A rather disgusting scent lifted from behind the feline beast, the tip of his tail twisted in the air as he relieved himself upon a tree that stood at the very edge of the Blackwald before it turned to a large field. Golden eyes seemed to blink nary once as he surveyed the field with stoicism. The druid dropped his jaw and wrinkled up his lips to taste the wind as it blew towards him and back towards the Den. Sheep and deer, squirrels, fox, and rabbits. He closed his eyes and scarred maw and gave a mighty snort before turning away from the open land to face the gnarled trees. The wildlife had only just begun to return to the wasted lands that the Forsaken had ruined. Now they returned, focused and lethal. Today was not a good day, the injured nursed their wounds after an attack on the Gilnean City. Progress was lost and fear boiled within belly's of his Brotheren, though none would admit to it. Fear would do nothing to aid them.
Xeroan attempted to keep much weight off of his right front leg for his chest displayed a rather ragged wound that was stitched. The edges of it was already beginning to heal, thanks to the attention of The Päck's healers. He turned to the left and reared up onto a tree, dragging his left paw's claws through the bark. He sniffed it gingerly, satisfied that a scent was left strong enough to warn trespassers that the land was claimed. 'Puh...as if we are not known by many..' Xeroan peered back at the forest, eyeing the missing bark on the trees that he had already marked. A sense of satisfaction calmed his mind enough to return to the Den, though it was a distance away and his wound complained aggressively. A blusterous gust of wind fluffed up his fur the wrong way and a burst of energy sent him up a tree because, 'Why not?'
The black furred druid clawed his way up, his front left paw slapping at the tree, his right leg useless. He snarled against the pain, his lips wrinkling up off of his teeth. His paws began to glow green as he shaped the bark that he touched into footholds and eased his way up onto a branch and laid down with a huff. He pinned his bite-scarred ears and nestled his whiskered muzzle onto his leg and chuffed softly at the thoughts that spun within his head.
'Was all lost?' It felt like it, though he knew better than to give into such doubts and insecurities. The better question was how were they going to turn all of this around? The Päck was strong, he had been part of it for some time and he had trust within the bonds that each Worgen shared with the next.
"Oh, Brrrotherr'sh and Shishterr'sh...what arrre we going to do?" His face contorted to one of deep sorrow and pain and he pushed his nose into the bottom of his furry paw. The Gilnean feud was not his fight originally, but it became adopted by him through what he saw in the eyes of his pack. Determination, aspiration, pride, longing and pain. It made him happy when the others were happy and just the same when they were deflated. He would help to fix this. He belonged to them, just as they did to him. And Nemo... he was a wise and mystical being, some of his abilities still went without his understanding. The male was strong and Nymaway trusted him to take her place while she Dreamt. He began to wonder how the male must feel at this very moment, he hoped that he did not feel any sense of failure. War happened, and this time they had lost. The fur along Xeroan's back bone bristled up, as did his hackles and tail. They would have to become even stronger. Not only physically but also the bonds between each Worgen. There wasn't much time, though the pack needed to lick their wounds. He found that he did not want to be alone any longer than he had to, that he missed them...
Xeroan stood quickly and launched himself off the branch, contorting his body into an Avian form. His eyes widened with the thrill of flight for only a second until he brought his wings down hard and he felt a ripping in his chest. The wounded male plummeted to the ground, his left wing flapping as hard as it could but to no avail. He landed in a rather ungraceful heap, a tangle of legs and wings. He finally got himself up on two legs and hopped a few feet away from where he landed and glared back at it with displaced anger. His odd, tattered worgen ears perked up slightly on the bird's head where anger turned to fear that perhaps someone had seen the whole thing. Pain made the male peer down at his chest and embarrassment flooded away, leaving only fear that the one that had assisted in his wound care would be angry at his torn out stitches. He could just hear the furious onslaught of complaining and chastising that he would have to endure...
"Uuugh..." A pink, bubbled scarred tongue lapped at the wound and he felt his Druidic form slip away as he morphed into his worgen form, energy depleted. He cupped his left paw over the wound and it began to glow green. He would not be able to heal this without his supplies and his druidic energy was not enough. But he could slow the bleeding. He stood on his hind legs and began to awkwardly walk back to the den, his glowing crimson eyes lighting on his markings upon the trees with pride. He did not know who he would run into, but he prayed to Goldrinn that it would not be a Forsaken undead and that it would be someone of the Päck, instead.
Heavy wings flap hard through the skies over Gilneas. It was an easy flight for this drake - he was Glory, after all! Golden scales gleam under the wet shimmer of rain, and his rider was bundled under a cloak. She peers down at the land below her, scanning for any irregularity with a discerning, sapphire gaze. The cold wasn't a bother, though rain was never good for armor. In recent days, the amount of armor she wore dwindled to the minimum requirements - helm, pauldrons, breastplate, grieves, and gauntlets. Thanks to the black-and-grey cloak she wore, constant rain was kept at bay.
Grunting, Teredri glances down at a figure far below. Her eyes were not good enough on their own to distinguish who it was, but it was worgen. Leaning down over Glory's shoulder, she points down at it with the tip of her spear - a simple, black-hafted leaf-bladed lance with a heavy weight on the pommel. The drake looks down to the indication, letting out a rumbling 'wark' in acknowledgement.
Great wings tilt ever-so-slightly, causing the proto-drake to circle in a great arc, keeping the figure at the center of the circle he cut across the sky. Now gliding, Songstrike reaches to her satchel, tied just in front of her left thigh on Glory's saddle. Unbuckling a simple leather loop, her tarnished bronze spyglass comes free, and extended with a flick of her wrist. Holding the apparatus to her eye, she peers down at the worgen below. Quickly, she identified - male... wounded... It's Xeroan!
Without another second needed for assessment, she folds the glass up again, latching it back to it's place before tapping the side of Glory's jaw with the flat of the spear. Cerulean eyes lazily wander back to the rider, where Teredri waves the spear to descend further. The drake flaps again and folds his wings. With a sigh, Songstrike groans 'Oh no...' and the drake plummets with a dive!
Glory's jaw hangs open and tongue waggles in the wind! Streamlined like a great, scaled falcon, he pierces the air! Teredri didn't have time to put her spear away, so she leaned down over Glory's back, feeling the wind sting her eyes and rip past her ears! With the lance tucked in the cradle of her arm, the tip extended a foot or so beyond the drake's muzzle. Then, his wings snap open with a loud 'CLOUT!'
Abruptly, the drake was jerked back by the change in resistance - and this is why Teri groaned earlier! She could never anticipate when he was going to halt their decent, and had to enjoy the ride. With more graceful flutters, Glory lands on his back legs, with tail acting as a spring to absorb the shock of landing. The spear lifts and rests against Teredri's leg. Peering down at Xeroan, she huffs and pulls her hood back. "Xeroan! I saw your wound - are there enemies near?" She calls, scanning the land with ears twitching under her winged helm.
_________________ "Through the fire and flames of pain and despair, our faith and our hope will always shine through." - Teredri Songstrike
Xeroan could hear the thundering sound of the drake's heart beat soon after he picked up the whistling sound of bodies falling through the air. The bleeding male yowls almost fearfully at the immense noise of the drake breaking their descent and he rolled onto his back in defense and surprise. He wiggles a few moments, flexing his toes to ready a blast of moonfire but he quickly picked out the scent of Teredri and he could feel his hackles relax. The male slowly rolled over and sat, his chin tilting upwards to hear the worgen's words.
"The only enemy I have face today has been a few fleas and gravity...And medical limitations." Xeroan looks down at the ragged sword wound on his chest and rasps his rough tongue over it. "I popped a few shtitches, on the inshide I think. You wouldn't mind getting yourr pawsh dirrrty, would you?" The soft humor that Xeroan forced into his request was odd for his character and one could conclude from it that he was trying hard to mask his true emotions. "My head ish shtill a tad fuzzy, werre you therre durring the battle?" The Druid male tilted his chin down, his mind weighted down with the thoughts of all that had transpired that night. "If you werre not, I would not be angrry. They werre prreparred and we werre not." Xeroan shakes his head and takes his paws into fists.
"I am pleased to see you...it ishn't often that I rrrun into many out along ourrr borrrrderrr. Do you shee my marrkingsh? All along the trreesh therre." Xeroan nods with a proud snort and moves to approach his friend, cautious of the temperament of his drake.
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