as much as he avoided his actual job, lycaon wasn't one for laziness; being in one place too long, not moving, it bored him. he was restless, that was the truth of it; he wanted something to do that wasn't his boring old butcher job. he'd never liked the smell of blood, and if he spent too long in the butcher, his stomach would start to turn.

which is how he found himself here, sitting over a pile of paper, frowning as he attempted to fold the paper into the shape of a bird. it was no use though, truly; his paws were too meaty to hold something so delicate. maybe he should just go back to the butcher.

He had no idea how long it had been. Seconds, minutes, centuries, eons' time had seemed to meld into one flashing vision on the other side. He'd seen things there that had opened his eyes, and yet, back in the realm of the living, all he could seem to remember was the guilt that encumbered him and the blood that had soaked his fur.

He hadn't awoke with a startle, or an audible gasp; it had been a slow thing. The sounds of birds chirping around him is what drew him from almost slumber, and then a foul stench in his nose ensured he would get no more rest. At last, he cracked his eyes open, shutting them again immediately against the blazing overhead sunlight.

He was parched. Slowly, roughly, he pushed himself so he was laying on his stomach, eyes cracking open every few seconds as they adjusted to familiar, and yet unfamiliar, light. water, his mind whispered; or was it? That didn't sound like his voice. find water it whispered again, and so he did.

He rose even slower than he had woke, his bones almost seeming to creak like that of an old, abandoned cabin. There was something unusual afoot, he could smell it; for starters, why was he... alive? The blood seemed to drain out of his face at the thought. Why was he alive? He didn't have an answer, and as he nervously stepped left paw to right paw, surveying the land, he decided it didn't matter. The voice in his head was getting louder; who was that? It most certainly wasn't him.

The thought of someone in his head was an unwelcome one, but it was not the height of his problems right now; his thirst creeping up on him, the lion stumbled at first before breaking off into a somewhat clumsier walk towards a clear-looking pool of which the stars twinkled inside. But that couldn't be, could it? The stars were in the sky, not in the water.

Oh, he was overthinking things. He looked down into the water, and with a start and an audible shout, jumped backwards, his hind-paw landing awkwardly on a rock, and he tumbled into a heap of snow.

But the snow was the least of his worries. Even the voice in his head whispering for him to find water was quiet now; the lion that had stared back at him in his reflection had not been him. Was he dreaming?

I've been here in your world! -- icarian. coalition of the condemned.

Everett was a lot of thing, he knew this as fact. They were too loud, talked too much, too excitable, too much too much too much. It never really hurt their feelings being shooed away or being shut down, but it certainly made him feel lonely. But, said loneliness found them a small little strip of beach perfect to catch fish on. The snow in small heaps across the sand, and the water so bright the Icarian's smile seemed to glitter.

They found a place to fish, at least to relax for now, he reasoned.

Unpacking his gear, the now calm hyperactive hybrid began setting up their camp. A nest of pillows and blankets on top of a clear area, a small charcoal grill he made themself with the help of a smith on his travels (it certainly didn't look the prettiest but it did its job damn well), a few seasoning he traded for, and a few tools. The lack of fishing pole was glaring, but at the moment, Everett longed to dive bomb into the glittering ocean, feel the cold rush around him as he expertly catches a fish. They could bring a small pole next time, he reasoned.

Fluffing his wings, the feathers glossy and yet still so downy, the male launched himself into the air as his eyes sharpened, carefully keeping their shadow away from any schools of fish they could spot. Their usually cluttered mind clear except for this one task, his claws outstretched to sink in and grab, his mouth watering at the thought of later when he cooks their priz-

Like an arrow, the hybrid shot into the water, barely a splash at the entry. The seconds passed by until they emerged with a huge sawara (mackerel, they corrected in their head) flopping in his claws, but their wings never faltered as he carried the fish to their camp. A determined look on their usually carefree visage. Touching down, Everett quickly placed the fish in too small bucket and grabbed another bucket to fill with salt water to clean the fish with on the side.

Sighing, they grabbed another bucket and began flitting around for snow. Bucketful after bucketful, the Icarian made a sorta box to put the fish in until it froze so he could kill it without blood or struggling ("this is the best way to kill fish, lad, it makes them taste better since they don't overwork their muscles and humane, s-", he shook the memory away). Their paws aching from the cold snow and ice, they picked the calm fish back up and placed it in the makeshift ice box (maybe he should ask a local smith if they could craft one that he could place fish in).

In the meantime, the hybrid raised his tail as he readied his workspace ahead of time. Their grill set up with a few choice pieces of charcoal, some rough salt, a bit of sake (rice wine, he could hear their old mentor correct in his head), his filet knife, a board, and the dread of descaling the mackerel.

For now, though, the fish could wait as he got everything set up, they reasoned.

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[td]CUTTING THAT BRANCH OFF THE CHERRY TREE
[color=#A87F8A]"Oh, where did I put it!?"

Her voice echoed around the cave she had set up shop within. The crackle and pop of fresh firewood filled the air, the scent of broken eggs following after. In her rush, the calico molly had accidentally dropped an egg from her small basket, exasperation on her face. She felt so frustrated, so useless in so many ways she couldn't count them all on her paws.

So much had happened, so many people had left her life, she had lost so many people she cherished. What had she gained for it? The feelings were bubbling up inside in a volatile tangle, not unlike a soda bottle about to erupt. Fluffy tail lashing behind the scarred up former knight, her paws dancing around the broken egg shell and yolk, tears blurring her vision as she struggled to control herself. It would be alright. She could it in. She had to.

Lifting her head to the sky, or rather, roof of her cave, Merlin would take a few deep breaths as she listened to her fire crackle. It was okay. She had friends who needed her, and she so deeply needed them. Things were carrying on, life was happening and she had to keep up with it. Sitting on her haunches, the molly pushed her paws over her face, pushing back her fur from her face, touching the nimble braids that held back a bunch of her most offending fur. Inhaling she slapped her furry cheeks and opened ruby-red eyes with a huff of breath.

Breaking into a song she hadn't heard in ages, pulling the sound and lyrics from her memory, from when she had been a kitten years ago and her mother had sung the song to her. Now that she thought about the lyrics, she wondered if everything had been alright with her parents, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You'll never know dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away~" she hummed as she calmed herself down, coming back to a state of calm. It was what she could do that she had to focus on. Romulus was still alive and healing, Byriath had made it home, Plexus was here and needed her shoulder. She'd sworn to help the Coalition when she'd arrived.

Picking up her basket again, the thick furred molly shook her head and headed out to the clearing and called out, "Hey! I'm gonna bake some cookies and muffins! Does anybody wanna give me a paw? I'd be happy to teach anyone, you'll even get to take them home after! I just need some help getting some more eggs - any kind will do! I've also got some drinks for the adults and juice for the youngsters!" Looking down, she breathed in and out, sifting her paws through her basket. Flour. She was going to need more for her plans but it was easy enough, she knew where to find more. She was most concerned about her cookies were going to turn out, she had a few recipes she wanted to try.

But she had a secret she didn't want too many people to know. She still couldn't smell a whole lot of anything. She needed the extra hand with baking if only for the use of another's olfactory senses.[/td][/tr][/table]

Everyday it was getting easier to pull herself out of the Guru’s sanctuary. She had some minor cuts here and there from when she arrived at the Condemned. They were healing nicely, but she liked to help out where she could and stay a bit longer in the sancturary. Especially when they generously assisted her when she needed help the most. Talking to her new peers was another kind of battle. Though, she was talking to her peers more and more. Making friends was still difficult, but she was trying her best.

Ruelle had been eying an older wolf for a day or two. It was a bad habit. She needed to stop creeping on others. But she liked to know what she was getting into. Jasper seemed like a new friend that she could make. Moreso, he looked strong. Like he could show her a thing or two about what it took to be a member here. Fitting in was exactly what she wanted and this was a good way to go about it.

The young female approached him this time, instead of watching him walk past like the days before. ”Hey. I’m Ruelle.” Nothing else came out. She smiled up at him. The girl finally blinked once she realized she needed to keep going. ”Oh- I was hoping you’d be willing to spar with me. Y’know, show me how it works here as far as how we have to defend ourselves. Are there a lot of fights around here?” Perfect, there was her delivery. It didn’t go too awful, and she topped it off with a grin.

When Ruelle stumbled upon the territory of the Condemned she arrived battered and bruised. They were like her, in a way, as a wanderer. Looking for a home. She hoped this place would accept her as a true member eventually. Two weeks had passed, and the knowing glances didn’t go unnoticed. She was new. New was bad. At least, that was what she learned after spending months alone in the wild.

She longed to make some kind of connection here. If this was to be her new home, she was going to make friends. Loneliness gripped her. She was determined to shake free from it one way or another.

Initially too timid to make conversation with anyone, she wasn’t aware of the hierarchy here. All she knew was that a certain pelt of black and gray became too familiar to her. Seeing Romulus in passing felt like she already knew him before he knew her. This was a start. It was the day she’d finally approach him instead of sitting by. Ruelle wouldn’t allow any more wasted opportunities to slip through.

”Hey,” Approaching him brought each of her paws deeper into a pit of anxiety. Ruelle did her best to stifle the emotion. ”Hi. I was wondering if you’d like to go pick some herbs and flowers for the Gurus with me? I’m Ruelle- by the way.” She smiled, tilting her head.

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MEMORIES TURN INTO DAYDREAMS! -- fae borzoi. cotc.

Days had bled into weeks which had bled into months. He'd been gone for too long, unaware of the situation back in the Coalition, too caught up in his own issues and those regarding his children. Such issues had led to the fae to have heard that one of his pups lived, rumored to be on some island. Not some island, he had decided, But the one I fled from in my injured state years ago. Back where I was a loyalist. Such news had troubled him, it still did. His son was still alive, kept in the company of the people he had called friends once. Cannibals. The people who now had his son, and for his son's sake, he hoped they didn't know he was his. Val had been a friend one but they'd begun to fall out before he'd volunteered to leave. He had smartened the hell up and gotten out of town, but not before sustaining injuries in an attack that put him at risk of death.

Pulse pounding in his ears as he approached the border of the Coalition. He could remember the agony, the broken bones and torn muscle. He still walked with a limp most days, and the cold of the winter only made it worse. In the months since his disappearance, the fae had won the most important battle, finding Rastam after he left the Coalition, and slaughtering the trophy hunter. The lion's dark pelt now rested upon his shoulders and back, keeping his body heat close to him, wings pinned to his body.

Inhaling and stepping over the border, the canine trod towards camp with a steely glint in his eyes. Stepping foot into camp after a while of traversing, the white pelted male lowered the hood of the lion pelt, it's thick fur settling against his fur roughly, his breath misting his muzzle now. "I'm back. This place looks like it's been in a tough spot ...", he spoke softly as faces peered from the caves towards him. Shuddering from a chill, wondering when spring would come.

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