Clove Stärke-Vandiir ...

She rebelled in her own way. Though pledged to Firnen out of familial obligation, the pride could not keep her bound – would not dare, if they wanted to keep an agreeable royal daughter. Clove wandered the wildlands each chance she got, sometimes hunting, sometimes patrolling, and sometimes doing whatever she pleased.

That evening's stroll through the jungle was justified as an herbal scouting mission. The clouded haze above glowed faint, dappled light through the canopies, half-illuminating the young lioness in an orange shroud. She cast sage-infused gaze over the matching greenery all around, trying to take note of any leaf or flower that managed to stand out above the rest. Clove knew only that others claimed the forests to have powers to help and to harm, and she was determined that she might harness such power for herself.

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|| march y13 | two years | FR royalty | at ataraxia river | @Lyra ||
+5 - Study the flora of a neutral territory

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she were elusive as the daylight: thoroughly filtered against layered canopies of jungle flora, strung overhead. but, much like the fine, golden twine that still threaded through the crevices between leaves, so were lyra’s secret pursuit rendered imperfect. keen though she were to adhere to the shadows, and cautious though her prowling, the snap! of stray twigs that fell underfoot left her wary of detection — as if she were the hunted, and not the predator she’d aspired to play. every misstep found her pulse wildly thrumming through the silence, her stride left suspended until her quarry had pressed onward against better judgment, and none the wiser.

or, at least, none the wiser as @Clove had been willing to let on. from lyra’s perspective, however, the crowned-again princess were oblivious to a fault: too captivated by a quest, all her own. and though the sunspot, herself, were none too certain as to the objective of her own mission, the build-up were half the fun.

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Clove Stärke-Vandiir ...

She lingered momentarily upon a red flower tucked neatly against the trunk of a tree, her steps slowing until they petered out entirely. Though her fathers had warned against profiling plants based on generalizations, Clove suspected that blaring scarlet to warn of poison lingering within the petals. She might have gone so far as to try and harvest some for herself if not for the crackling of footfall sounding in the air when her own paws had ceased.

Clove did not startle. She did not whirl. Pulse roaring in her ears, she picked up the pace through the thick jungle-scape and ducked into the more dense patches with only an exhale as twigs and thorns scraped against supple skin. Whoever dared tail her, she would make them work for it.

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@Lyra
+5 - Study the flora of a neutral territory

+5 - Practice a defensive maneuver

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when combined with her lacking stature, the great distance between predator and prey left the former with too many hindrances in the way of meaningful progress. still, her neck craned beyond the twilit shadows from whence she’d peered as @Clove moved to hover above an unknown red: seemingly transfixed, as were lyra upon the unwitting firnen princess. for a moment, she permit the solace clove had settled into with suspended breath and a softening stare, poised to admire. and for that moment, the frei wore not the bow and jerkin of the huntress she’d arrived as, but the blank canvas and watercolor palette of the artist, enthralled by her long-sought-after muse.

it were not a role lyra were made to conform to for long, however, for it were all-too-abruptly that her muse grew legs and retreated through the underbrush. with a reawakened prey drive, the huntress abandoned her furtive pretense to dart in her target’s wake: twisting through a labyrinth of dense foliage with the sound of splintering brambles used for guidance. having anticipated a lengthy pursuit, a sharp gasp quickly fractured the rhythmic huff of labored breathing as clove’s freckled face grew closer and closer, indicative of a swift ending to their chase. reflexively, the sunspot skidded to a halt as an apologetic grin wormed upon her features in silent greeting. whoops.

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Clove Stärke-Vandiir ...

Her heart thrummed in her ears as she threaded her way deeper within the jungle terrain. Clove need not wait long before her steps were paired with the harmony of another set plodding on over the leaves and through the vines. Gauging their distance for a moment, she whipped around to face her tail and waited for them to approach her. She would have the benefit of awareness and sight both while the worm had already wound its way into her lush web by the time they realized they were caught.

She had never known spies to gasp like girls. Clove's ears crumbled back against her skull as she was met with those eyes once more: decadent and dizzying in the contrast of frost against lamb's blood. She had not seen them sheepish before. She thought she would like to take advantage of the opportunity.

"You know, you ought to ––" The judgment would never quite leave her lips. One burgundy brow lifted above the other as something caught her gaze just beyond her silver shadow. She wore confusion plainly for a moment before it shifted (just as conspicuously) to eager mischief. "Hey, you know I came out of one of those?" The royal informed her with near-pride as she strolled past Lyra and toward the smattering of orange gourds behind her. She patted the nearest, largest one with a paw of appraisal.

"Or, my fathers are full of Scheiße." - full of shit.

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@Lyra
+5 - Practice a defensive maneuver

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double, double toil and trouble;
fire burn, and cauldron bubble...

Nafasi watches from the bushes, never once letting herself be seen by those huddled around her perfectly-placed pumpkins. They really were a curious bunch, weren't they? But, unfortunately for them, the sprite was feeling extra mischievous today, and had a trick up her sleeve! And so, with a small grin, the being tilted her maw down towards the earth, eyes glowing, before she gave a pointed flicker of her tail and brought her vision to life in the process.

Uh oh...

The pumpkin beneath you beings to vibrate before decaying and collapsing in on itself. Seconds later, what looks to be thousands of spiders begin to crawl out of every crevice of the oozing pumpkin, skittering across the earth in a leg-filled frenzy. By your next breath, the ground is completely covered in those gross, ghastly bugs - and judging by the way that they're moving towards you, you just might be next!

how her grin deepened despite the weight of clove’s stare: apprehending and goading, all the same. and though it were rare that the frei would find cause for shame, she felt its warmth froth at her cheeks, now, the longer her peer kept her suspended beneath a limelight of dual-toned jade. but, just as lyra were inspired to press a familiar, leather-print kiss against the tip of clove’s own snout (for she were not known for her great understanding of boundaries), so were the princess’ focus directed elsewhere. over a sloping shoulder, lyra traced the line of clove’s wandering eye to an entanglement of vines she could not remember passing on the way in. perhaps she had been too preoccupied with the chase — the chase that persisted, now, as @Clove rounded her like any obstacle to better glimpse the oranges, nestled amongst the green.

with an open mind, lyra absorbed what lore her companion bestowed upon her, blinking owlish eyes to the beat clove drummed out across the gourds. never once would she cast doubt upon the fantastic tale her peer spun. history were as clove recalled it to be, after all, and all-the-more substantiated by her fathers’ wombless anatomies — or, at least, lyra’s understanding of them. where wariness were warranted, the sunspot went without: almost blissful in her approach of clove and the chosen pumpkin in her shadow.

within inches of the artificial womb, she leveled her nose to its stem before it swayed and teetered on its own accord. with a puppy-like tilt of the crown, lyra shot a glance up to her dearest friend: unperturbed in spite of the presumed, life-altering reality they’d soon be made to face together. “will it be ours, now?” she posed, withdrawing slightly to appraise the fruits of their friendship as the pumpkin’s top erupted with life. but it were not a cub bearing their resemblance who emerged from the orange — it were hundreds upon hundreds of little friends to add upon her roster.

“oh, clove,” were the breathless coo that bled into the stomping of a thousand small feet (x8) as more and more spiders poured down the rotting sides of their once-glorious pumpkin. “we’re parents!” and the fledgling mother could not have been any more delighted with the offspring they bore.

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Clove Stärke-Vandiir ...

"I think Vater just says that so he doesn't have to admit I'm his eldest. He --" Stumbling, shifting weight clipped the thought prematurely short as the pumpkin teetered of its own accord to practically shrug her off it. Clove clicked her jaws shut as she stared at its bright skin owlishly.

"Will it be ours, now?"

Where Lyra's expression did not falter, the Cabernet velvet of Clove's both wrinkled and stretched as that new reality wrestled its way into her understanding. She had no chance to address the question before she witnessed the gourds wither and die before her very eyes, all shrunken and blackened with time that had not passed. Clove could not help the way her gaze flickered momentarily to her oldest companion: an assessment of her youthful face, still smooth and silver like starlight, not tarnished gray.

"That's weird. I di -- eaAAHHHHH!" She threw herself back like a wind-tossed rag, tangled curls rising to frizzy, fluffed attention with all the efficiency of getting struck by lightning. Her paws could not move quickly enough, hundreds - thousands? - of legs skittering across soggy earth in hot pursuit even as Clove shuffled furiously backward. "Ah! Ah, ah, ahhhh!" Each cry elbowed and shoved its way past the last, only cut off with a thud as rigid spine met tree and cast out all the air from her lungs.

The frenzy did not end in her choked silence. Chest tight and mind reeling with all the desperation of a cornered animal, Clove did not hesitate before turning and skittering up that same tree with claws slashing, tearing, shearing their ragged marks.

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@Lyra

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the stench of rot and ruin were quick to expunge what cloying fragrances had only just enveloped the lush, floral plantlife known to their surroundings. but, unlike her bewildered counterpart, lyra went unfazed by the spontaneous, supernatural decay of the gourds and the horrors they expelled — as if the wonder were an everyday occurrence that need not require further explanation. investigation, on the other hand, were paramount to the ever-curious. and as she made to take a tentative step backwards to permit their spiderlings with space to roam, so did it appear that @Clove were of the same mind —

until an otherworldly shriek cleaved way from the rhythmic pitter-patter of a thousand small feet, and her fledgling co-parent desperately thrashed and backpedaled her way against the trunk of a nearby tree.

eerily still were she who bore witness to the panic with pursed lips and suspended forepaw, for it were this spectacle that astonished lyra above all else. the sporadic rise-and-fall of clove’s heaving chest were all the frei paid mind to as their braver sons and daughters began the ascent up mount lyra. with spindly limbs a-tangle in her hair – some at the base of her grounded forepaw, and others, rounding her shoulders and spine – she were prevented from clambering up the tree in her friend’s wake. instead, her neck craned to accommodate for the height of clove’s new perch as she linger, way down below. dismay anchored the corners of her mouth before a spiderling tickled her cheek with the uncertain tapping of an adventurous foot.

cautiously, the nymph lowered herself to a crouch as she made to address the countless crowd. “i will love you enough for the both of us,” she vowed on matronly, sentimental tones. “at least, until your other mommy can look atcha without pissin herself.” the twitch of her lip conveyed the frei’s amusement too plainly as she peered to clove from her peripherals, broadening as the doll-like flutter of an eyelid permit new grounds for one of their spiderlings to rest upon.

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Clove Stärke-Vandiir ...

She was relentless in her task, eager to flee with childhood accomplice one wavering, splintered inch ascended at a time. Clove was all curled, clutching nails and shuddering muscle and rare silence as she managed to pull herself into a hovering crouch a few yards above the earth. At last she looked.

"Lyra!" She gasped a strangled sound. She clacked gaping pant shut in favor of twisted horror, slipping down another splintered inch as her claws threatened to retreat entirely with shock.

“I will love you enough for the both of us -- at least, until your other mommy can look atcha without pissin herself.”

"Ugh, you're crazy!" Clove scoffed through a maddened stare of her own as the little, silver cat bent down to the tickling swarm as if gazing upon actual newborns. Her skin crawled at the thought of them, and then crawled at its own crawling. The young royal gritted her teeth. "No. We're going to Firnen, and none of them are invited." Clove decided where her friend proved too much of a bleeding heart to think straight.

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CLOVE vs. ---
Claiming Lyra
Round 0 / 3

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