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Winterheart; DNR
Topic Started: Sat Jul 15, 2017 4:17 pm (1,380 Views)
Milgar
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Shadows danced above him, dotting the surface not too far above his head. The stretched for miles, broken only by the ever-shifting currents that carried them, creating a shell-like pattern as far as his canine eyes could see. His pale blue eyes flitted this way and that, seeking a sufficient gap between the frigid floes. Ice was prominent here, so prominent that it was a wonder there was any water at all - and yet, there was. For how else could his species, and so many others in these waters, survive? The gills running along his neck were hidden by his fur, yet they took in water and drew the air from it easily enough; his teeth were sealed shut, firmly but not tightly enough to be a painful clench, and he had closed the openings that allowed air in through his nostrils. He could breathe as easily on land as underwater, but he dried out way too fast for his liking on land and was no good at moving across it beside. So for him, the existence of the water just made sense.

But the ice was good, too. His body was used to temperatures that most of the two-legged races couldn’t handle. His companion, though - that strange, similarly amphibious, bipedal creature with whom he often traveled - he was rather unique. He saw his people rarely, but they often moved strangely to sounds that made no sense to him. Their legs would rise into the air as though to attack, only to then sink to the ground once more in order to alternate the movement from one leg to the other; their arms would wave in nonsensical patterns, as though they were trying to signal one another, yet the waving meant nothing to him; and their heads would bob and roll as terrifying sounds rising and falling in odd tones were let loose from within them. Then there was the pounding of those things they called “drums” and spears against shields and air moving through sticks with lots of holes in them.

They were an odd race, indeed. But the one he knew called himself Milgar, and he called his canine companion Winterheart. It was a strange thing, the whole naming custom, but Winterheart accepted it. How could he not, after all? If that was how Milgar identified him as his companion, then so be it. The two had shared many hunts together. But Winterheart had already hunted this day. Ah…a gap just wide enough for him to fit through. Milgar shot past him from somewhere off to the side, laughing gleefully as he darted out of the water with no tact whatsoever. Winterheart shook his head and smoothly broke the surface, opening his nostrils and his jaws as he did so. As his gills left the water, they closed to drain. His webbed paws slapped onto the ice and stuck there for just long enough that he could pull himself out of the water. Milgar had said that some canines shook themselves dry when they emerged from bodies of water, but that made no sense to Winterheart.

How did they survive if they were always getting rid of the very thing that gave them life?

Winterheart stopped once he was balanced upon the ice and looked around, his eyes widening as they adjusted. It was twilight now, though that didn’t mean much to Winterheart. Like Milgar, he could see in complete darkness relatively well; he had to in order to be able to navigate the depths of the ocean, after all. So to him, the fading light of the surface meant little. When the stars came, assuming the clouds did not obscure them (as they often did), he would be able to see just as well as most surface-dwellers could in bright sunlight. Frankly, though, bright sunlight was blinding to Winterheart; it hurt his eyes, as they were made for darkness rather than light. He didn’t like it. But twilight was okay.

Milgar was doing that weird thing again where he put his lips together and let wind pass through them. It produced a strange, high-pitched sound that Winterheart wasn’t entirely fond of. But it got his attention, and Milgar wasn’t intending to hurt his sensitive ears, which were now perked up as he turned his head toward the strange creature. Taking one last look around, he plodded across the ice and leapt from one floe to the next. With every step, he slipped a little, and he had to brace himself when he jumped in order to land properly without sliding back into the water. The edges of the ice hurt just as much as the blinding light in the middle of the day did! Thankfully, Winterheart did not need his eyes when he hunted. He would unleash the elemental ice born within him as a freezing mist from below the cracks between the ice floes, stunning his prey, and then close his eyes as he leapt to recover it.

The prey would drown, and he would have his meal.

It was different underwater, of course. He didn’t have a pack to support him, but then again, neither did Milgar; Milgar did all right for someone without a pack. And like Milgar, Winterheart ran into others of his kind sometimes. It wasn’t usually quite as friendly as when Milgar met his people, however. But these thoughts were pushed aside as Winterheart treaded upon (somewhat) solid ground once more. Milgar affectionately called his enormous island home a “frozen swamp”. There were many trees whose odd, mostly bare branches dropped into icy rivers and lakes; the bluish moss of varying shades that covered the trees was as cold as the ice from whence Winterheart had just come.

”Found a weird new cave today, Winterheart,” Milgar was saying.

Winterheart did not care about a cave, but Milgar clearly did. He was excited. He was a very excitable fellow to begin with, though.

”Let’s explore it, shall we?”

Winterheart rolled his eyes but said nothing…which wasn’t surprising, considering he couldn’t really speak the way Milgar could.

Well, then…whether he wanted it or not…(mis)adventure, here he came…
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