12-16-2019, 01:07 AM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Kaz isn't sure what to expect, exactly, from a stranger on their border.
Where he was from, every intruder was an enemy - even a glimpse of movement in the brush was an attack, an attempt to infiltrate. If the enemy bore good news even upon capture, he became an ally; yet he was still escorted along paths that allowed no sight of their main camp, their vulnerabilities. If the captive was indeed an enemy, he was interrogated. Killed, if he wasn't lucky. It was only after the border was secured and the alleged "enemy" was taken care of that watch teams could reassemble, and life could slip back into an uneasy state of -
No, not peace. It was more like - waiting. Waiting for the next sign. The next order. The next breach in what could best be described as stasis.
But he is no longer a mercenary, nor a stranger to these woods, and Tanglewood, as it seemed, had a lax policy on visitation. Spotting someone near a usual post makes him fall into a low stance, an automatic movement - he's trained to do this, to hold his body close to the earth and move like a predator stalking prey. Always seeking the higher ground, always electing to duck under the brush rather than stick to the well-trodden path, he hardly thinks of what the intruder might want of them. It's only after he can prove to himself that there is no ambush team waiting close by (birds are still chirping, the thin dusting of rotting leaves that still pepper the ground bear no pawprints, the scent on the breeze is undisturbed) that Kaz feels sure enough to step out into the open and approach from the front.
(He doesn't feel unsafe. He'd call that a coward's term. But the sight of an unfamiliar body still makes his breath catch, sometimes.)
There's a stray leaf sticking to his fur. He stops, plucks it off carefully, looks up again to see if the stranger has changed position. "You're on Tanglewood territory." Kazuhira is all business when he finally comes to a stop before the Harbinger, expression sliding towards neutrality as he scents the lingering taste of other clans in the air. A messenger, then. He isn't sure what to make of that just yet. These procedures are still a far cry from the routine he once knew. "State your name and business."
Where he was from, every intruder was an enemy - even a glimpse of movement in the brush was an attack, an attempt to infiltrate. If the enemy bore good news even upon capture, he became an ally; yet he was still escorted along paths that allowed no sight of their main camp, their vulnerabilities. If the captive was indeed an enemy, he was interrogated. Killed, if he wasn't lucky. It was only after the border was secured and the alleged "enemy" was taken care of that watch teams could reassemble, and life could slip back into an uneasy state of -
No, not peace. It was more like - waiting. Waiting for the next sign. The next order. The next breach in what could best be described as stasis.
But he is no longer a mercenary, nor a stranger to these woods, and Tanglewood, as it seemed, had a lax policy on visitation. Spotting someone near a usual post makes him fall into a low stance, an automatic movement - he's trained to do this, to hold his body close to the earth and move like a predator stalking prey. Always seeking the higher ground, always electing to duck under the brush rather than stick to the well-trodden path, he hardly thinks of what the intruder might want of them. It's only after he can prove to himself that there is no ambush team waiting close by (birds are still chirping, the thin dusting of rotting leaves that still pepper the ground bear no pawprints, the scent on the breeze is undisturbed) that Kaz feels sure enough to step out into the open and approach from the front.
(He doesn't feel unsafe. He'd call that a coward's term. But the sight of an unfamiliar body still makes his breath catch, sometimes.)
There's a stray leaf sticking to his fur. He stops, plucks it off carefully, looks up again to see if the stranger has changed position. "You're on Tanglewood territory." Kazuhira is all business when he finally comes to a stop before the Harbinger, expression sliding towards neutrality as he scents the lingering taste of other clans in the air. A messenger, then. He isn't sure what to make of that just yet. These procedures are still a far cry from the routine he once knew. "State your name and business."
[align=center][div style="font-size:12pt;font-family:verdana;color:#4c5461;letter-spacing:-2pt;"][i][b]—-— I GET [color=#4c5461]MEAN WHEN I'M
NERVOUS, LIKE A BAD DOG
NERVOUS, LIKE A BAD DOG