for @Kismet

mórekr kept away from the fields until the grounds settled — recent hunts are what draws him back. devastation is everywhere; from large cracks in the earth to upturned earth and burnt vegetation. yet life… it finds a way.

he trails over the ruin — settling into a rhythm with splotched nose tucked towards the earth, breathing in the scent of fresh prey and the trail of a herd that’s been here recently. typically he would not waste time midday whilst sunny to risk a hunt, but the backdrop matters less now and he would not chance traveling north after dark.

so he plays it by ear and nose and eye — a deep snuff escapes him, and he walks on.

trade xp
+5 - BWP-related xp
+5 - Follow the scent of prey [ 1/2 ]
+5 - Study and track footprints [ 1/2 ]

bwp tickets
+1 - Make a BWP-related post
+2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring
+2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey
+2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land

ART BY RABBIT / CODING BY SENTINEL

Kismet is not here for the herds. There is little denying the hunger that rumbles in her belly; prey is scarce across the entirety of the island, and for the lions of Caladan, the cubs come first. But she is no tracker or hunter extraordinaire, and there is no information she can gather here that will be useful — except, perhaps, the general direction in which they had gone. No, she has come to see the aftermath of the wreckage, the chaos left in the wake of the earth thundering beneath their paws. Her path following the signs of damage, trailing after a long and creeping crack in the mantle, inevitably leads her on an intercepting course with someone else. When her muzzle lifts from the ground, she spots a stranger in clear pursuit of the hoofprints in the earth. Her ears tip forward and a soft chuff calls out to him — though she is just as content to go on her way if he indicates that he does not want her presence. @Mórekr not all who wander are lost

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the scent and tracks are about half-a-day old from his calculations, and whether the trek following them would be fruitful is a debate that mórekr must ponder. he wants to know, however, where the herds go now — since the destruction quaked amaryllis, they have changed their typical routes. the paths of old are a figment of the past.

a woman doth beckon thy for attention, however, and mórekr is far from keen to give it; yet an extra in the background to aid him is useful enough that it oughtn’t hinder him. hopefully. he pauses mid-step, swings his tail to call her over. “come join me.”

trade xp
+5 - BWP-related xp
+5 - Follow the scent of prey [ 2/2 ]
+5 - Study and track footprints [ 2/2 ]

bwp tickets
+1 - Make a BWP-related post
+2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring
+2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey
+2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land

ART BY RABBIT / CODING BY SENTINEL

He welcomes her with a beckon of his tail and a rumbling greeting, and a smile breaks across Kismet's lips, quick to take him up on his offer. If only she knew just how dangerous he was; if only she had an idea of how often she foolishly plunges herself into the face of danger without an inkling of it. She falls into stride with the ashen male, flicking an ear casually towards him and scenting the semi-fresh trail he's stalking. "What are you following?" she queries conversationally, wondering if she might learn something — and if he might have some useful information she can bring back to her pride about how they are going to survive this cursed famine. not all who wander are lost

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oh, it’s a change of pace — a woman that knows her place and just seems… happy to be engaged with. so used to the rike who like their women with a sharp tongue, or claw, that mórekr grows tired of their little games. not that the apple falls far from the tree, considering his own taste in the same-sex.

his eyes roam her in study for those brief seconds of her catching up to join his stride.

“impala,” he answers. how does she get by? “the herds have started to return to the fields, now that the quakes are over. your pride would benefit from hunting here.” she lacks understanding of basic hunting, and for that, mórekr is certain she must be a lapcat to a royal.

trade xp
+5 - BWP-related xp
+5 - Follow the scent of prey [ 2/2 ]
+5 - Study and track footprints [ 2/2 ]

bwp tickets
+1 - Make a BWP-related post
+2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey
+2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land
+5 - Use knowledge from your trade to help someone else

ART BY RABBIT / CODING BY SENTINEL

In another life, Kismet might have made a perfect match for a Rike. Obedient, subservient, devoted — there's just the pesky little problem of her beliefs. For her own sake, it is probably for the best that she dreamt of Sahir, and not anyone else. She is used to the analytical stare of others, and is unbothered by his, prying and sharp though it may be. Judgmental, beneath the surface. She doesn't mind, and it rolls off of her like water. "I'm sure we would," she hums agreeably at his commentary, her chin bobbing slightly. "What do you think— will the bloodshed return with the herds?" Kismet queries a little bit cryptically, though she guesses that he will know what she means. War may have fallen to the wayside in favor of survival, but she does not imagine that those scorned have forgotten their fury. They have simply shelved it. not all who wander are lost

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“was there a ceasefire?” eyebrow arches, as if he knows what bloodshed she speaks of.

but to mórekr? no war ever halts, not even for a world ripping itself at its seams. it just changes the playing field, and why not strike when your enemy is at its knees? a commander barks without care for his bodies. soldiers will do his bidding. cost aside.

“bloodshed will always continue.” he says with confidence, training green eyes careful on the crow, before he doth find impala tracks more impressive. lest that is the story he portrays.

“how did your pride fare?”

trade xp
+5 - BWP-related xp
+5 - Follow the scent of prey [ 2/2 ]
+5 - Study and track footprints [ 2/2 ]

bwp tickets
+1 - Make a BWP-related post

ART BY RABBIT / CODING BY SENTINEL

A small smile curls against the edges of her lips with his question, a slight shrug rolling the cleric's shoulders. "Officially? I doubt it," she muses. She has hardly forgotten that fray in the Mire, nor has she forgotten what came after. "Though, I haven't had to set any broken legs lately," the medic mentions. Sahir and Corinthian are lucky to still be alive, truthfully, and to be healed and sturdy. She worries, when the dust settles, that they will be in such danger once again. And despite all her training and preparation for it, Kismet had not really been ready for war when it came for them. Who ever is? "We're alright," she answers — now, anyway — "though some days I thought the ocean might swallow us all whole." Waves as tall as a mountain, if you ask her — but realistically, that might be just a little bit of an exaggeration. "And you? Do you call somewhere home?" Kismet asks curiously, picking up on the fact that he does not carry the smell of any pride, whereas hers so clearly marks her as one of the Cove. not all who wander are lost

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“a lull, or your people have gotten smarter.”

the healing wounds that mark his skin tell enough of a story on his part, that he needn’t explain that his own warring has, in fact, been guns blazing. to return upon amaryllis soils and be welcomed with the loving embrace of death so soon would’ve been but a hilarious end to that of mórekr rike.

he stands instead with a slightly fucked nose and chiseled chest.

so wherein this doctor has no legs to set, and no bandages to wrap, she is the third of her profession that mórekr has met within such short spans. amaryllis is crawling with nurses and soldiers. ripe with the ingredients for war. only now do they need the drums and screaming hilltops. (sunníva would be the loudest voice.)

he a broken man himself, before this medic of a coastal pride, that smells of brine and stinks of a court. a man with a tattered banner, fraying.

“no, there has been no home for me here,” he reveals — and it is with a slip of emotion and longing for such that mórekr twitches a splotched upper lip.

ART BY RABBIT / CODING BY SENTINEL

"Maybe," she acquiesces with a slight smile, her head tilted ever so slightly. Kismet has no need to argue, no need to explain that her husband knows more than he could ever imagine — that he has seen things far beyond the reach of lionkind. She has come to realize that there are few who wish to hear it, and she is no preacher; she is a seer, and she has seen nothing for this dashing stranger. He will have to find his fate on his own. Kismet feels that she has wandered far enough from home; her family will worry if she lingers past dark, and she has served her purpose here. She has more answers about the land, and the herds. She offers the unnamed man a slight incline of her chin, peering at him owlishly. "If you find yourself in need, our door is always open," the medic offers, and she breaks away from his path, pointing her way for home. exeunt kismet not all who wander are lost

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