[ s ] Rooted at the Start (Fierce Warrior)
Posted: Wed Dec 11, 2024 11:35 am
By some stroke of luck, he had not gotten lost.
Perhaps it was because he was not himself. He knew, even as he had opened his eyes for the first time that evening, that he was different. His gaze had been sharper, the scents around him nearly overpowering as they flooded into his nose, and one of his ears - softer, more pointed, more attuned to the world around him - had flicked as, nearby, something moved in the dark.
He was smaller, and sleeker, with narrowed eyes that glinted as he caught sight of his reflection in one of the muddy pools. His fur was sticking up around his neck, and his legs slid into graceful paws instead of hooves. It gave him a silent, quieter sort of feeling; he found that he liked it a great deal, this new body of his, and started to run.
It was a freeing thing. He had never been able to run in his usual body, not the way he had wanted to, with the wind on his back and the smell of the air in his nose and the sensation that, if he pretended hard enough, he felt as though he were flying. He was much more cumbersome in a body that demanded stability over agility, and while he had mostly not minded when it came to swimming or resting or watching over the things and kin that he cared about, he could not move as he wished.
As a smaller, slighter creature - as a wolf - he could.
So he ran, his tiny paws hitting the ground underneath with a quick thump before he was propelled forward again. It was like he had been this way his entire life; there was no hesitation, no uncertainty, no confusion over how he could make this new body work for him. His mind knew what to do and how to do it, streaking through the woods and the swamp with the heavy scent of rain in the air and the touch of lichen across his fur and the knowledge that, no matter what, even if he woke up and was himself again, this had been worth it.
He ran further, his heart thumping in his chest, until he was breathless and aching and not entirely sure where he was. The sun had long since disappeared, and everything around him was shadowed, long spindles of black making warped silohuettes that may have warned him off, if he had been anyone else. Instead, he moved closer, letting the darkness take him, letting it shape his new body, the shadows twisting and curling around him, greeting him like an old friend.
Eventually, when he was too tired to think, he laid down at the base of a towering willow tree, its branches heavy laden with furred green leaves. He stared up the sky, at the tiny little dots of light, marveling at everything and nothing at the same time.
When he woke up again, he was himself once more; and something else as well.
Perhaps it was because he was not himself. He knew, even as he had opened his eyes for the first time that evening, that he was different. His gaze had been sharper, the scents around him nearly overpowering as they flooded into his nose, and one of his ears - softer, more pointed, more attuned to the world around him - had flicked as, nearby, something moved in the dark.
He was smaller, and sleeker, with narrowed eyes that glinted as he caught sight of his reflection in one of the muddy pools. His fur was sticking up around his neck, and his legs slid into graceful paws instead of hooves. It gave him a silent, quieter sort of feeling; he found that he liked it a great deal, this new body of his, and started to run.
It was a freeing thing. He had never been able to run in his usual body, not the way he had wanted to, with the wind on his back and the smell of the air in his nose and the sensation that, if he pretended hard enough, he felt as though he were flying. He was much more cumbersome in a body that demanded stability over agility, and while he had mostly not minded when it came to swimming or resting or watching over the things and kin that he cared about, he could not move as he wished.
As a smaller, slighter creature - as a wolf - he could.
So he ran, his tiny paws hitting the ground underneath with a quick thump before he was propelled forward again. It was like he had been this way his entire life; there was no hesitation, no uncertainty, no confusion over how he could make this new body work for him. His mind knew what to do and how to do it, streaking through the woods and the swamp with the heavy scent of rain in the air and the touch of lichen across his fur and the knowledge that, no matter what, even if he woke up and was himself again, this had been worth it.
He ran further, his heart thumping in his chest, until he was breathless and aching and not entirely sure where he was. The sun had long since disappeared, and everything around him was shadowed, long spindles of black making warped silohuettes that may have warned him off, if he had been anyone else. Instead, he moved closer, letting the darkness take him, letting it shape his new body, the shadows twisting and curling around him, greeting him like an old friend.
Eventually, when he was too tired to think, he laid down at the base of a towering willow tree, its branches heavy laden with furred green leaves. He stared up the sky, at the tiny little dots of light, marveling at everything and nothing at the same time.
When he woke up again, he was himself once more; and something else as well.