((Ancient's Wake OOC))
The tracks were large, embedded deep in the snow of the Southern Clearing. Desmond studied them silently as he breathed in deeply, the air rushing out of his lips into a thick cloud from the cold. It didn’t sit well with him; didn’t sit well at all. There was something undeniably wrong with this picture.
“Looks like a bear,” Tristan said to his left. “A female faunus from the western hills.”
“In the dead of winter?” Fallon asked, disbelieving from the right.
All three men looked to one another, all three thinking the same thing. Kry. There could have been numerous other explanations for the tracks, but as Desmond knew all too well, it was better to expect the absolute worse. “Where is it heading?” He asked Tristan.
The man scanned the area where the tracks were randomly scattered. “Southeast.”
Desmond hesitated. It was too close for comfort. “We’ll slow down a little,” He said. “We need to give it time to move further away, and hope it doesn’t feel the need to retrace its steps.”
Fallon grunted and stroked his graying beard with his eyes on the trees. It was dark, but Desmond could just catch the deep lines in his furrowed brow from the flickering flames of the campfire behind them. The older man was his father’s spearman, a normally quiet soul who knew how to keep others in line, usually with only one glance. Loyal, noble, and true. The princeling never had a reason to mistrust his judgment.
“Our safest route would be to head west for several miles,” Fallon suggested.
Tristan jerked his head over his shoulder. “What of her?”
As if on cue, all three men looked to the sleeping form bundled in heavy furs near the fire. Anna’s pale lips were partly cracked in deep slumber, her cheeks flushed, the tip of her nose pink, and her dark hair sprawled out in contrast to the white snow underneath. This is why they were here. Desmond and what few remaining brothers were left would most likely perish in battle or sickness, his sisters possibly following behind with the way the world was going. But Anna, the youngest, would survive. She would be kept hidden and safe, so when the time came for the healing of Semoria amidst the current destruction, she would be able to rise. They were the darkening sky, their time drawing to an end, and she was the new dawn, the shining light in a somber world.
Protect her, They had said. Watch her. Their mission was to get her to Mossol, and that didn’t mean scaring her to pieces. “She will know nothing of it,” Desmond answered. “She already knows it’s dangerous ground, and caution has become a necessity. We’ll simply keep a watchful eye at all times.” The two men nodded their agreement.
“It’s best,” Fallon said. “Women are often too emotional, too fearful. We shan’t have a bawling female distracting us.”
Tristan smiled, and although it was a tired and sore smile, it still brought a little bit of cheer to the frozen travelers. “Speak for yourself! Nothing has been successful in distracting me from my grand ventures!”
Desmond raised his eyebrows. “Do those grand ventures involve burning food?”
Blinking, Tristan’s gaze shot towards the fire where their meal of pheasant on a spit was currently being blackened. He swore and stood, kicking at the burning embers. Desmond met Fallon’s gaze and the older man shook his head, clearly not amused, but the prince marveled at his friend’s spirit even in the midst of such turmoil.
Once the meat was salvaged, Tristan plucked up the stick and held it out, bowing with a flourish. “Dinner is served!”
Tristan shifted on top of the horse, and stuck his finger in the collar of his cloak, pulling at it. Damn wool. It was itchy, and although his face was bitterly cold, his neck was sweating. May the limber trees burst into flames lest they wear anything comfortable! This was one of the reasons why he hated travel, though he could never understand how Desmond dragged him into these things. Nor did he care to think of the fact he had been the one to jump at the chance to go. In the end, however, what did it matter? He was still stranded in the middle of the forest in bloody winter with an earache, chapped lips, and frozen fingers.
But his moping was short-lived. It wasn't long before the tops of Fort Mossol could be seen. The fort was wider than it was long, the walls were made of stone and stood a good thirty feet tall, and the flag of Ballard could be seen waving proudly on top of the lookout tower. They'd made it!
Tristan looked behind him, Desmond and Anna close in the middle and Fallon taking up the end. "We've arrived!" He announced cheerfully. A small smile touched Anna's lips while Desmond craned his neck to have a better look. And if Tristan wasn't mistaken even Fallon's expression looked a little more hopeful.
When he turned to avert his gaze back ahead though, he quickly pulled up on the reigns and stopped. His heart skipped and he narrowed his eyes. A faunus bear! Or a Kry. It was large with tan fur, pacing up and down the front gates with short grunts that could be heard even from the edge of the clearing. Was it the same one they had tracked two days ago? Odd. Why hadn't they seen anymore of its tracks?
"What's wrong?" Desmond asked. "What do you see?"
Tristan quietly dismounted, grabbed his bow, and took an arrow from the quiver strapped to the side of his horse. "Kry," He answered quietly.
Desmond and Fallon immediately followed suit, the prince with his scimitar and the spearman with his spear. All three men knew it would do no good if they were caught, but in their minds it was better to try anything than surrender to death. Especially with the heir at their mercy. They huddled around a tree at the edge to look while Anna remained on the horse, fearful.
"We must be cursed," Desmond muttered and Tristan swore under his breath. They were so close, too!
When minutes passed and no one said or did anything, Tristan finally gathered the courage to ask what nobody wanted to hear, sighing. "What do we do?"
Southern Clearing
5th Day in the Month of Yanayir
5th Day in the Month of Yanayir
The tracks were large, embedded deep in the snow of the Southern Clearing. Desmond studied them silently as he breathed in deeply, the air rushing out of his lips into a thick cloud from the cold. It didn’t sit well with him; didn’t sit well at all. There was something undeniably wrong with this picture.
“Looks like a bear,” Tristan said to his left. “A female faunus from the western hills.”
“In the dead of winter?” Fallon asked, disbelieving from the right.
All three men looked to one another, all three thinking the same thing. Kry. There could have been numerous other explanations for the tracks, but as Desmond knew all too well, it was better to expect the absolute worse. “Where is it heading?” He asked Tristan.
The man scanned the area where the tracks were randomly scattered. “Southeast.”
Desmond hesitated. It was too close for comfort. “We’ll slow down a little,” He said. “We need to give it time to move further away, and hope it doesn’t feel the need to retrace its steps.”
Fallon grunted and stroked his graying beard with his eyes on the trees. It was dark, but Desmond could just catch the deep lines in his furrowed brow from the flickering flames of the campfire behind them. The older man was his father’s spearman, a normally quiet soul who knew how to keep others in line, usually with only one glance. Loyal, noble, and true. The princeling never had a reason to mistrust his judgment.
“Our safest route would be to head west for several miles,” Fallon suggested.
Tristan jerked his head over his shoulder. “What of her?”
As if on cue, all three men looked to the sleeping form bundled in heavy furs near the fire. Anna’s pale lips were partly cracked in deep slumber, her cheeks flushed, the tip of her nose pink, and her dark hair sprawled out in contrast to the white snow underneath. This is why they were here. Desmond and what few remaining brothers were left would most likely perish in battle or sickness, his sisters possibly following behind with the way the world was going. But Anna, the youngest, would survive. She would be kept hidden and safe, so when the time came for the healing of Semoria amidst the current destruction, she would be able to rise. They were the darkening sky, their time drawing to an end, and she was the new dawn, the shining light in a somber world.
Protect her, They had said. Watch her. Their mission was to get her to Mossol, and that didn’t mean scaring her to pieces. “She will know nothing of it,” Desmond answered. “She already knows it’s dangerous ground, and caution has become a necessity. We’ll simply keep a watchful eye at all times.” The two men nodded their agreement.
“It’s best,” Fallon said. “Women are often too emotional, too fearful. We shan’t have a bawling female distracting us.”
Tristan smiled, and although it was a tired and sore smile, it still brought a little bit of cheer to the frozen travelers. “Speak for yourself! Nothing has been successful in distracting me from my grand ventures!”
Desmond raised his eyebrows. “Do those grand ventures involve burning food?”
Blinking, Tristan’s gaze shot towards the fire where their meal of pheasant on a spit was currently being blackened. He swore and stood, kicking at the burning embers. Desmond met Fallon’s gaze and the older man shook his head, clearly not amused, but the prince marveled at his friend’s spirit even in the midst of such turmoil.
Once the meat was salvaged, Tristan plucked up the stick and held it out, bowing with a flourish. “Dinner is served!”
Fort Mossol
7th Day in the Month of Yanayir
7th Day in the Month of Yanayir
Tristan shifted on top of the horse, and stuck his finger in the collar of his cloak, pulling at it. Damn wool. It was itchy, and although his face was bitterly cold, his neck was sweating. May the limber trees burst into flames lest they wear anything comfortable! This was one of the reasons why he hated travel, though he could never understand how Desmond dragged him into these things. Nor did he care to think of the fact he had been the one to jump at the chance to go. In the end, however, what did it matter? He was still stranded in the middle of the forest in bloody winter with an earache, chapped lips, and frozen fingers.
But his moping was short-lived. It wasn't long before the tops of Fort Mossol could be seen. The fort was wider than it was long, the walls were made of stone and stood a good thirty feet tall, and the flag of Ballard could be seen waving proudly on top of the lookout tower. They'd made it!
Tristan looked behind him, Desmond and Anna close in the middle and Fallon taking up the end. "We've arrived!" He announced cheerfully. A small smile touched Anna's lips while Desmond craned his neck to have a better look. And if Tristan wasn't mistaken even Fallon's expression looked a little more hopeful.
When he turned to avert his gaze back ahead though, he quickly pulled up on the reigns and stopped. His heart skipped and he narrowed his eyes. A faunus bear! Or a Kry. It was large with tan fur, pacing up and down the front gates with short grunts that could be heard even from the edge of the clearing. Was it the same one they had tracked two days ago? Odd. Why hadn't they seen anymore of its tracks?
"What's wrong?" Desmond asked. "What do you see?"
Tristan quietly dismounted, grabbed his bow, and took an arrow from the quiver strapped to the side of his horse. "Kry," He answered quietly.
Desmond and Fallon immediately followed suit, the prince with his scimitar and the spearman with his spear. All three men knew it would do no good if they were caught, but in their minds it was better to try anything than surrender to death. Especially with the heir at their mercy. They huddled around a tree at the edge to look while Anna remained on the horse, fearful.
"We must be cursed," Desmond muttered and Tristan swore under his breath. They were so close, too!
When minutes passed and no one said or did anything, Tristan finally gathered the courage to ask what nobody wanted to hear, sighing. "What do we do?"
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