((New name?)) || Posting open

[Charias]

G r e e t i n g s

I have officially given up on having a decent introductory paragraph for my story. I don't mind, I never liked these paragraphs anyway... they're all, I don't know, paragraphy. So many words, wasted. Yeah, you should probably just skip ahead to the next bit.

N o t e s

First things first, please don't read this if you're spooked by gore and that sort of thing; I didn't intend to make this story that scary, but I can be a bit overly descriptive... I personally don't think it's too bad, but some younger audiences might find it a bit creepy I have reached a new level of creepiness. Please don't read if you're creeped out by gore or undead foxes... or a number of other creepy things that may or may not find their way into this story. Also there's some really, really mildly bad language in here: damn, hell, crap, that sort of thing. Not too offensive, I hope. And violence... but I don't think anyone really minds a bit of violence, do they?
>>>>>>>>Also, just thought that I should mention that I'm writing pretty much paragraph by paragraph; if you come by every day you'll see the story gradually getting longer, no full chapters added or anything. That's because I don't have Word on this *stupidly glitchy* laptop, so I'm writing straight on here, usually for periods of about half-an-hour before I have to go do other stuff.

U p d a t e s

Haha, I have finally figured out where this story is going. I mean, I always had a vague idea... but it's all arranged in my head now. So, hopefully, a lot less annoying writer's block for me - though it also means that some parts, especially in the first chapter, are being sent to oblivion. It doesn't matter. I have epic plot. And soon it's going to be at the hardcore fantasy bits, which shall be loads of fun. >:D

C h a p t e r s
{ Chapter one
{ Chapter two
{ Chapter three
{ Chapter four
{ Chapter five
{ Chapter six;; WIP

. . .

[Charias]

O n e

>>>>>>>>Aeranna was sat up in her bed. Her breath was heavy, and laboured, as if she had been running; but, no, she had been sound asleep until now. A bad dream - the climax of a bad dream - had roused her from her fitful rest, though she felt no better for the few hours' sleep she had managed. She had awoken and moved so quickly that now her head was aching, but most likely in a few minutes it would pass; and so she sat, confused, trying to remember the nightmare that had haunted her only moments before. The memory was just out of reach, at the edge of her view, as if a wall was encompassing it and all she had to do was find a weakness in it, a gap or a crack, then she would be able to brush the rest aside and see clearly what was subconsciously troubling her. She struggled with it, feeling it starting to give slightly.
>>>>>>>>Suddenly, a torrent of memory swept forward. It was so clear, so life-like, it unnerved her. She could almost see it again, a half-forgotten image of a half-forgotten dream.
>>>>>>>>A field, full of people, thousands of people crowded together, weilding swords or bows. Screaming. War, obviously war. But why war? She didn't care for politics; she didn't spare thoughts for the kingdom, as long as the trading was fine and they weren't all rallied together to fight for a reason they didn't understand. She was just a teenager, after all, and hardly one at that. And from what she could tell times were peaceful, or at least as peaceful as they ever were to be. Almost unnaturally peaceful. So why did she dream of war?
>>>>>>>>It could, of course, have been simply a stray thought, an idea; but it didn't feel like that. It felt foreboding. And seeing further, as the view came into focus, she could see that the people were not fighting among themselves - in fact, it looked more as if they were all working together to defeat some greater enemy, though who this could have been she didn't know. When she tried to find out, all she saw was darkness. Then something new appeared; a shadow, cast overhead, like a storm but not a storm, with a cry like thunder but not thunder, and piercing amber eyes. It wheeled in the smoky sky like a vulture waiting to feast, occasionally swooping in low but never touching the insignificant individuals swarming below. It flew skyward once more, casting its fiery gaze across the battlefield, then stared straight at her with hollow eyes, its strong wings beating the surrounding air into gales that whipped the land below. She blocked it out. She didn't want to see any more.
>>>>>>>>She climbed, at first clumsily, out of her bed, her raven hair falling over her eyes, and let a small groan escape her lips before pushing onward. The door swung open perilously loud; she wondered for a second whether it would be audible to her brother in the room next to hers. Content after a moment of waiting unyeildingly to hear his bed wheeze under his weight, she reasoned that he probably wouldn't hear her over his snoring. She smiled to herself, considering how much he would disapprove of her going out at this time of night hunting, but she was a hunter, and so when she was troubled she would hunt, and it would force away any troubles on her mind. He would never understand that, for he wasn't a hunter, he was a farmer. So while he would content himself tilling a field or caring for a young alryn, she would content herself by making sure that the arrow notched in her bow found itself striking the eye, then the brain, of her unwary prey.
>>>>>>>>She picked up her bow from where it leaned, somewhat precariously, against the wall by the door. For a second she savoured the feel of it in her hand, how it was somehow light and yet so strong, how it was beautiful and yet more so deadly. Many a beast had fell at the bite of its arrow. It was a curious thing too, for no one she had asked could identify what it was made of: it looked like metal but was black, almost dark purple in some lights; it could bend easily but never too much; and could not break no matter what strain she put it through. When she asked for a value, they said it was priceless. Unique, and so very, very valuable, though it had never crossed her mind to sell it. Not only was it a gift from her mother and father, who had died when she was too young to even remember their faces; she had grown up with it. It was with that bow that she had learned archery, and with it she had killed her first buck, and it remained the only bow that she would use, for it would never fail her. The idea of selling it was as ludicrous as selling her own severed hand. She had named it Shadowbolt, because it was the colour of shadows, and struck from where nobody could see.

. . .

>>>>>>>>Outside, the moon was full and shrouded in a cloak of thin clouds, and a brisk breeze drifting from the north danced in her long hair. Black silhouettes dived and played among the stars, bats, perhaps, or jackdaws awoken from their slumber for a frolick in the silver moonlight. Leaves rustled and shimmered in the canopy of the high birch trees, and lower swaying spruce and pine grew in their shadow, alongside deciduous trees with their emerald hands welcoming the dim light with glee, before the autumn when they would sleep, and their hands would drift to the leaf-litter and be trodden into dirt. An owl, from it's concealed roost, sang to the night, then swept down on silent wings to descend upon it's quarry. It was a beautiful night, and as always people seemed to miss, the dark times were just as alive as the light - the forest was loud with the calls, meandering footsteps and snores of the creatures that called it home.
>>>>>>>>She walked around to the stables, all rotten wood and stinking of droppings and a solemn wish of restoration, listening to the nickers and yinnys of the animals within as she approached, some excited, most annoyed, and probably wishing she would leave them in peace. Cinereal was no different; in fact, she had a feeling he was the worst of the lot, and that was why her brother gave him to her. He was as much a stubborn and moody alryn as could be, but she loved him for it. She approched his stable, but as she did so, he turned around as resolutely as ever, showing her his rather fragrant backside. His long tail snaked along the bed of straw with not a hint of enthusiasm. This was not good. He was large for what he was, and if he didn't decide to submit and do as was asked of him, then he was not going to move.
>>>>>>>>Alryn were indeed strange creatures. From afar they may look like an equine animal of sorts, but on closer inspection it is realized that they weren't any type of horse, pony or donkey, but something far stranger and worthy of a second glance. For what equine carries wide antlers upon it's crown and has the prehensile tail of a rat? Alryn, though almost unheard of among the city-folk, were common among the poor farmers, as they were much cheaper than horses; for good reason. They were very intelligent animals, with smarts to rival a canine, and did not take direction easily. They were stubborn, free-willed and learned quickly as many bad habits as they could muster. Cinereal was no different; in fact he was a fine example of why to not buy an alryn, and rather save up funds for an extra year and buy a horse or a mule; but she loved him nevertheless, because for all his quirky misbehaviours and temper tantrums, she knew that deep down her cared about her - he just cared not to let her know it.
>>>>>>>>"Please, Cinereal, turn around. You big, stubborn oaf. Please?" She begged, and Cinereal turned his head and gazed upon her with one luminescent blue eye and snorted. Stomping exaggeratedly and sighing like a berated child, he turned around, almost knocking her over with his wide antlers. Impatiently, he watched her unlock his stable door, and it swung, creaking, as he wandered out half-heartedly. In the moonlight, despite his temperament, he was the most beautiful alryn she had ever seen: his coat shone bluish-grey, in harmony with the moonlight, and was dappled with lighter grey and black like rain falling through a canopy of leaves on a humid summer's day. His fur was long and perfectly groomed - and she struggled to keep him that way, as he hated being brushed; his mane ran down his neck from between his ears to the base of his tail, which flicked occasionally in annoyance; and his antlers were pristine, as large and intimidating as those of any elk or moose she had ever seen. His feathered hooves lifted and clapped the ground impatiently. He wanted to go, so that he could return and resume his sleep.
>>>>>>>>She climbed up onto his bare back, gripping as best she could with her legs and wrapping her hands in his long mane to steady herself. Alryn were more heavily built than horses, though not as large as some; the largest alryn grow to the size of a small quarter horse, no larger. That didn't matter, though, because even the smallest alryn were strong enough to carry a full-grown man for their muscular bodies. They couldn't nearly touch the speed of a stallion, and humans riding them looked like fools for their undersized steeds, but the poor cannot be picky.
>>>>>>>>Cinereal cantered down the well-worn path in the darkness, while Aeranna sat thankful for the moon, because without it the path ahead would be pure black. Hunting in this light would be challenging, but she liked the difficulty; her night-vision was good, and she was confident that she would have some fresh meat for dinner the next day, perhaps with extra to sell at the caravan that would pass through Rookwind that weekend. She pondered for a second how she would explain to her brother, then scolded herself for thinking too far ahead. She hadn't seen any sign of game yet, and it was all too likely that, for all her confidence, she would arrive back at the farm at the light of dawn with nothing to show for her efforts except exhaustion and sweat.

. . .

[Charias]

T w o

>>>>>>>>Cinereal's hooves led them half an hour from the farm, into the wilds where the wolves, bears and pumas roamed, among other deadly predators. She didn't fear her fellow hunters; they did not hunt for her, so she passively remained out of their way and conflict was averted. She retained a healthy respect for them: she would not stray too close, and if she saw them targetting the same prey as her, she would let them have their chance, for their lives depended on it much more than hers. In the silver-draped glade, where the relentless forest finally parted, she slid from her alryn's back to begin tracking some prey. Most likely she would hunt deer, though she wouldn't pass up on the chance to snare larger game; if she was very lucky maybe a boar, or perhaps even a moose.
>>>>>>>>In the clearing, the dappled light hard to see by but clear enough with the help of her other senses, she found the tracks of wolves - or wolf, because further searching found only one set of tracks. A large canine, most likely male, had passed through here... the previous day, she guessed. In fact, it was a very large brute - his pawprint was almost bigger than her hand. She shook her head, for a moment wondering what her crazy world was coming to, with wolves the size of bears. What next? A smirk spread across her face and she continued to cast around for signs of prey. It would have to be close; she had to be home by morning or her brother would worry and, probably, by afternoon he would have all of Rookwind out searching for her.
>>>>>>>>As she would have guessed, the scent of the large wolf had scared off any of the deer that usually were abundant in that area, however she did find some hoof-prints in the dirt; from what she could tell in the half-light, they were relatively fresh, belonging to a boar... a sow, if size was anything to go by, but it would do fine if only she could catch up to it before dawn, which, from the position of the pastel moon, would be in roughly three hours. It would be tight, but she wasn't about to give up on the chance to haul in some big game such as a boar. That would be something to show the men in the village, who, as of yet, failed to take her seriously. The tracks lead away, further into the wilderness, though she was confident that she could find her way back to the clearing should she follow them into the darkness; just memorize a few landmarks and she would be fine. And so, with one last look at Cinereal who was grudgingly waiting for this nonsense to be over, she trapsed down the shadowy trail and into the wilds of the night.
>>>>>>>>Most people, in her situation, would be scared. The light was scarce, the darkness unforgiving, and it seemed to her that all around her forms in the shadows writhed and crept, following her through the gloom; but not a twig creaked except those beneath her leather boots, and not a leaf rustled except in the lonely breath of the wind, and with no further reason to suspect danger but her weary and dazed imagination, she carried on undaunted. She was a hunter, and so she channeled all of her energy into the hunt - her ears picking up the tiniest whispers of short breath in the distance, her eyes taking in the shadows and making out something of her surroundings, her nose taking in the scents of the fresh pine and the smell of the animals that had passed; she herself could have been a wolf, for at that moment she was as perceptive as one.
>>>>>>>>From the slight stings and pricks in her fingers as they swayed alongside her, she knew that this was a well-worn trail, as it was bordered on either side by low-lying nettles and bramble, but under her feet she met nothing but dirt; likely not a human trail, however, because they unfortunately had no fur, and so a weakness to the pricks of the stinging shrubs. It stank slightly, so little that the untrained person would miss it, but it was obvious to her that it was often travelled by deer, with the odd boar, moose or predator travelling by it too. The tracks led on forward, and following them she found a small chunk of fur snagged on a bramble, coarse and black. She was going the right way, at least.

. . .

>>>>>>>>In the darkness it was hard to say how far she had travelled. A while back she had turned away from the trail, and followed a fresh track of trodden ferns and long grass, which must have been made only a short time previous for the plants to have not yet sprung back up. She crouched low to the ground and, now silently, crept forward; though there was still no sounds that suggested her quarry was close by.
>>>>>>>>A fox crossed her path warily, not noticing her standing there until last minute, then bolting. It was a small, ragged beast with the looks of a starved hound, its brownish fur knotted and coated in some parts with clotted blood. Now it was gone, and in her tired state she started to wonder whether it had been there at all, or whether she had just imagined it; then she doubted herself, and checked - yes, there definately were fox tracks in the dirt... but they were old, as if it had passed through the day before. She couldn't have just seen it. She shook her head and sighed inaudibly, thinking that it would probably be best if she retraced her steps now, and headed back to the farm. But no. She had come this far, and had no intention of leaving the hunt just because of her stupid imagination. She would get over it... however, she couldn't resist following the fox's tracks, just for a bit - to see if she couldn't figure out what was going on. She cursed herself even as she turned, once again, and lead deeper into the forest where disorientation would be a real risk.
>>>>>>>>There was, however, no chance of her becoming lost, for the tiny pawprints led only a few metres away from the trail. Then they stopped dead, and at their end lay the dead body of the fox that she had just seen walking along casually in front of her; no doubt now, though, that it had been dead at least a few hours. I's carcass was covered in a layer of insects - cockroaches, greenbottles and house flies wrestling for their share of its flesh. Its fur was matted and bloody as it had been just moments before, though whether those moments before it had been animate or as dead as it now lay was a mystery to her. And for the first time in her memory, she was scared.
>>>>>>>>A cold chill raked down her spine like the blades of a thousand knives; all she wanted to do was be home, hiding under her furs, safe in the knowledge that she wasn't alone. Here, in the forest, she was alone. Suddenly the wisps and tendrils in the shadows were terrifying; they were reaching out, clawing at her. The sound of rustling leaves or the whistle of an animal in the distance was now a threat, something hunting for her in the darkness. She held back a scream, so instead she let out a whimper. An arrow was notched in her bow in an eyeblink and she was back on the trail, trying again to focus on hunting but failing, for around her the malicious blackness was closing in - she was surrounded by what she couldn't see, trapped by her own erratic fear. In a solid beam of moonlight breaking through the canopy she stopped, and breathed deeply. She told herself to slow down, to put an end to this nonsense. It was ridiculous. She had been fine just moments before, and now she was frantic; frankly, it was stupid. She was being stupid. Why was she being so stupid? Hearing for the first time since she found the fox, she could sense no threat. No twigs snapped, no footsteps dragged through the leaves. She was alone again.
>>>>>>>>She had come back to her senses, so now she had a choice: keep hunting, or go home. A few seconds ago it would have been an easy decision, but now that her rational mind had regained control it seemed a waste to have came so far for nothing. She would continue just a little further, to a clearing she could spy just between the trees, and if she still found no sow then she would resign and get back to the farm quickly before dawn. Now that it crossed her mind, she checked the position of the moon and safely estimated that she had spent about an hour following the trail and freaking, so she should technically be safe to continue her hunt for a little longer. Following the boar's track once again lead her, as she had guessed, in the direction of the clearing ahead.
>>>>>>>>Then she heard the welcome sound of a beast snuffling in the dirt for roots. She thanked the gods; then crept forward silently above a small knoll, and notched another arrow from the cover of a wide birch's base. Distressed to find she was still preoccupied, she spent a moment focusing herself - forcing her thoughts away from the woodlouse crawling across the bark and the solemn carrion crow screeching from it's roost among the branches. She felt Shadowbolt in her hand, so strong, so powerful; felt the arrow between her fingers. She slid from behind the tree, unseen, her breathing slowed, her heart pounding. The boar stomped and scratched, but remained in the same position. The arrow was aimed for its eye. Hit its eye, then the arrow goes straight through to the brain. Clean and painless. Her ears rang slightly but she didn't care. In a split-second she would let go. The boar would die.
>>>>>>>>Then the arrow was gone, it was racing through the air. It couldn't miss. She did notice, an instant too late, that the pig had moved. It had heard something - not her - and looked up; the arrow grazed it's chin, taking a tuft of neck-fur with it. The arrow struck nothing but a tree across the clearing, hitting it with a clear, sharp noise that sent the sow fleeing, as quickly as a fat boar could, away into the forest.
>>>>>>>>"Damn it," Aeranna whispered in frustration, anger boiling inside her but subsiding just as quickly. She jumped down from the grassy bluff, grunting slightly when she landed, having not realized how high it was off the ground; then ran across the clearing to retrieve her stray arrow. It had struck hard and pierced the tree's bark, splintering the wood around it. She pulled it out with a tug, examining the damage to the tip: slighly scratched, but otherwise fine. She then wandered around the clearing, searching for the trail among the ferns, and flinching beside a large boulder covered in moss. She had stopped before she even realized she had heard anything. A branch had snapped. There was something there. She turned slowly, not out of fear but caution. It was probably just a rabbit or a squirrel, or a bird rumaging in the grass. Maybe a lizard. At worst it would be a wolf or a puma, in which case she would simply wait for it to pass. Turning her head, she saw what it was and almost choked. She felt like being sick: partly from revulsion, partly from the absurdity of the whole situation.
>>>>>>>>For there, stood smirking at her from across the clearing, its fur matted and bloody and its jaw falling at a disturbing angle, was that dead fox.

. . .

[Charias]

T h r e e

>>>>>>>>The girl looked at the fox. The fox looked back. She tried to shove away those cold feelings of dread, but it was hard, harder than she ever thought it could be. That fox was dead; she had seen it, laying in the dirt, coated in a layer of blood and flies almost an inch think: and now it stood before her, as alive as a half-eaten carcass that had decided to get up and go for a stroll could be. It was the most utterly disturbing and grotesque thing she had ever layed eyes on.
>>>>>>>>When Aeranna had seen it dart in front of her, she didn't see the full extent of it's wounds; nor when she examined it's corpse, which was hardly visible through the insects. It's whole back was a mess of deep puncture wounds stained with black clotted blood that had been half-devoured by bugs; green puss would have seeped from every wound, had it not have already dried and served as a feast for the hungry pests. Hardly a tuft of red fur was visible beneath the fox's dark blood, which had obviously ceased flowing long ago. One of its eyes was gone and a tear of blood had once flowed down it's cheek as if the beast had been crying; now, however, all that remained was a dry creek of stained red. It's jaw hung at an odd angle as if it had been struck, hard, across the face; it was now limp and useless, a pale, greenish tongue lolling out one side of it's torn mouth. The legs on one side of it's body were cracked, and splayed slightly. She didn't bother holding back the vomit that had surged up from her stomach, so was sick where she stood.
>>>>>>>>She should have pitied that foul creature as it stood before her, lame and wounded, slaughtered brutally. It had never done anything against her; it may have frightened her, and it may well have haunted her nightmares for the rest of her life, but it had never commited a crime against her. Yet it wasn't pity that she felt, nor was it fear. Not any longer. That creature... it wasn't worthy of fear. She didn't fear it. She hated it. It stood before her, bloodied, and it smirked at her. There was no other word that could describe the expression on it's face; it smirked with a kind of infuriating insolence, it's one eye bright with silent, mocking laughter. It didn't worry for the arrow that was notched in her bow - what harm could she do to it anyway, that could be worse than the torture that it had already endured? It had the nerve to sit in front of her, in plain view, without a care in the world. It was revolting.
>>>>>>>>She couldn't stand it any longer. She would send it back to the abyss, back to where it belonged. She raised her bow, aimed slightly higher than it's head. Hit the eye, kill the brain. Brain dies, fox dies. Problem solved. Her breathing slowed; her heart beat loud in her chest. If she released her grip, the arrow would fly, the fox would fall - or at least in theory. Her hold loosened a little, but the arrow was not flying yet. The mutilated fox yawned, and looked her straight in the eyes. Kill it, she told herself. Just kill it. It was a foul beast, it shouldn't have been real... but she couldn't kill it. She didn't know why. She was not known to be merciful, yet now she was lowering her bow to the dirt. Then the arrow was back in it's quiver, and she scowled.
>>>>>>>>"Why are you here?" she breathed, mostly to herself, so quiet that it could be mistaken for a trick of the wind. "What do you want?"
>>>>>>>>Then she had a realization, and studied the fox more avidly. It must have been. It was a sign of something. It meant something. That was why she couldn't kill it; it's appearance before her... it was a message, and she had to decode it. If she had killed it, she would never have figured it out - she would already be on her way back to the farm. But what could the message be? What could it mean? The fox sat, unconcerned, it's head tilted slightly in a way that was cute in living dogs but in this undead beast was sickening, as it's tongue lolled from one side of it's cheek like a bloated leech.
>>>>>>>>She had an idea - a hint of an idea - though she couldn't quite put her finger on what her idea was. It was there, but it was hidden from her, just out of the reach of her conscious thoughts. She tried to reach it again and again, but it was no use. She would have to do it the hard way, then. What could it mean? It was frustrating her now. She didn't like not knowing. Now the fox was stood, seeming to grow impatient, and turned so that she had full view of it's mutilated back - sighing as it did so. Its wounds. They were peculiar in shape, an arched line of clean-cut marks spanning the length of it's back from it's shoulder down to it's ribs, then curving back up towards it's rump. A bite mark. A really huge bite mark. It could have been a bear, but they weren't aggressive and definately weren't known to attack foxes - besides, the bite didn't look right for a bear. But there was nothing else of that size in the forest, unless...
>>>>>>>>Oh, crap.
>>>>>>>>Then a growl thundered from behind her; she tried to flee, but the huge wolf was already pouncing.

. . .

>>>>>>>>A cold drop of water splashed on her face, sliding down her cheek like a tear. She itched the spot where it had landed. Others fell around her, the sound of them dashing the smooth rocks resonating around the rock-bound chamber irritatingly. She wished it would shut up. It was dark in there, so dark in fact that she couldn't even see the back of the cave. It would be an absurd place to retreat should the wolf come back, which seemed likely. She could hear it padding around just outside the mouth of the cave, growling to itself in anger. Her breathing was short, so she slowed it as she would when hunting, just before she loosed an arrow; but nothing could stop the shaking. Another drop of liquid slid across her face, but this time it was sweat.
>>>>>>>>The fox was laying down, seemingly bored out of its wits, across the cave. She found herself struggling to hate it now; it was difficult to hate something that had saved her life - though she still disliked it. Curiously, it wasn't dead anymore. Or at least it didn't have the looks of a dead thing; its body was still broken, though it looked as if it was healed - the wounds had scarred and now it had the look of a mangy dog with patches along its back where its fur refused to grow back. It was almost asleep, its ears laid flat across its neck in rest, its eyes - it had two of them now - closed peacefully. She disliked that. She was crouching behind a damp boulder that was probably crawling with who-knows-what hideous insects and bloodsuckers, absolutely terrified. The fox however was now snoring quietly, enjoying a leisurely nap. Another time its quirky arrogance might have brought a smile to her face, but right now it made her want to punch it.
>>>>>>>>She couldn't really remember what had occured to bring her to this strange, dank cave. In fact, for a few minutes she actually believed herself dead. Then she had overcome her numbness, and the pain had returned in her side as if she was being stabbed in the chest; she clutched her ribs in agony but was relieved to find that she was still breathing and her heart was dauntlessly beating on. She tried to recount what had happened - the memory was hazy, like a dream that you could remember vaguely when you awoke but as you drifted back into awakeness faded as if it had never been dreamt at all.
>>>>>>>>She... the wolf. She had heard it, last second, as it leapt into the air, but she didn't have time to dodge it. It's paw had struck her side and sent her flying through the air - it must have broken at least one of her ribs, which would explain the pain in her side - but she had recovered and was darting into the forest. She didn't know which direction she had came from, or which direction she had headed in that initial flight. At the time, she didn't care. She had just wanted to get away, which, thinking about it, was probably a good thing. She had thought the wolf was pursuing her but wasn't sure; nevertheless she continued running. Running wasn't usually her first instinct, but she was no fighter and wouldn't have had time to fire an arrow, so of all options it was probably the best - though she couldn't run far. After sprinting into the forest and weaving around trees, stumbing over roots and feeling her legs grow heavy, she had decided that hiding was now her only option - at least until she caught her breath - but couldn't find a concealed place to shelter. Then the fox had crossed her path again; her instincts told her to follow it so she did. Then she was in the cave, and the cave was spitting at her in disdain, not happy to have them sheltering in its stony maw.
>>>>>>>>What she could do now though she had no clue. The wolf was snorting in the scents of the forest - she could hear every sharp intake of breath - relentlessly trying to find her. She didn't understand why. Wolves didn't attack unprovoked, unless starving, though the huge, bulky wolf that occasionally passed the mouth of the cave was not in any way starving. A beast that size could easily catch prey, and she was sure it would catch more soon, in the form of herself.
>>>>>>>>It passed the cave again, seemingly reluctant to enter. No wolf should have been of that size: it must have stood at least as tall as a large black bear, though from where she sat it looked even bigger than that. Its fur was very dark, but not quite black, and was short across most of its body but around it's neck was long, flowing like the mane of a lion. Its muzzle was shorter than that of a normal wolf, and, from the look of it, much more powerful; its head was broader, its neck laced with muscles that flowed into and around each other almost poetically, as if they were trying to describe to her how easily the gargantuan beast could crush her skull. Its footsteps were heavy, like it were trying to attract the attention of every man and predator in the forest, just so that it could watch them shrink back at its dreadful sight.
>>>>>>>>It turned back towards the cave, looking straight into the blackness within, then, nose to the ground, set towards it. It seemed almost scared at the thought of following them inside its depths, and some pessimistic part of her screamed that it probably wasn't just afraid of the dark. There had to be a reason it wouldn't enter, which meant there was a reason that she shouldn't have entered. Then it was taking its first few wary steps into the dark, coming ever closer to where she hid.
>>>>>>>>She was going to die. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. She was just a cornered rabbit, wanting to bolt away but blocked from her only exit by the very predator she was trying to escape. She knew what the rabbit would do: it would try to bolt anyway, and most likely it would be caught in those jaws, but at least there was a chance that it would once again taste the freedom in the air. She could have ran; slipped by the wolf, for it was too confident to expect it and too proccupied by the fear that inhabited this cave to react quickly.
>>>>>>>>But she couldn't. She was petrified, so close to being frozen and helpless from the sheer terror. Would her brother ever find her body? No, he wouldn't. She didn't even know where she was, so the chance of him finding her was so slim it was almost non-existent. Would she be eaten? Yes, of course. If not by the wolf then by the scavengers, and if not by them then by the insects. She didn't know which sounded worst. She imagined herself covered in a layer or flies and cockroaches as the fox had been; then she remembered the fox, but it was no longer hiding where it had been previously. The wolf was so close now that she could almost see the wisps of it's warm breath in the fragile light. The fox was behind her, for she could feel its moist nose silently nuzzling her shoulder. She didn't dare turn to look at it. It moved away. She reluctantly followed, as quietly as she could, as it led her further into the cave.

. . .

[Charias]

F o u r

>>>>>>>>There was not a trace of light in the cave now. It was a lot bigger than she had first thought - she couldn't see any end to it, or any opening that could have led back up to the surface - but then again, she couldn't see anything. And among all that nothing it was impossibly hard to make out what actually could be something; so - after moments of trying to fight away the disorientation - she gave in to it, felt the dizziness sweep over and allowed the fox to lead her, hoping that it knew where it was going.
>>>>>>>>For a second she wondered how she could dislike the fox so much and yet still trust it with her life. Right now, she was struggling even to dislike it. She knew that she would have been a lot more scared - and a lot more lost - had she been trapsing through the darkness without its tail brushing occasionally against her leg. She couldn't see it through the gloom, but following its soft paw-steps on the rock and its strong, musky scent, she found it relatively easy to follow.
>>>>>>>>She considered how the wolf would have been getting on, for it was heavy and wide and would struggle to fit through the tight spaces between the rocks; she stopped for a moment to listen, hoping that perhaps it had turned back, but no - she could hear it thrashing and scrabbling across the smooth surfaces, from the sound of it rather clumsily, its claws scraping the stone. It was quite far away now and its going was slow, so Aeranna allowed herself to relax a little; she regretted it a second later, for without the stress the pain in her side had returned. Whenever she moved it stabbed into her lungs like a dull blade, sending her into fits of agony - she barely held back a sob. She gritted her teeth, grimacing through the pain, stumbling on rocks as her concentration wavered. She fell against something moist and cold that she assumed was the edge of the cavern, leaned against it briefly then jolted back up as she felt something many-legged tip-toe across her outstretched fingers.
>>>>>>>>As she bolted upright again the blades in her side felt like they were mauling her, but she didn't care for that. She was proccupied now by the beastly arthropod that had came with her as she had darted from the wall, and could now feel crawling between her fingers - perhaps trying to find the ideal place to sink it's fangs. In fact it was a mere blind millipede that had been casually strolling along, where it came upon the strange, soft, warm rocks that were her fingers and attempted to clamber over them. Then it was confusedly scurrying up her arm, which started flailing until it lost its hold and was flung across the empty space of the cavern. Aeranna shook herself in disgust, now trying unsuccessfully to navigate the tunnel of stone without touching any stone; she wanted to be outside, where at least there was moonlight with which to see faintly what terrors may have been creeping across the floor. The cave was infested with creatures, but all of them were invisible, to her as black as the stale air that surrounded them.
>>>>>>>>The passage was becoming smaller as they traversed it, so that the walls on either side pressed into her. Water pooled at her feet, soaking them through her leather boots; it was becoming deeper as they went further - the fox had to half-paddle through it, and was doing so loudly. The wolf was still quite far behind them, and she thought maybe it wouldn't even fit through the tight tunnel, but kept on as quick as she could nevertheless. The rocks beneath her weary feet were jagged and treacherous; like ice they were cold and her boots slid easily across them. She stumbled often, almost impaling her eye on a stalagmite at one point, at another impacting the water so quickly that she barely had time to raise her arms and block the fall - she was coughing up a mouthful of acidic water a moment later.
>>>>>>>>When she saw that pin-point of light in the distance it was as if she had never seen anything so beautiful, for by that time she had convinced herself that she would die down in that cave - at one point she had even imagined the smug look on the face of the insect she had thrown as it feasted upon her, and that was despite the fact that she knew it couldn't have possibly even had a facial expression. She felt that if she had stayed in that claustrophobic cave much longer she would have gone completely insane.
>>>>>>>>The light, though it was scarce, was blinding as she finally climbed from that horrid cave. From the blackness to this dimly-lit opening in the trees, everything seemed to shine in high-contrast for a moment; then her eyes adjusted, and she saw the beauty of the place in which she found herself. Everything seemed to glisten in the ethereal moonlight: the leaves of the trees, the needles of the pines, the blades of grass upon the ground - all were dew-flecked and sparkled as did the stars in the endless sky. A small waterfall cascaded downward, ending in a mist of spray and a stream that flowed swiftly to its refuge between the trees. Fireflies drifted with their singing lights blinking rhythmically, occasionally stooping groundward in the gentle breeze. Moths of all varieties droned lazily through the growing mist, savouring the last fleeting rays of moonlight before it once again sunk to rest beyond the eternal horizon. A strange kind of static charged through the air; she could feel it tingling in her fingertips, hear it ringing in her ears, almost smell it on the wind. She had never experience anything like it. It was an utterly surreal place. She breathed in the clean air and sighed. There was no way the wolf would fit through that hole; it was stuck in that hellish cave; and she wasn't, which was a small victory in her eyes. Now she just had to figure out where she was.
>>>>>>>>She began to walk towards a small knoll which could be her vantage point when she stumbled. A curious, almost eerie, feeling of light-headedness had descended upon her suddenly; she closed her eyes tight then re-opened them, trying to fight it off. The world around her seemed now so distant, as if she were walking through a dream. Dizziness hit her like a wave, sending her lurching forward toward a rough birch on which she steadied herself. The glade spun around her. She was hot; a bead of sweat slithered down her face but she felt too unstable to brush it away. Her heart beat fast, and loud, so loud that she was sure the wolf would hear even from within the cave; she was gasping for breath as she doubled over and fell to the dirt. Her vision was blurred but not fading - she could see vaguely what was happening in front of her.
>>>>>>>>The cave exit exploded in a cloud of dirt and rubble, the wolf bursting out from beneath; it had the look of something on the verge of panic. It must have thought itself trapped and so put all of its strength into breaking out of the cave, which caused the resultant rain of debris that now clattered on the ground. She could hear none of it, but felt the vibrations through the ground on which she lay. Then it had turned toward her and was descending, but she was helpless to do anything about it and so felt no fear. She just lay and watched. Her vision was so blurred now that all she could make out were shadows of life: a black mass that was wolf, a greenish mass that was forest, an indigo mass that was sky.
>>>>>>>>Something growled deeply, for she could feel the vibrations in her bones; the wolf moved oddly - she guessed it had turned its head, but it was hard to really tell because she saw the world through a misted window. The hazy wolf-shape retreated slightly at the appearance of something equally black and blurry, but a lot larger; it seemed to have pushed all forest aside from its path. She was fighting back fainting, but it was hard. She was blacking out.
>>>>>>>>Her eyes drifted closed; she forced them back open. She looked around quickly, feeling her eyelids heavily as they tried once again to clamp shut. Then she couldn't resist but give in to her weariness, and everything went dark. The only thing she could remember was the huge black creature looking at her curiously with those great amber eyes.

. . .

[Charias]

F i v e

>>>>>>>>Breathing. She could hear breathing. Heavy, laboured breathing. It took a moment to realise that it was her own; then a further moment to realise what that meant. She was alive. But how? How was she alive? She couldn't have been alive. The wolf... then that thing. She could see it, still, even though her eyes were closed. Lurking in her thoughts, too strong to banish. She didn't want to open her eyes, because she feared what she might see - perhaps the wolf was standing over her, preparing to lunge at her neck; perhaps that mutilated fox was smirking at her still; perhaps the great beast with eyes of flame was looming nearby. Cowardly, she could not face what reality might be hidden behind the safety of closed eyes. When her eyes were shut, the world could not harm her. It could not see her. Or, at least, that's how she felt. When she opened her eyes, then everything would be real - and she did not want any of it to be real.
>>>>>>>>How long would she stay like this? Blind to the world, forcing blissful sleep back upon herself? It would not work. Sleep would not return to her now; her one retreat had abandoned her. In truth she knew there was only one option for her - for she could not deny that she was living, and since she was living she would have to face, eventually, whatever circumstances had brought her to wherever she lay at that time. She would open her eyes, and she would see. Where she was, perhaps how she had arrived there... and who was with her. In three seconds. Three... her eyes closed tight. Two... fists clenched. One... deep breath. But she didn't do it. She didn't open her eyes - it was as if her mind had mentally glued them closed. She couldn't. There was no way she possibly could face reality. She had abandoned reality the moment that dead fox had stepping into her path.
>>>>>>>>Something pressed into her arm, and she flinched. Her eyes remained closed, the world remained black. She resisted the urge to scowl - for that prod in her arm was familiar, in a way, and seemed associated with a feeling of irritation. Again it pressed into her arm, a bit harder that time; through the darkness she thought she could hear something: a scuffling sound, muted breathing, someone talking. She wore the illusion that she was asleep still, and hoped it would trick whoever was attempting to rouse her. But no, there it was again, that persistent pressing on her arm. Curse it. She braced herself, and opened her eyes -
>>>>>>>>"Kairon?"
>>>>>>>>She said it in complete and utter disbelief, clamping her eyes shut before once more prying them open. Her facial expression was both bewildered and doubtful; for surely he couldn't have been real, surely it was a trick? But he didn't look like a trick; his face, with that classic look of his which seemed constantly stuck between worry and mockery, didn't look like a trick. In fact, he looked as if he had retreated in shock when she had awoken - perhaps he, too, had thought her dead. His mouth was agape; it made him look dumb, but in a comical way. Then his face twisted in that irritatingly casual grin of his, and he returned to a look which was slightly less gaumless. He looked as if he were about to speak, but, not finding the right words, closed his mouth again. Okay, he did still look gaumless; but that was reassuring, for she was sure that even he would not be so relaxed if there was anything truely wrong. Her brother, her idiot, half-wit brother. She couldn't remember a time when she had been so happy to see him. Then she remembered that times such as that came too often to count, and resented, momentarily, the way he was always there for her. But she didn't truely resent it - just in a sisterly kind of way. The way that made her feel like punching him, but not too hard.
>>>>>>>>Subconciously her hand lay rested on her head - she could almost feel her brain thudding through her palm. She hated headaches; especially those kind of headaches: pressurized, pounding, relentless. It felt like someone was inside her head using her skull as a drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. She knew what caused it too: stress. She closed her eyes tightly. Propping herself on an unsteady arm, she pushed herself into a sitting position - shards of pain stabbed her side as she did. A weary sigh, and she lifted a fist to her eye to hide a tear that had formed there, not for the pain but the relief. The nightmare was over. The nightmare that wasn't a nightmare. The nightmare that should have been a nightmare, but wasn't.
>>>>>>>>Kairon placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Then he pushed her back onto her bed. She quelled the urge to spit at him. "Nope, you're having a day off," he said kindly, but with as much authority as he could muster. Arguably not enough authority, but Aeranna wasn't in the mood to argue. She scowled at him. But she didn't need to argue. She sat up once more, ignoring the hurt that mauled her side, and attempted to stand on weak legs. Kairon frowned, then stepped into the doorway, blocking her only escape. "You are staying indoors, at least for today - if not because you're injured then as punishment. You're a moron for going hunting at night."
>>>>>>>>She grimaced. "Yes, I'm a moron. But you're not keeping me stuck in here - I'm a hunter. You can't keep a wolf in a box, even if it is lame. You'll get your hand bitten off."
>>>>>>>>"Was that a threat, little sister wolf?" he asked, grinning.
>>>>>>>>"Maybe it was. What you gonna' do about it, big brother alryn? Now let me out, before I make my own way."
>>>>>>>>His smile dropped a little, his expression turning slightly stern. "Seriously, just stay inside. One day. I'm sure you'll survive; you're not that feral."
>>>>>>>>She sighed very loudly, a sigh accompanied by the wave of two dissapointed arms and an exaggerated frown. Then she reluctantly fell back onto her hard bed, so heavily that the wooden frame beneath made a sound as if it meant to splinter; put on a bitter expression and waved her hand in a regal gesture of dismissal. Kairon raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Before I go. Will you please tell me what happened last night?" His voice was edged with genuine concern. But she couldn't...
>>>>>>>>"No."
>>>>>>>>"Wait, why? You don't have to be embarassed or anything. Did someone hurt you, or something?"
>>>>>>>>"No, I'm fine," she replied stubbornly. She was strongest by far on that front, which Kairon knew. He seemed to consider his younger sister then, for a moment, an irked look in his eye which was quickly flooded by resignation. She would tell him when she wanted to tell him, if ever. But the last thing she needed was the everyone thinking - or knowing - she was crazy, or worse, cursed.

. . .

>>>>>>>>The morning passed slowly, taunting her with half-remembered terrors. Out of the window an ironically bright and cheerful sun shone into the drab, worn room, casting an unearthly glow upon ancient shelves and cupboards which seemed unworthy of such pure light. Her room. When she had been in the cave... no she didn't want to think of the cave. But at that time she had wished just to return to her room, a sanctuary that was empty and boring but at the very least safe. Now, however, she wanted out. She wasn't made to have a roof overhead, and smooth floor underfoot. She was made to be out in the wilderness; bleeding, lost, starving and cold but free of those condemning walls that surrounded her. She was trapped in a breezeless wooden box. Able to leave, but not allowed.
>>>>>>>>The worst part was the boredom. For with boredom comes all kinds of terrors, the ones that lurked and skulked about in her mind. A fox with a missing eye and a tear of blood. A wolf the size of a bear, chasing her. A huge black monster with... she didn't know anything about that thing. She didn't know what it was; she didn't even know what it looked like. In fact, she knew only two things about that amber-eyed beast: firstly, she had seen it in her dream. She had thought it to be a sign, or an omen, or something else foreboding - but not something physically real. Secondly, it had saved her. Wait.
>>>>>>>>That didn't make sense.
>>>>>>>>That thought lingered in her head. But it wasn't a normal thought. For she couldn't believe it, she couldn't possibly believe it - and yet it was true. The beast, that terrifying gargantuan creature, had saved her. There was little else to it. How else... it was obvious, yet still so obscure. Her mind flooded with hows and whys, a dizzying mess of stray ideas mashed with impossible realisations. It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense. It just shouldn't have made perfect sense.
>>>>>>>>She didn't want to think about any of it, not really. Not now. She wanted to embrace the fact that she was still alive, breathing, and fully ready to fight another day. But it was hard to enjoy life when she was stuck in that dull coffin of stone walls and wooden floors, with not even a breeze to tousle her hair. And she wasn't entirely sure that she was ready to fight through another day. The house smelled stale. Most didn't notice it, but she was far more perceptive than most. Mould spawned in the corner, a mouse scuttled behind a closed door. But it was too quiet.
>>>>>>>>Her room, for the most part, was empty. It wasn't big either, but the empty space gave the illusion that it was larger than it really was. The floorboards were worn and creaked ominously whenever any amount of weight was allowed to rest on them; they were mostly comprised of stray splinters that loved to sink fangs into bare feet. She stared at a knot in the wood, examining the many-tiered waves of it - darker browns flowing in and around sickly lighter areas. It wasn't particularly interesting, but for a time it distracted her mind from the many stressful burdens that had suddenly fell upon her. She tried to follow the grain across with grey eyes, but it was always lost in confusion near the core, where it merged with other enterprising grains. The only other objects that adorned her room were: her bed - a low, wooden frame topped with an itchy wool mattress that provided minimal comfort; a stubby set of drawers that housed nothing but a few unused items of clothing that no longer fit; and an equally stubby bookshelf, on which lay a few dejected books, snug under a blanket of dust. A window cut into the crumbling stone walls gave a picturesque view of the Ridge.
>>>>>>>>She stood unsteadily, quickly discovering that she did still have legs, and that whatever injury she had obtained was not as bad as she had previously thought. Damn, it hurt - but it was bearable. She sat back down on her bed for a moment, feeling irritatingly weak. Her head spun. She forced it to stop spinning. Weight was rested on her feet once again, the floorboards shrieking in indignation. Then she was limping across the room, muttering curses under shallow breath, until she reached a mediocre destination - her window, glass chipped and one pane missing completely in the corner. A chilly draught whistled in through the one vacant frame.
>>>>>>>>The sun, outside, was set moderately low in the sky - it couldn't have been any later than eleven o'clock in the morning. Great. She had exhausted every uninteresting mean of entertainment in her room, and she had only passed two hours of the day. She glared out at the accursed Ridge mountains, forming an indefinite barrier that stretched as far as any eye could see within a league of where she stood. Legends said it went on forever. She knew that couldn't be possible.
>>>>>>>>The closest of the Ridge mountains was Coarse - or Kira'ktu, as the old stories called it; it dominated much of the vista, black and lifeless. It was an intimidating thing: shards of rock, dark as ebony, struck out violently from the sides; not even snow gathered at its summit. It did not bode well to stray to close to its base. Many did not return from such a venture, though nobody really knew why. It was not so tall as the other mountains of the Ridge, and it stood alone, an onyx-scaled demon breaching from the foothills like a shark breaching from the surf. She had never been near to the foreboding mountain, never bypassed it nor viewed it closely - she had no reason to have, for she had never left the territory. Never had she passed the towering Ridge that rose to the north, nor had she crossed the great river Skydrain that formed an inpassable barrier to the south and east. She didn't mind that much however - she feared the idea of the desolate expanses of land that traders said laid on the other side.
>>>>>>>>Deserting the window, she proceeded to attempt the handle of the door. The brass was cold, and scratched her hand as it resisted her shoves. She turned it again, hearing and feeling through her palm the latch shifting as she did so. Yet the door remained closed, despite her efforts. She tried once more, uttering a constant stream of profanities as she did so. It didn't budge. With fury she remembered the latch on the other side, and figured her brother must have locked her in. Well, brother: challenge accepted. Ignoring the pain, she lifted a heavy, booted foot up, then slammed it against the door. Her leg was jarred, but the sound was rewarding. She repeated it, hearing the wood splinter. Once more, then she would await a response. Bang. A smug grin spread across her face as she heard the stairs squealing. Fumbling outside of the door indicated that she was being released from her prison. A sad blue eye peeked through the gap between door and frame.
>>>>>>>>"The poor door did nothing to deserve this..." Kairon whimpered, sticking his bottom lip out like a child. Aeranna resisted the urge to laugh at his antics, pushing the door open by force and shouldering her way past.
>>>>>>>>"You're so immature, Kairon. How many years older than me are you again?"
>>>>>>>>His face turned smug. "Seven, as always."
>>>>>>>>"Please act like it, then." His grin evaporated. He half-closed his eyes suspiciously.
>>>>>>>>"When did you become so serious?"
>>>>>>>>"When you locked me in my room, maybe?"
>>>>>>>>"And now I have discovered that even a locked door will not hold you. What will I do if you catch a plague? Bar it shut with iron. That might work. Or release you into the wild, where you can run free among the feral beasts," he said wistfully, hand on his chin, staring off towards the ceiling as if deep in thought. She narrowed her eyes.
>>>>>>>>"Oh, shut up. Anyway, how's Cinereal?"
>>>>>>>>His eyes shone playfully. "How am I supposed to answer if I've shut up?" he joked, then, after recieveing a rather threatening glare, continued: "he's his good old moody self. Though I think he may actually be worried about you. He's been acting unusually restless."
>>>>>>>>"I knew he had a heart in there somewhere. So, do I have your permission to go and see him?"
>>>>>>>>"Seriously? I don't think I could stop you even if I tried."
>>>>>>>>"And you'd be right in thinking that."

. . .

[Loftwing1022]

Whoa... That's a bit of a haunting intro...

[Charias]

S i x

WIP

>>>>>>>>Feet, bound in leather, padded across the path of dried mud that rose and fell in rutted peaks like a miniature mountain range, complete with the deep valleys of spoors and peaks of dirt surrounding them. Her hand rested on the hilt of a crude hunting knife, tucked away beneath a linen tunic. Shadowbolt was slung around her shoulder, alongside a quiver of razor-sharp arrows. She scowled. She didn't usually take her hunting gear with her to visit the stables, but such was her fear that she felt she needed something to defend herself. And she hated that; she hated that she was so scared of that damn wolf that she had changed her routine to suit her fear of it.
>>>>>>>>The day was bright, the noon sun beating down on the world below with fatiguing intensity. Few low white clouds rolled through the blue. Songbirds leapt between trembling branches, whistling their annoying tunes incessantly; three does grazed, content, in a meadow half a mile to her right; squirrels scrabbled through the trees with unerring playfulness. The world was too happy. The forest was too happy, for she knew that somewhere, hidden within its shadowy depths, lurked monsters. A monster that had tried to kill her, a monster that had saved her. She shook her head vigourously, trying to clear the thought. She didn't want to think about any of it.
>>>>>>>>The stables weren't far - five minutes of pacing had brought her to the gate of Cinereal's box. He stood, half shrouded in harsh shadows, half shining in the sunlight. His aquamarine eyes glinted with unbefitting intelligence. He snorted at her, and pawed the straw with a hoof. With force the rusted latch released its grip, allowing the gate to reluctantly open, shrieking in pain. The noise of corroded metal on metal send shivers through her arms. Cinereal stepped back and watched, bemused. Aeranna passed the threshold, feeling the shadows wash over her as she stepped from light to dark, and sighed.
>>>>>>>>The air under the wooden roof was cool, though lingering within was the stink of animal. A large spider, the size of her outstretched palm, squatted in the high corner of the ceiling like a watchful guardian, flicking its mandibles in distaste at the intruder. The raucous cries of a nest brimming with fluffy chicks resounded through the thin roof. And across the floor strode a proud cochroach, ignoring the two larger entities completely as it trekked across mountainous heaps of straw. Cinereal, ignorant king of his pungent realm, stared straight past her as if she weren't there at all.
>>>>>>>>She placed a hand on his broad cheek, then forced it towards her - he would have to notice her if he were staring her straight in the eye. He didn't fight it. His eye was an inch from hers now, looking right at her. His muzzle brushed against her face.
>>>>>>>>"Look, I'm sorry," she said, desperately hoping he would catch at least a glimmer of her meaning. He grunted, his pupils flickering away for a moment before returning to meet her gaze. His platinum fur hung long and wavy beneath his throat, but was short across his face. She placed a hand on his muzzle gently. He shifted, sighed loudly, then his large head was resting on her shoulder, and she was hugging him around the neck, and started crying. Crying because she was lost, and confused, and didn't know what to do. Because she was scared, and because she wasn't used to feeling scared. Her tears moistened his rough neck-fur. She wasn't used to the feeling of streams on her cheeks, or the sting of salty tears as they touched her lips. She wasn't used to being blinded by a sheet of liquid across her eyes. Cinereal seemed uncomfortable about the whole ordeal; a moment later he pulled away, looking at the wall with sudden, avid interest in the pattern of planks. She brought a sleeve up to her eye and wiped away a stray tear, shaking her head. She didn't usually cry. With a decisive grunt she returned to her usual, steadfast self. Nobody would be able to tell she had wept. She couldn't face going back to the house yet, however, so decided to take the alryn out to the pasture for a graze in the sun.
>>>>>>>>"Follow," she commanded, using the word she had taught to him when he was a mere foal. Cinereal shook his head abruptly, almost knocking her over with the wide span of his antlers. He gazed at her with one cerulean eye, skillfully hiding any concern he may have had for her, then started forward at a painfully slow rate. She led him - or tried to lead, for he made a show of ambling as slowly as his wide hooves would allow him - out of his stables; he nearly headbutted the gate straight off its shrieking hinges as he took leave of the stinking wooden hut. She turned away from his bulk to unlock the next stable door, but looked again at him to say threateningly, "if you wander off, I'm putting the bridle on you." He tossed his head in displeasure at the warning.
>>>>>>>>Aeranna proceeded to the next gate, flipping then pulling across the rusted iron lock that jammed it closed, to behold a beautiful, black broodmare alryn with a thin, flowing mane like bleached sunlight and an onyx coat dappled with sparse, tan speckles - Raven was her name. She was a small, rebellious creature with a mischevious glint in her eye, but even she would not refuse the offer of fresh air and freedom. She reared briefly on her hind legs with enthusiasm, then trotted into the yard with her head held high, only to blunder straight into a moody Cinereal. He gave her an almighty shove. It then turned into a game, with Raven, miniscule against Cinereal's bulk, prancing in circles and teasing the scowling equine.
>>>>>>>>Next to be unleashed was Starshine, a young palomino mare brindled with darker shades of brown, who quickly joined in on the fun. Raven and Starshine surrounded Cinereal, closing in on him with playful nickers until he brimmed with frustration. He lifted his mighty head, then let out a deafening roar right in Raven's face. The mare quailed at this, then retreated, alongside Starshine, to a safe distance. Aeranna smiled at their antics - it was the perfect way to brighten her mood. With the azure sky above and the forest bright and alive with the sounds of wildlife, she almost managed to forget her troubles. Almost.
>>>>>>>>She then released Harmony - a gentle but lethargic broodmare with a pinto coat of white and brindled sienna - who seemed to disapprove of the younger females' capers, casting them an idle glare. She didn't hold back the huge yawn that escaped her maw. Trailing close behind her were two adorable little foals, one with clean, bright coat of ivory, the other donning fur that was almost red with a short, black mane. Then came Cloudburst, a blue-roan stallion with a pattern of white rain across his flank.
>>>>>>>>"Cinereal!" she shouted, just in time to stop him charging, antlers down, into Raven's flank. "Get over here you oversized donkey!" He turned to face her, ears up, flicking his tail in irritation before storming over. Ignoring the pain in her ribs, she clambered up onto his broad back, gripping tightly with her thighs but leaving her hands free to swat at the hoards of horseflies that lingered, buzzing loudly, around his face. She pressed her legs into his sides gently; at this, he grudgingly started forwards toward their destination. Over her shoulder she shouted "follow" to the loitering alryn that dawdled behind.

. . .

>>>>>>>>It wasn't a long journey to the pasture, and a pleasant one with the sun blazing overhead, the forest and meadows shimmering like an ocean of emerald and the world alive with the chorus of uncountable creatures that darted between the cover of branches dancing in the breeze. Aeranna breathed in deeply the air that hung heavily with the scents of nature - although she didn't relax. Not really. On the outside she appeared to be perfectly composed, but on the inside her mind was racing, and every snap of dead twigs caused her to breath to catch in her throat and her body to flinch. Every undiscernable shadow of movement reminded her, once again, of the beasts that lurked within. However, the alryn were behaving - for once - and the day was fine, so she tried to regain some semblance of peace as the journey drew to a close.
>>>>>>>>The pasture rolled before them - a wild, beautiful clearing in the dense woods that seemed out of place, nestled within a cove of untameable forests that had been growing there since the beginning of time. The ancient forests that surrounded it on three flanks groaned with the gentle breeze and their own burdening weight. Above, hawks soared on the zephyrs, scanning for prey the area where the trees relented. Within the fenced boundary, wildflowers savoured the unbroken sunlight and danced in the wind; uncountable insects, butterflies of every colour and bees of every variety floated between the shining petals. That paddock, in particular, hadn't been used in a long time. It was further away than every other, and was often forgotten - and in its forsaken state the meadow had blossomed into a wilderness of its own.
>>>>>>>>The alryn fidgeted, impatient: long, serpent tails were flicked; hooves were ground into the dry dirt; heads were tossed in anticipation. She fought with a rusty lock that had been reclaimed by the wildness surrounding it; moss clung to its corroded surface, insects dwelling within the small crevices. Metal scratched between her fingers, her skin caught on its jagged teeth. She scowled. Her back was nudged from behind by a broad snout, and when she turned she saw that it was Harmony, who cast an accusing glare towards Raven and Starshine with a snort. Those two again.>>>>>>>>Raven stood back, her short antlers angled down, the tip of her tail flicking in anticipation. Aeranna realised just in time what the mischevious mare was doing, and leapt from her path as she charged towards the wooden fence. A cloud of dirt was kicked into the air as Raven took to the skies, pushing herself from the ground with one mighty shove. She glided over the top of the fence, her coat shining in the sun. Her flailing hoof narrowly missed Harmony's head. Then, with a loud bang, she landed, still running, on the other side of the barrier.

[nutella ♥]

How does this not have more comments?
You're amazing. Your sentences flow so easily. I can't wait to read on, it's definitely intriguing. Most intros just try to capture the readers attention, which is what an intro is supposed to do, I suppose. But you jumped right into the action at the start - but in a good way, not to abrupt.
I did see one or two grammar mistakes, nothing huge, and a few run on sentences. My only advice to you is look out for those.
I am defiantly stalking this - it is truly amazing! I love fantasy stories, and this looks like a promising one.

[Charias]

Thank you so much! My day has been made. I will definately take your advice into consideration from now on, and try to correct any mistakes I see.