|
Post by delerix on Apr 16, 2013 21:33:51 GMT -5
Gasping and panting after running so far after the lack of air caused by Jellal's, yeah stink bomb was the right word for that kind of thing. Sitting down finally he takes the time to catch his breath.
"Jellal, you're apologizing for likely saving both of our necks back there. I'm thanking you for that right now, I mean heck even if we had gotten out of there without use of your stink-bomb it's not like we'd be able to head back to my den anytime for a bit."
Inktail looks around at the area and nods as if to himself. "Jellal, we're going to need to do some walking for at least a fair while now." He gets up, slings his pack on his shoulders, gets up and frowns. "I know somewhere not too far, though we may need to camp out for one night. By the way, those Otters I mentioned possibly introducing you to someday, that day is likely to be tomorrow." He knows Jellal is scared of water, but Camp Willow is the nearest location he can think of that would be honestly safe for him and a friend of his, as far as something like that Wildcat is concerned.
|
|
|
Post by unknownsoldier on Apr 16, 2013 21:42:08 GMT -5
Jellal rested a bit to catch his breath. "I actually agree with you. i don't care if were near water. Its better then nothing." Jellal was in total agreement when Inktail suggested his idea. Though as long as the water wasn't too big, he was fine.
He got up and stretched. Then he shouldered his pack. "So...which way is it to these Otters you know so well?" Jellal asks while letting him lead the way. Better to let him lead while he would cover their tracks.
|
|
|
Post by DanceMastah on Apr 17, 2013 9:32:35 GMT -5
"Now if you utter a movement, I will kill you. Is this understood?"
Deathfang knew that what the marten was saying was true. So, Deathfang held his hands up, and, as his arms desceded down he grabbed one of his knives from its sheath in the stitching where the hood meets the cape, and threw it.
|
|
|
Post by Directed by M. Night Shyamalan on Apr 17, 2013 13:42:55 GMT -5
Damn cats are quick. Only the motion of reaching for the knife saved him, Tarlish ducked to the side just as the knife whizzed past him. He released his bowstring, sending the arrow zipping away into the dark wide of his target, plunging into the brush. No time for another arrow. He thought grimly, jumping back and reaching for his sword, the dull-colored blade sliding loose with a ring.
Gaining his footing, Tarlish dropped into a fluid fighters stance, awaiting the cats move.
|
|