Kin Name: Dominant
Preference List: One, Two, Eight, Nine, Three, Ten, Twenty, Seventeen, Fourteen, Four, Twenty-One
RP:
Wherever Boar went, he was in the company of his scavengers, trailing along with his movements in a hungry pack. There was something about him that drew them to him, and the musk wolf added the very essence of Sinweed scent to their progression, intoxicating and strong. The light had gone out in the world and he was not concerned. As long as there was life, he would be hungry, and as long as he was hungry he would exist, little else mattered to him but his companion. They'd found themselves almost led here by their noses, by the feeling that there was something afoot. Boar did not care to help others, but he cared to gorge himself on new and interesting tastes.
The tongue lolled from the teeth on his belly as he looked upon the flitting, swirling motes and immediately he knew that he needed to taste them. There was something fractured and strange about the things, not alive like the slowly meandering nudibranches but instead moving with a direction of their own, fast then slow and then drawn to unusual things.
A small mote flitted past him and he snapped out with his huge golden fangs like a viper about to strike, swallowing it down with a gulp. It tasted strange and abhorrent, something about the energies offensive to his sensibilities.
He tossed his head and from his horns, large clods of rock and earth dislodged. He turned to look over his golden plates and found them composed of burnished obsidian instead, jutting from the earth that had become his very body. He was a creature of dark, fertile soil and mud, jutting with stone and minerals, not alive but infinitely hungry and infinitely giving. He would consume the dead, regurgitate the living, on and on in an endless cycle and this was infinitely fitting.
His eyes gleamed like eager red starlight as he turned his attention to another mote. The first had tasted strange, but the second might be a new delight for his palette. It went down easy, but as it did it drove back the earth and the stone, eroding him down to a small thing, small enough to step between the petals of grass. All he saw at this new perspective was more to eat, proportionally more to devour. A locust in a swarm, a plague of frogs, a blight of hungry tiny things, things that would eat and eat until all of the world realised it was bare and they had not understood the danger. He would suffocate the world like algae by inches, devouring the remainder of this darkened world.
He was supposed to be retrieving these motes, he knew, but he did not truly ally himself with anyone. They could retrieve them later if they passed through him intact. Earth and life, cycles of repetition.
It did not matter that he thought he was small as the large mote drifted past him, he knew he could eat it anyway, there wasn't anything he couldn't eat once. So he seized it in his teeth and swallowed it like the others, the light flashing through the fur at his throat as he did so. This one was delicious, good, satisfying.
It swept away the impurities of the other effects and left him pleased and entertained.
But never satisfied. Never, ever satisfied.
Small Game was nothing if not excited about the ability to hunt down something new. To be a part of something as big as helping return the sun to the sky above them-- that was a tale of epic propotions which would be told for generation, and he had a chance to be part of it.
The darkness was all-consuming. For days, Oath had struggled to breathe, struggled to move, struggled to do anything at all when she was away from a fire or other strong source of light, because while the air here wasn't a miasma as it had been deep in the earth only seasons before, the fires were giving snagging, sucking gasps of smoke as they were fed whatever fuel their keeperss could find for them, in order to keep hope and visibility as good as possible for a population in crisis.
Agave used to think of himself as a buck comfortable in the dark. In the dark, kin drew close to one-another for celebration and comfort. In the dark, there was rest. At home in the dark under the earth...there had been Sootstripe. 
With darkness like this, wearing the skull headdress that the acha generally did was beyond impractical-- it was useless and dangerous. The healer's symbol of business had been left safely at home as they had ventured out, helping kin they had come across with injuries here and there, as they had learned more of the lingering night. When they'd heard of the motes that were now out in abundance to catch, they thought of the way that things had been before, below, with the obelisk, and decided to help out a little.
At first, the motes of light reminded of Heartshine of his naming dream--a luminous experience where each and every tree and stone, beast and kin, mountain or river or twig in a path, shone with the light of its own nature.
