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+--- Thread: [OPEN] Old MacDonald Had a Farm [The Pen] (/thread-1142.html)
Old MacDonald Had a Farm [The Pen] - Piper - October 05, 2017
The Dragon spread its wings and let her see past the red, through the foggy veil that clung to the forest floor. ‘There, darlin’.’ That southern drawl held so much promise the slender woman could not help but follow, submit to the wolf’s order, and obey. This is how she found herself surrounded by stone hewn walls, and lesser animals. Her flock pranced in the green, eating to their heart’s content, playing, simply existing. They weren’t afraid or leery of their surroundings, and she felt warm happiness curl in her chest. It was a wonderful sight, and she couldn’t help but muse if her master appreciated her efforts. Yes, they’d suffered losses (Tortuga’s flames a bitter memory), but they’d flourish now. His children would live and die as they should, and provide the wares she’d need to earn her keep.
Their bones could be boiled for the marrow and crushed for ink. Their skins would be tanned, and the wool woven into fine things. The goats provided milk for abandoned babes, and simple meats. Meats she could dry, or even spice over a flame. There were simply so many possibilities in Alteron that Piper would forever be indebted to Azuhel. No one else would hold her attention, but the Red Dragon.
That was enough for today though. She had work to do. The hellion rose from her place on a large, flat boulder. It was high enough to let her survey the walled kingdom, but not so much that it was precarious. She landed daintily on her paws, her long coat swaying in the wind as she approached the llama. Gnork glared at her, but allowed her to reach in his satchel for her tools. They were crude, but effective, and the sheep needed shearing. Piper danced away as Gnork spat at her, grumbling as he rose to his cloven hooves and bounced away. His ears pinned back, but he settled only a few feet away; grazing, but watchful. Her private sentinel. He might not like her or appreciate her, but the flock would never suffer an attack with him on patrol.
It’s why she put up with his fatass.
Piper trotted to the wide stream that flowed through the pen. It was deep enough that it reached her elbows, but that was a good thing. She looked to her flock and let out a series of low barks, similar to how a lion would call it’s young. The animals milled around, but eventually formed a line. The lambs and kids, however, continued their silly games. She didn’t mind. They were too young to be sheared, and she was afraid the damp weather would make them sick. The shaggiest ewe approached with a sad sound, carefully wading into the water with droopy ears. “I know, I know,” The hellion cooed as she stroked the animal’s nose. “Don’t worry!” She chirped, humming a lullaby as she scrubbed the sheep down. She made sure to reach good and deep, picking out burrs and other plant matter from the wool.
Once she was sure the sheep was mostly clean, she led the soggy sponge from the stream onto the shore. “It’s okay, baby,” She whispered to the downcast ewe, gripping her shears. The rudimentary tools did the trick as she carefully peeled away the wool. The process was slow, and she was lucky the sheep trusted her so much. Careful now, ca- The sheep suddenly bleated and bucked. Piper dropped the shears to keep from cutting it, grabbing the frightened thing with her paws. “Hey, hey! What’s the-?” She turned her head, following the wide-eyed stare. Someone entered the pen. Someone came inside, and could have potentially ruined the wool by staining it with blood. She curled her lip, growling, “Please be careful! I could have hurt her!” She scowled at the person, and then went to work soothing the poor thing.
Once the ewe settled down the hellion picked up the shears, and continued her good work. It’d still take time. “Is there something I can help you with?” Piper called back over her shoulder. She glanced to the left. Gnork was watching. His ears were pointed forward, and he no longer grazed. One wrong move from the newcomer, and they’d get daggered in the face. Llamas weren’t afraid of anything.
Especially wolves.
RE: Old MacDonald Had a Farm [The Pen] - Piper - October 05, 2017
Leviathan had a deeply ingrained feeling that there was something out there to be discovered, within their pretty little pack walls. Something he hadn't seen before. Despite his strange moods, his enthusiasm could be endless, and he pushed his body with the energy of a good night's sleep. On and on he went until he saw a wall, and smelled something fairly unfamiliar. As he approached, her realized that the smell was not the only unfamiliar thing about it.
There were what, sheep? He heard of them, maybe seen one or two, but never this many. Never so calm, grazing and playing. Leviathan pushed into the pen, eyes as wide as ever but this time actually surprised. He barely noticed the hellhound trying to shear a sheep no too far away. It was only when he heard the bleating and a buck did he look in her direction, ears perked and body perfectly still, afraid to do something wrong in such a strange situation. He blinked slowly, processing the other's words.
"Well, sorry." he wasn't sure what exactly he was apologizing for. It wasn't his fault the sheep got spooked by him. It was hardly a normal sight. "What is this? This setup?" he motioned vaguely to the whole thing, slowly moving forward, carefully, occasionally glancing over the the llama. "I've never seen anything like this before, what is your name? What are you doing?" his eyes finally landed to the blade she had. This had a lot of possibilities, from meat to whatever the animals could provide for craft.
Even if he had no idea what to do with the lesser animals, he figured this was still in his interest. Anything new was, but this especially was perfect. The hellhound he was now facing looked horribly interesting as well, tending to the herd. What else could she do? What else would she be willing to do? Wanted to do? Leviathan straightened up, and demanded answers.