Fever Pitch
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05-30-2018, 03:47 AM
Words and Lyrics Here
BY TASHA
06-04-2018, 09:40 PM
With all the strength of a raging fire Mysterious as the dark side of the moon Muzzle wrinkled, ears pinning back from his skull as the mixed odors of grass and bile reached him along with the pervasive tang of fever-sweat that had plagued the stallion since the moment Loki had found him. A Thressa root and a purple thistle? His father had been a...healer of sorts, though Loki had never learned the craft. Stepping lightly around the pile of still-steaming vomit, the onyx wolf chivvied Cif’thar’s side until he was well away from the mess and in the shade. “Rest,” he ordered in a tone that sounded far more self-assured than he felt. He had no idea if he could find what was being asked, but he would at least try. “I’ll return shortly.” He melted into the shadows, ducking his head low to keep the golden coronet on his brow from catching and throwing back the light. The wolf inhaled, parsing and sifting through scents both known and unfamiliar, looking not for the thistle, or the root (which was not familiar at all) but for the thing he could be sure of--moss. There it was; the earthy, loamy scent heavy and low to the ground, mixing only with the mulch of dead leaves and rotting logs. The young wolf followed his nose, and soon his ears picked up the sound of gurgling water again. This must be the same stream that he had found further up, winding its way into the forest. As he approached, cautiously, new scents reached his nose, ones that made him pause. He had smelled similar before, in those other worlds and planes, and no good had ever come of them. Two-Legs, Bipeds...humans. Loki sneezed, feeling his pulse quicken. He was sure of it now--two distinctive scents, male and female, although there was also the faintest smell of wolf woven in. Perhaps he should look somewhere else…? But there it was, a spiky, purple, thistle-like flower growing around and among the roots of a great tree at the edge of a spreading patch of moss. His ears fell flat in annoyance. Of course. Cautious now, he crept out into the open space between the trees, ears rotating this way and that, leathery black nose quivering for the first hint that the owners of those scents were returning. His nerves tingled as if the covering had been charred away, and he felt the pads of his paws warm as his magic heated in response to his nervous energy. In this place he felt almost...normal, again, his power like an eager pup waiting to be let out to play. With one more furtive glance, he darted forward and scooped a few of the flowers into his jaws. He was pivoting on his hind paws, ready to dart back into the shadows when something made him pause. A Thressa root to reduce the fever...a thin tendril of flame had licked out from his core, flickering, insisting that he look back. Curious, Loki did so, and was surprised to see it dancing amidst the flowers, amongst the roots of the tree, a cool blue that produced almost no heat. Through that fire the crowned wolf felt only a gentle warmth; cleansing, almost like aloe, soothing heated flesh. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment, wary of the beckoning flame, but this was his own magic calling to him. Finally, he shook his ruff, sighed, and grasped one of the smaller roots between his jaws and wrenched back and forth until a foot-long piece came free. The moment it detached from its parent, a rich, umame taste filled his mouth, and smoke curled up from either side of his lips. The thistle flower added its own flavor, like toasted milk, and Loki growled softly. He was burning the herbs...hopefully it would not ruin them. Unwilling to stay in the area any longer to gather more, Loki slipped back the way he had come, silently willing his inner fires to settle and not further damage his precious cargo. When he returned it was to find the stallion so drenched in sweat that for a moment Loki thought he had found another source of water. He carefully set the herbs down by the stallion’s powerful hooves. “I found what you asked. I...apologize about their condition. The magic here is strange...I hope they are not too damaged.” With his muzzle he nudged the thistle atop the root so it made a small pile, and then backed away a few steps, ears rotated forward expectantly. template by kyley @Cif'thar |
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