04-28-2017, 08:41 AM
If someone had wandered the forests of Camelot, and if that someone had left the path and come to a nameless river near the edge of the verse, they may have been greeted by the sight of Karil bathing in a pool that had formed at the foot of a little waterfall.
But nobody strays from the beaten paths of the forests of Camelot, because they fear the predators.
The wolpertinger had her clothes on as she stood beneath the waterfall and allowed the cold water to splash onto her, so that they would be washed at the same time as herself. What had once been white linen and light leather was now all dark brown, its fibre having changed its color a little more each time that Karil had walked through the foliage, rolled around in a pit of mud to camouflage her light fur, dug her claws and teeth into the carcass of a hunted prey or hidden in a hollow tree or burrow when running from a predator that was even bigger than her. The green and blue, the red, brown and black and many more colors present in the forest had left their marks on her clothes, and with time layer upon layer of color had mixed with the others and tainted the clothes until no amount of water could clean it off anymore. Not that Karil minded. The dark brown allowed her to vanish into the forest much better than the bright white of her fur which gave her location away to any predator or potential prey from miles away. Similarly the smell of dirt, moss, trees, berries and many other 'forest' smells obscured her own scent, in the event that she had to sneak up on a prey downwind.
Some poor devil who had been killed and robbed blind had been laying there, rotting by the wayside of a path that Karil had scouted on a day where she was feeling particularly bold. She had picked up the smell of blood, found the remains of a caravan and the dead horse, and the body not laying far away. She had not understood what had happened and could not make sense of the feathered sticks in the corpse's chest and the horse's neck, but she understood that they were the cause of death. And when dead you didn't need clothes, or anything else for that matter, so Karil had taken the dead man's trousers, his shirt and his jacket, and put them on in the same way that he had worn them. The jacket swiftly was discarded again because of the metal buttons on it that glimmered in the sunlight and had a strong smell, and because it was thick and hot. Karil's furcoat was already providing her with more than enough heat. But the shirt and the trousers had stayed, and Karil had made them hers.
Now they were a near-indispensable asset. They weren't always comfortable but because they held smells and their color so well Karil had become able to take on hunts that would otherwise have failed, and she had comfortably escaped situations that would otherwise have turned out much hairier.
Her bath done, Karil stepped to the edge of the water and sunk her body into the foul-smelling mixture that had washed up at its shore: mud, sand, half-composted branches, leaves and small plants, insects and one or two larger carcasses. With her own smell mostly neutralized by the water, this swampy paste seeped into her fur and clothes and completely suppressed it, while at the same time making her blend in more with the forest. It was time to hunt.
Two pheasants ate on a tiny clearing, gobbling up insects and wild berries from a bush and blissfully unaware of the predator until she was right behind them. Neither had the time to feel pain or fear as she snapped both necks at the same time. She ensured that they were dead and, hearing neither heartbeat nor breath, proceeded to strip them of their feathery suit, gut them with her claws, and dig into one of them, while wrapping the other into a big leaf. Lunch was served, dinner was taken care of too.
If someone had wandered the forests of Camelot, and if that someone had left the path and come to a tiny clearing near the edge of the verse, they may have been greeted by the sight of a stag-horned wolf wearing a shirt and trousers, devouring the raw meat of a bird and smelling worse than a compost heap.
But nobody strays from the beaten paths of the forests of Camelot, because they fear the predators.
But nobody strays from the beaten paths of the forests of Camelot, because they fear the predators.
The wolpertinger had her clothes on as she stood beneath the waterfall and allowed the cold water to splash onto her, so that they would be washed at the same time as herself. What had once been white linen and light leather was now all dark brown, its fibre having changed its color a little more each time that Karil had walked through the foliage, rolled around in a pit of mud to camouflage her light fur, dug her claws and teeth into the carcass of a hunted prey or hidden in a hollow tree or burrow when running from a predator that was even bigger than her. The green and blue, the red, brown and black and many more colors present in the forest had left their marks on her clothes, and with time layer upon layer of color had mixed with the others and tainted the clothes until no amount of water could clean it off anymore. Not that Karil minded. The dark brown allowed her to vanish into the forest much better than the bright white of her fur which gave her location away to any predator or potential prey from miles away. Similarly the smell of dirt, moss, trees, berries and many other 'forest' smells obscured her own scent, in the event that she had to sneak up on a prey downwind.
Some poor devil who had been killed and robbed blind had been laying there, rotting by the wayside of a path that Karil had scouted on a day where she was feeling particularly bold. She had picked up the smell of blood, found the remains of a caravan and the dead horse, and the body not laying far away. She had not understood what had happened and could not make sense of the feathered sticks in the corpse's chest and the horse's neck, but she understood that they were the cause of death. And when dead you didn't need clothes, or anything else for that matter, so Karil had taken the dead man's trousers, his shirt and his jacket, and put them on in the same way that he had worn them. The jacket swiftly was discarded again because of the metal buttons on it that glimmered in the sunlight and had a strong smell, and because it was thick and hot. Karil's furcoat was already providing her with more than enough heat. But the shirt and the trousers had stayed, and Karil had made them hers.
Now they were a near-indispensable asset. They weren't always comfortable but because they held smells and their color so well Karil had become able to take on hunts that would otherwise have failed, and she had comfortably escaped situations that would otherwise have turned out much hairier.
Her bath done, Karil stepped to the edge of the water and sunk her body into the foul-smelling mixture that had washed up at its shore: mud, sand, half-composted branches, leaves and small plants, insects and one or two larger carcasses. With her own smell mostly neutralized by the water, this swampy paste seeped into her fur and clothes and completely suppressed it, while at the same time making her blend in more with the forest. It was time to hunt.
Two pheasants ate on a tiny clearing, gobbling up insects and wild berries from a bush and blissfully unaware of the predator until she was right behind them. Neither had the time to feel pain or fear as she snapped both necks at the same time. She ensured that they were dead and, hearing neither heartbeat nor breath, proceeded to strip them of their feathery suit, gut them with her claws, and dig into one of them, while wrapping the other into a big leaf. Lunch was served, dinner was taken care of too.
If someone had wandered the forests of Camelot, and if that someone had left the path and come to a tiny clearing near the edge of the verse, they may have been greeted by the sight of a stag-horned wolf wearing a shirt and trousers, devouring the raw meat of a bird and smelling worse than a compost heap.
But nobody strays from the beaten paths of the forests of Camelot, because they fear the predators.