her if she forgot the birdsong and the last of light's glow as evening came to billow down throughout the foothills of her claim's heights; and forgive her the last firefly winking out, and the last cricket chirping before all of autumn collapsed all around. so far, only two of her children had been recovered — but if they were all she found, they would be enough. and not. they have made a restless silverwood creature of her; and though she did not try to discern what she was feeling, she gives herself to it to see where it might take her this very evening; follows it as a hound does for the quarry and as a pheasant does for the seed.

it isn't quite so often that she is startled out of her meandering stupor, though.

just as she does not know this unbridled thing within her, she trusts it; and when she hears the hysterics she is already flying to the heart of the commotion. the frenzied bull; the bit of darkness that dove from and ducked beneath those angry, glittering tines. in a moment where it seems most opportune ( and less than likely that she'd get skewered and left to the carrion-pickers ) kuunhekku sends herself swooping down the incline with a withering roar to sink all claws and fangs into the anxious, flaring snout of the hellbent beast.

but he is hale in ways that she certainly is not; and once he's shaken her off, and she's sprung to stand, not a moment passes before she gives a great shout of "täällä!" — here!the nightingale thrust her ribs against the inksilver stranger's, if only to aid in their heartbeat of a head start — for the deeper hinterland and the great fall of foothill rocks that folded over themselves.

hopefully, it would not be too steep for the pair of them alone.[/narrow]

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Yeet didn't feel like the appropriate word to yell as she was plowed into by a silvery blur from the side, but you bet your sweet ass she thought it internally. It started a whole new slew of problems, however, as she was shoved out of the stampeding elk's path and down a slope covered with snow. It wasn't a graceful fall, either, as she somersaulted and flipped and grunted and swore beneath her breath. Midnight wasn't entirely sure if the blow to her side had been trying to help or not, but fuck, she felt like she was going to get sick. Her lithe frame came to an unsettling halt at the bottom, a black pretzel twisted in all sorts of dizzying ways as stars danced in her vision. "Fuckin' hell," she groaned, clenching her eyes tightly shut until the world stopped spinning.

Which was hopefully soon, lest the abominable snowman from above come back for seconds.

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[narrow width=800]rather than run for the higher, collapse terrain of the foothills as she had intended to ...nudge the inkblot in, the other went tumbling down down down, sending up a flurry of snow in her careening wake until she lie at the foot of it all, crumpled and crimped  —  and conscious, she hoped. it was all she could do to not snap at the great beast that blundered past and, throwing herself beneath the great swoop of tines it levied her way, the nightingale flung herself down the uneven path that she had sent the poor female down; reaching the bottom in a rush of kicked-up white and her hide shivered out every which way. heard the curse beneath that ragged, wheezing breath but in the moment looked back up the way they had both plunged and bared her teeth in an ugly, silent snarl to dare the bull to follow.

so far, he had not.

...so she turns to the groaning rogue, a tentative crease of consternation and concern between the dark arch of low-drawn brows:  "it ... it would be ... a shame,"  in-between pants, and the springing, slight pain in her own ribs,  "to have become crow-food at the hooves of a bull. what ..."  stops a moment before what were you thinking, going against one? flies off her lips in fluttery fatigue. instead:  "we should leave this place, and make for higher ground before it has half a mind to charge down here."[/narrow]

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