![[Image: 8iEbknAyT.png]](http://cliparts.co/cliparts/8iE/bkn/8iEbknAyT.png)
Trailing the Red
-Part Two-
Coerthas. The well known saying ‘the path to hell is paved with good intentions’ certainly rung true in a less than metaphorical sense for the crunch of heeled boots in the snow. Days had passed, ripped from the calendar. From the deserts of Thanalan, through the Shroud and into frozen wasteland the Fox had trailed it’s prey with little sleep and a survivalist’s menu - enough to keep her at her near-best, yet lacking luxuries that would only slow her down.
Amidst the charred remains of a cluster of pine trees, it was there the highlander’s knee soaked upon frosted ground for but a beat; leather-clad fingers brushing over the blood spattered over the snow. On the latter end of fresh and chilled to harden by the elements, the heat had long since left the smear of ichor and placed it’s occurrence several hours ahead of her. A billowed breath forced it’s way through the woman’s freckled nose, effectively huffing a small cloud of foggy mist through the scarf that wrapper her lower face. She was getting closer; yet so too was the threat of blizzard.
Through the sting of blown, snowy assault the flicker of red fabric was visible even then; contrasting sharply against the brilliant white of the crystallized wonderland in it’s sporadic flap at wind’s behest. It was with a brisk push that the rogue found her feet with a cat-like grace, the ocean hues of a keen-eyed gaze tracking the footprints that marked the ground en route - humanoid and bestial both. The lone garment was retrieved with a lean and snatching roll of the wrist, inspection yielding it to be stained in similar hues of injury. Thumbing the jagged trim of a punctured hole with a slender digit, golden brows proceeded to crease in a frown to match the narrow of long russet lashes.
The destruction upon location was evident, the smoldering charcoal of trees that was clearly magical in nature - discernible even to one whom wasn’t aetherically minded. Signs of a struggle. The spill of blood and the scrape of prints that were already being filled with snowfall. Yet there remained something… off. Slinging the red leather over her shoulder, fingers delving into the folds of her own attire to dance upon the hilt of her blade, the highlander moved to carefully scour the environ; casting aside piled snow and blackened branch in search that would only turn up empty handed. Two combatants, no body, and only one set of clawed tracks departing…
A rogue. A scout. A thief. The Vixen’s talents were those better suited to the shaded alleys of townships and rooftops of civilization than the wilds beyond the ocean’s call. Yet it was flexibility that remained her greatest asset, and the blood of her more barbaric ancestors flowed in her veins even still. The coat, she kept, her eventual trophy folded and hidden from view within the confines of worn satchel slung over shoulder. One trail, bestial or otherwise, was better than nothing.
Amidst the charred remains of a cluster of pine trees, it was there the highlander’s knee soaked upon frosted ground for but a beat; leather-clad fingers brushing over the blood spattered over the snow. On the latter end of fresh and chilled to harden by the elements, the heat had long since left the smear of ichor and placed it’s occurrence several hours ahead of her. A billowed breath forced it’s way through the woman’s freckled nose, effectively huffing a small cloud of foggy mist through the scarf that wrapper her lower face. She was getting closer; yet so too was the threat of blizzard.
Through the sting of blown, snowy assault the flicker of red fabric was visible even then; contrasting sharply against the brilliant white of the crystallized wonderland in it’s sporadic flap at wind’s behest. It was with a brisk push that the rogue found her feet with a cat-like grace, the ocean hues of a keen-eyed gaze tracking the footprints that marked the ground en route - humanoid and bestial both. The lone garment was retrieved with a lean and snatching roll of the wrist, inspection yielding it to be stained in similar hues of injury. Thumbing the jagged trim of a punctured hole with a slender digit, golden brows proceeded to crease in a frown to match the narrow of long russet lashes.
The destruction upon location was evident, the smoldering charcoal of trees that was clearly magical in nature - discernible even to one whom wasn’t aetherically minded. Signs of a struggle. The spill of blood and the scrape of prints that were already being filled with snowfall. Yet there remained something… off. Slinging the red leather over her shoulder, fingers delving into the folds of her own attire to dance upon the hilt of her blade, the highlander moved to carefully scour the environ; casting aside piled snow and blackened branch in search that would only turn up empty handed. Two combatants, no body, and only one set of clawed tracks departing…
A rogue. A scout. A thief. The Vixen’s talents were those better suited to the shaded alleys of townships and rooftops of civilization than the wilds beyond the ocean’s call. Yet it was flexibility that remained her greatest asset, and the blood of her more barbaric ancestors flowed in her veins even still. The coat, she kept, her eventual trophy folded and hidden from view within the confines of worn satchel slung over shoulder. One trail, bestial or otherwise, was better than nothing.
![[Image: m5dwAw.png]](http://imageshack.com/a/img633/5660/m5dwAw.png)
"When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw."
-|| Odette Saoirse | Femme Fatale | Balmung | Wikiâ†Leave rumors! | The Hands of Edelweiss ||-
-|| Odette Saoirse | Femme Fatale | Balmung | Wikiâ†Leave rumors! | The Hands of Edelweiss ||-
