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 A Fleeting Chance

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Eaton

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Posts : 319
Join date : 2013-10-28
Location : Texas

PostSubject: A Fleeting Chance    Tue 17 Apr 2018, 21:22

While most of the heard had merely perished with the arrival of the Storm Eater, a handful of the once majestic buffalo now surrounded the prodigals. Each of the disfigured beasts stood on two hind legs, towering above even the werewolves warform. Their horns elongated as their hooves twisted into spindly claws. The winds swept around them, threatening to sweep the Garou off their feet.

Course this thing was gonna show up- this hunt was goin’ too smoothly.  

Each of his packmates were already engaged in battle, quickly shifting into crinos in response, Fae Carver mustering his Fiana strength to fight beside his pain. Eaton lowered himself to spring onto the nearest of the fell creatures, preparing to tear away as many limbs he was able. He suddenly stopped himself, ripping himself from the haze of battle and instead looked southward. He had lost sight of the Comanche he was running alongside, and as he scanned he was unable to spot them within the storm. He still managed to catch a whiff of their scent, but failed to discern the beats of their horses.

Your pack needs you! Stay and fight! He said to himself, Fae Carver can barely walk! Think you can handle losing another packmate?

He steeled himself, though he remained still, seemingly defiant against the two storms that raged around him. Try as he might, be could not banish the image of the sickly, thin faces of the hunters.

But this is my only chance.

Rends howled his warcry and tore into one of the Stormborn with his claws, before the fell beast replied by gouging the Arhoun with its overgrown horn. Eiger followed Rend’s lead, ramming his spear into the warped skull of another, managing to pierce clean though its abdomen.

The Storm Eater will twist them, too.  If I wait any longer, it’ll be too late!

Zoe called down her lightening onto the corrupted bison, all of whom still pressed the attack despite their smoldering wounds.  

I won’t be forced to kill them!

Avoiding the eyes of his packmates, Eaton tore from the frenzy, steaking south where he last saw the riders.

“Where the hell are you going!?” Zoe’s voice cried above the winds, though Eaton did not spare his Theurge even a glance to acknowledge her. He leapt and tumbled though the brush and over the remains of the buffalo corpses, all the while being buffeted by the winds.  

Please be safe . . . Please . . .

Mere seconds later, he spotted the group of men. He said a quick prayer of thanks to Gaia that they appeared unharmed. The riders stared at the maelstrom before them, the vile winds had thankfully not yet spread this far. Still, they stood firm, seemingly not sure what to make what they saw. Eaton threw himself behind a bush, shifting back into his human self before he rolled to his feet in view of the men. He bellowed in the Comanche tongue,

“Run back to your people! Flee before this storm comes upon you! Go and don’t look back!”

The man tore their gaze away from the unnatural storm to give Eaton a look of confusion. Their demeanor lasted only a second before they rounded their horses. As they kicked off into the west, the whole scene seemed to freeze in place around the Galliard as a dozen questions surged forth from within. They all crammed against one another so they all went unspoken, leaving him standing with his mouth agape. “Where are you from? Why were you hunting this way? Does your tribe need help? Do you even want my help? Do you cast out people like me? Why didn’t I stay with you?

He quickly came to and realized what he was doing was absurd. He had done what he came to do. He knew they couldn’t possibly tell him what he wanted- yet, he would never get an answer if he never asked the question. As the hunters fled, so did another chance learning where he was from. Just like many times before.

They’ll be another chance. He told himself, shifting back into lupus and running the way he came. Next one’ll be the time, I know it!

As soon as he saw his pack again, he allowed the thrill of rage to drown out his inner voice, the voice that tried to protest that he told himself the same thing last time. And the time before that.
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