Zeinjave

Barb stopped, raised her head to smell the wind, and grumbled in her chest at her mate, Thistle. To his credit, he lowered his head to her acknowledging the danger she smelled. “Loot.” was his laconic reasoning. “Fool.” She replied; but whether it was toward him for leading them to the ruins or herself for following despite the bad feeling the place gave her, she couldn’t say. Around them bits and pieces of what had once stood here lay shattered and tumbled haphazardly, pieces of hard shiny material glinting in the sunlight. Though Thistle and Barb had no clue what rebar, broken walls, and smashed vehicles were, the smell of some strange animal still lingered here, a reminder of some ancient tragedy. Bones could be seen in places, scattered by scavengers while they had broken them open for the marrow inside. Barb ignored the yellowing remains though Thistle spared them a single glance as they continued to make their way toward a large tree that grew out of a clear and shiny rock around

Abaddon's fur rippled and swirled, and he narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare into the wind brought by the sea. He could often be found on this spit of land along Roenden's coast. A thin peninsula at high tide, the waves crashing on sheer banks revealed at low tide a large network of tidepools, perfect for hunting. Out among the drifting icebergs, the grey and mysterious green waves were home to a pod of orcas he could regularly watch as they hunted their varieties of prey. A particularly loud seagull flew by screaming obscenities as it dove to snatch a small fish before rising back to its flock of fellows, Abaddon's only sign of acknowledgement a flick of his tail. As another gust of salty spray and wind blew into his face, he narrowed his eyes, rising from his lounging position on his belly to his haunches. Was that Fujiwara returning with Kwame? Yesterday the gargantuan bird had given himself and Vanadey an unpleasant surprise, dropping out of the sky onto a particularly

Snow crunched beneath the paws of a silver kitsuune tailed vayron, upon her back a human wearing heavy fur parka, scarf, and gloves so that their gender was obscured. Despite their heavy attire they rode bareback, the two moving in sync to keep the passenger seated. "We're here." she announced, breath steaming in the bitter cold air. Before them Roenden spread in splendor. Mountains marching away to either direction, their peaks lost in low hanging snow storm laden clouds. Across their shoulders deep forests of pine, ash, and other hardy trees grew in mixed company, the evergreens keeping the slopes more green than pure white. Among the hills, flowing from the heights, meandered streams and rivers, their surfaces still mostly frozen despite the season turning to spring. In the distance smoke rose in thin ribbons from a small village, one they would stop at for a last meal and to replenish their supplies before continuing their journey to the cathedral they sought. "Your home is a

The humans had left them, eager to return to town where they would decide how to proceed. For their own part, Remsdale and Juniper were done with the cave- let the humans try to roust the Tyrians on their own. They had two meteorites a piece, the loss of the fifth and largest one not forgotten. But neither of them had found it on their way down from the peaks where it had been dislodged. “I don’t know. Do you think we should just leave it at two a piece and try somewhere else?” Juniper asked eventually. “Hm. It’s tempting. We’ve had…. Such bad luck here. Maybe it would be better to at least search somewhere flat?” Remsdale responded as he consulted the sky above them. Too much daylight to see if any shooting stars were breaching the atmosphere, no blazing fire in the sky to mark something large enough to penetrate about to crash land. With a sigh he returned his gaze to the meadow around them in disgust. “I hate mountain goats. I didn’t before today, but that one has sealed them in

Juniper continued her halting descent of the mountain for some time without finding either a ledge to rest on or their fallen meteorite. She was beginning to wonder if she’d made a fatal mistake when she broke out of a low lying cloud and found a part of the mountain path they’d ascended earlier. There were fresh tracks in the snow so she landed to rest her wings and examine them. They were definitely Vayron tracks, just barely discernible as descending in direction from the snow quickly filling them. She wasn’t far behind whoever it was, and her money was on it being Remsdale. Perfect! She set off on foot along the path, occasionally using her wings to glide and hop down the path after him (or whoever). For his own part, Remsdale was making steady progress down the path, checking frequently off into the empty space alongside him to see if he had caught up with Juniper. He was no expert on how fast she would be descending, using the halting method he’d last seen her descending with

“I’ve heard several blacksmiths say they’re quite difficult to craft into useable weapons, but functional or not, they’re always beautiful.” A middle aged man sitting across from Remsdale shrugged and took a drink from his flagon of mead. Next to him, a Dracostryx perched on a nest like chair, head tilted so she could watch him, pupils wide. Though that was probably just excitement, Remsdale thought to himself. As if to confirm this, she sighed, her feathers rippling along her body, “I’d like to see such a weapon.” She said wistfully before shaking herself and dipping her head to drink from her own bowl of water. Remsdale lapped at his own, careful not to splash- he was a Vayron not a common dog after all. “Right,” He said after swallowing, a touch of impatience tainting his words, “I get that, but I asked if they can be found out here in your mountains. That’s what I heard before coming here, but-” Juniper chirped to interrupt him, a warning about his tone. She cleared her throat

Fiver deposited the last good apple into his bag, satisfied he'd gathered enough to earn his apprenticeship and ready to return home. He'd been lucky, all the apples he'd gathered had already been on the ground, still fresh and minimally bruised. Inwardly gloating at the ease with which he'd accomplished his goal he turned from the tree. As he moved to return to his herd, the sudden sound of pounding feet caused him to pause, his head swivelling calmly toward a startled hissing shriek of a barn owl and a surprised squawk. He looked up in time to see a young Kukuri sailing through the air, its somewhat familiar pelt dark brown and speckled with white spots. "Watch out!" The youngster cried as he fell through the air. Despite the warning, the white streaked black stag didn't have the opportunity to move before the Kukuri smashed into him, their heads knocking with an audible clunk. Luckily for the overzealous Kukuri he missed the Rukaan's pronged antlers. Luckily for Fiver, his skull was

“Yeah, I just need it taken care of. You keep the pelt, whatever else you get off it, I just need my chickens to be safe.” The stranger sighed as they handed over the money. Bali weighed the bag despite having watched the person count each coin before they went in before sliding it into his own larger bag. The pink iridescent Vayron nodded, “Alright, I’ll be by in a few hours.” He made a quick trip home to drop his things off and eat a light but energizing snack. Coyotes were slippery prey, it wouldn’t do him any good to show up for the hunt on an empty stomach and running on fumes. When he arrived, his client felt obligated to show him the damage the marked coyote had caused, as if it would give Bali more incentive to do the job. It didn’t, but the Vayron just nodded and let the farmer get it out of his system. Nodding at the appropriate moments he pretended to listen all the while looking for spoor, tracks, anything to hint at where the coyote was coming from or where it went. What