Яikyn

I left Rhea in continued good humor, venturing eastward from our departure in the willows and hoping to not cross paths with her for some time again.  While it was fun pretending to be overly friendly with hybrids, I couldn’t help but wonder just how that particular delight would come back to haunt me in the future.  Women could be weird in the emotional department, and I, or Calor rather, had insinuated quite voraciously his appetite for some bird-icorn.
 
Spring was just around the bend, after all – unless it’s another false warming, where Birdsong peeps it head around the corner, sticks its tongue out, and blows a big fat raspberry full of snow at you for all your hopefulness.
 
Either way, I’ve been duped; the taunting season rushes through my young body like a drug, making me itchy inside, deep down, the sort of itch that means you have do something, anything, to pay homage to the thrill of life that reveals itself in the thinning of the snow, the chorus of birds, and the hum in the midnight air of creatures stirring or roused from their deep rests.  It’s the sort of feeling that makes me reckless, and though not quite as bad as when I’m pissed or melancholy, it makes me want to do… dangerous things.
 
So here I’ve found myself, again.  The scars on my ass and shoulder from their Snowflake’s shuriken assault are only just scars, but whatever.  I learned my lesson the first time, and I have been practicing, knowing now to stick to the hush of snow, or the utter silence of the still earth, unlettered with leaves or twigs.  I’ve also figured out a few tricks to get the occasional branch out of my way as I tip toe down deer trails, rain ruts – other natural paths hewn by Earth itself through their forest.
 
Again, as I had the first time, however, I didn’t think the entire situation through before I jumped into it, finding myself now a good distance from a swift escape and realizing, with horrid swiftness, that I might not be the only one who knows about deer trails.
 
It’s mostly the set of hoof prints that are inlayed in the dried rims of the puddle ahead of me, born from the melting snow on the high boughs above, the Moon twinkling on the surface of the murky water, but now that I breathe in with my nose aimed for the smells of others (having, again, been caught up in the grand sneakiness of my escapade)…
 
Shit.
 
[ OOC: He’s here mostly to meet d’Arcy, but we are also playing ninja ~ however, he’s an idiot, so cue the forces!  Idk how far you guys would like to say he’s made it in, but he can’t see the wall anymore.  Feel free to rough him up a bit if you want or to otherwise cast magic/kick and or bite/yell at him. ]

in every heart a hole