Taggard had gone off to enjoy some time alone and left Wallace to do the same. Of course, Wallace didn't feel that same desire for solitude, but he respected Tagg's need for it all the same. While still traveling in a generally southward direction, Wallace went exploring. The trees had become more and more dense as the miles ticked on. Soon enough, he couldn't even see the sky for the thick canopy overhead. It felt almost spooky for the young wolf. His home had been dominated by the open sky and grasslands. Despite his extensive travels, this sort of place felt very strange. The light was so dim it was almost like dusk and there was an air of the magical and mysterious about the place. The closeness of the trees was nearly enough to make him feel claustrophobic.
This feeling was compounded by the fact that Wallace was on his own -- at least for the day. A shiver of excitement that bordered on fear ran the length of his spine as his imagination took him on a ride. His thick fur ruffled and his crest stood erect as he made his careful way through the dense woodland. Then, all of a sudden, there was a sound that stood out from the general commotion of birds and small critters going about their simple lives. Panicked. Fearful. It wasn't in any actual language, but the meaning was clear. "Help me!" it said. So many stories of witches in the woods came back to him. Some poor creature was surely about to meet their end!
"I'm coming!" he bellowed heroicly and bounded through the underbrush without a shred of dignity or grace. It wasn't likely that the creature could understand him, but he had to try anyway! "Hold on, I'm coming!" he shouted again. It didn't take him long to find the source of the cries and, without taking time to think, he dove down into the deep hole. The sides were too steep to have been made by nature. It had to have been some sort of trap, but Wallace did not consider that someone might not like him freeing their prey. The animal he found was quite strange -- unlike any that he'd seen before. It was almost like a cat -- all black with a flash of white. "Don't worry, I'm here to help you," is what he had intended to say, but the cat never gave him the chance. It turned its back to him quick as a flash and sprayed him right in the face.
Wallace sputtered, coughed, and gagged. His wings flared and buffeted the air, only causing the stink to circulate more aggressively. He had to fight everything in himself not to just flee -- to run and run until the smell was far behind him -- but he had come here to rescue the beast, and that's what he was going to do, by the gods! Although it fought him all the while, Wallace managed to snag the stink-cat by the scruff of its neck and haul it up and out of the hole. Once they were both free, he spat it out and didn't stop to see in which thankless direction it ran.
The poor wolf wiped his face with his paws and, when that failed to help, scrubbed it along the dirt and leaf-litter.
Eden, they called it, she doesn’t know why but she supposed it suited this realm all the same. Great trees grew here, in numbers beyond counting and springing to life from the earth in thick clusters- enough to blot out most of the sun. It wasn’t dark though, not really, dim perhaps you could say, if anything. Faint light behind a curtain or somewhere past a shroud of fog, but in Eden there was simply no fog at all, just treetops and leaves. So many leaves, an array of types all from silent saplings or gargantuan pillars of bark- these trees, they must have been here forever, a heady ancientness overtaking the air.
Ancientness, but also yelling, yes, someone was shouting in the distance.
For a few moments, she is still, listening with ears flicking and turning on top of her snowy head. Was someone in trouble, would she even be able to help? Worry set in, anxiety, Reckitt was no fighter, if it came to a scuffle she would surely be injured. Still, she makes movement, inching towards the sound, still unable to discern exactly what is taking place, but as she gets closer- more becomes clear.
Something about help, but that’s not all, the wretched stench of skunk perfumed the forest as she closed in. Skunks, they are highly unpleasant if threatened or frightened, she left them be whenever she saw one- whoever this was shouting, clearly had not seen the creature as something to avoid.
The skunk in question, scurried towards her, its black and white body sort of waddling as it went, Kitt side stepped it, giving it a wide berth as it chattered its frustration to deaf ears. She doesn’t speak skunk.
To her surprise, the recipient was still present, smelling quite potent and sending the scent whichever way as they beat their wings. “That isn’t going to help,” she laughed, unable to cover the amusement of the entire situation. Another winged wolf, she was always impressed at their great wings, each soft feather against their sides.
“You’re going to need a bath,” swiping her bad paw against her nose, a small and fleeting reprieve. “Maybe a few baths actually,” there is no ill intent in her approach, in fact she is still a ways off, neither of them knowing each other, it was only polite.
“I’m Reckitt, what’s your name?”
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02-14-2019, 09:51 AM (Edited 02-14-2019, 10:07 AM by Reckitt)
Wallace heard the laughter of another and looked up and toward the source of the sweet, melodic sound. His golden eyes were red from irritation and watered so freely that the fur on his cheeks was damp. Bits of dirt and leaf-litter clung to his face from where he'd been scrubbing it on the ground. His wings drooped and he hung his head down low. Pathetic embarrassment was written in every line of his body and posture. A pitiful whine crawled from his chest and wobbled through the air between them. "What was that?" He'd only been trying to help and he had been punished so severely.
The poor, stinky boy tried to breathe through his mouth instead. He instantly regretted it. "I can taste it!" he cried with a cough and a gag. Despite her assertation that he wouldn't be able to rub the stink off, he put his face back to the ground and rubbed it back and forth. He'd dug a nice little furrow in the soil before he gave up again. He set his eyes on the pretty stranger and whined once more. "Help me." Please. Please. He was certain that even his soul smelled. There was nothing about Wallace anyone should be impressed over -- especially not now with his dirty face and his tail tucked up so far between his legs it was almost as though he didn't have one at all.
The smell was stifling, causing her to strain as she spoke, the poor winged-pup had really been sprayed good! A name is given, Wallace, and she smiles back warmly, saving his name in her memories. “Nice to meet you Wallace,” though the tone was a bit nasally, attempting to speak through her mouth, but that was no good either. Pungent skunk stink was perfuming even the air she breathed, enough to taste it, she covered her nose again with her paw, she wanted to scrape her tongue on a rock.
“That,” she began, “was a skunk, and he was most upset with you.” Even though the situation was comical, it was hard to laugh when one was gassed and so she can only offer a small smirk; afraid to allow the taste to creep in once more.
“You likely scared it. I saw it leave, crying hurriedly and very apparently cross at the the wrongdoing,” sadly enough, she understood not a word, perhaps that was for the best, maybe said skunk had choice words not meant for repeating. All the better, Kitt wouldn’t dare relay such words, to anyone, and especially not a young boy.
“Of course,” she steeled herself to draw closer, to assure the other that all would be okay and that they would get him cleaned up and fresh. “We need some water, that is for certain, though I’ve not seen any streams in this forest.” Her cheek tucked into her teeth, thinking on what to do, there was always the ocean, perhaps the shallows would be okay.
Then again, maybe they could make do with a good scrubbing of something else to counter it until they could properly wash. “It’s a long walk to the ocean, otherside of the forest, but if we can find some black moss…” That could possibly work, if they could find enough of it, so she bent her pale nose to the ground and kept her eyes wide in search.
“I like your wings Wallace, are you from around here/?” There are a few tentative steps taken, as if to say follow me, though there was no pressure to do so and he was just as free to scamper off again. “We can look for some black moss this way, if you like?”
The poor dear, he had a lot to learn of the world, and in truth, so did she.
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stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here
The pretty girl who had the terrible misfortune to suffer Wallace's stink didn't seem to know the area much better than he did himself. Still, she had some about the treacherous fauna. This land of Ourania didn't seem to ease visitors into it. Wallace had tumbled into it headfirst. Frozen to the beach. Learning the hard way what skunks were. Now he was to learn about black moss. "Thank you, Reckitt," he offered pitifully. She diligently began the search for the moss they needed to cure his palpable stench and he tried to help by pawing at the ground in search of anything mossy or black.
He opened his mouth to ask more about what it looked and smelled like -- so he could search better -- but she asked him about his wings. The appendages flared at the mention and his feathers ruffled. "No, I am far from here -- across the sea! I sailed over on a boat carved from the trunk of a tree, but a terrible storm hit. I washed ashore and woke up frozen to the sand and stone and ice. Thankfully, I was rescued. Now my companion and I are traveling south -- to warmer climates. I owe them a life debt and I will keep to their side until it is repaid."
It occurred to him that this might be a strange thing to say when he was, in fact, not right at Taggard's side. "Well, we're doing some solo exploring today, but we will meet back up this evening." He offered a weak smile -- still ashamed of himself. "Whichever way you think is best. I will follow your lead. It seems I am destined to be rescued by lovely creatures." He was such a fool. Still, it would make for a wonderful story some day.
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there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you
[ NOTES ] sorry for the wait! hope it was worth it, lol
There is so much to learn here, she herself had yet to even make headway against the knowledge of his world. It was a curiosity to Reckitt, and she to it, in turn. This world, she had started her life in a place most unlike the one she found herself in. Fate had a funny way of turning events around, what were the odds of becoming so lost that you found yourself in an alternate place of existence?
At the very least, she had some years behind her, this did not seem to be the case for her current company.
“Oh you are most welcome Wallace,” she said brightly, already making a slow progression in the desired direction. A limp in her step something she could not hide.
The day was growing long, the canopy of the trees providing a coolness, she looked up a few times, watching birds flit around in the boughs, singing their bird songs as two wolves padded along an unknown path. It wasn’t really a pah at all, if she were honest, but she made it easily enough here through the saplings that attempted to take hold in the soil. She wondered which ones would grow into great trees, not everyone makes it, not even in the plant world.
“A ship!” it was loud when she proclaimed it, surprise taking her tone, admiration. “That is some adventure,” she said more cooly, finding herself and reigning in her exuberance. A ship though, she had heard of such things, man-things that floated along the sea, but never, had she been on one. Never would she have thought to make her own, certainly, Wallace had crafted the barge. Hadn’t he?
“Well, I for one am very happy you were found,” she takes her time, sniffing at the earth, nosing her way around some of the unearthed roots. Then she finally stops at one particular tree, its north base covered in dark moss.
“This will be it,” she nods, a gesture to the face of the trunk. “I’m afraid it will only help so much, maybe dilute the smell until you can have a proper washing,” she shrugged and looked almost apologetic now. She wished she could do more, they would really have to find some water to do any significant cleansing.
“Just rub yourself along the tree here. The bark well help work the moss into your fur,” then she sat, a pale dove in a shaded clearing.
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