![[Image: 8iEbknAyT.png]](http://cliparts.co/cliparts/8iE/bkn/8iEbknAyT.png)
Trailing the Red
-Part Three-
From sewn seed to raging tide, all things have their time to flourish before inevitable downfall. Ebonbrand, for all her hard work, was simply a means to an end. Odette had learned what she needed to of it’s garlean leader several moons ago. So why had she stayed? Was it further proof she had wished for? Was it being able to use her power as Septimus’ advisory right hand to turn the outcome of events to her favor? Prevent harm to the undeserving, or Eorzea as a whole? It mattered little at this point in time. The anonymous tip the Brass Blades would be receiving was a card already in play, timed with the need to put an end to their enemy, Redwall. By the time she returned, Ebonbrand would be no more. Two birds, one stone… achieved with the flick of fox’s tail. Anonymous.
With the passing of time, each step placed upon the snowscape drove the highlander further into the chilled grasp of blizzard’s claw. Each whipped sheet of hail; a rake of frozen nails that tore at her person, bundled as she was. The howl of wind was her melody now, a haunted orchestra that accompanied forced trail through sleet, past the remains of encampment and bloodied bandages where wolf’s prints beckoned ever onward. There had been little to find in such a place beyond the curiosity of discarded dressings and scattered nuts and bolts, strange in it’s own merit. Yet it was the booted tracks that returned anew, three sets of humanoid tread joining the clawed pads for a time; only to break and separate at undefined crossroad that held her focus.
It was the trail of three she chose to follow up through the rocky crags of the north, the sharp words of violet-haired duskwrite’s nagging akin to a buried splinter at the back of her mind with the clench of jaw. Frost had always been the smartest of those she worked with, despite his sadistic nature and highly questionable ethics. He thought her foolish, of course. Acting in disobedience of ‘orders’ she’d not once heard, unknowing of just what it was that drove her to action and the steps she’d gone to for success. Perhaps she was, in her own way. There was no denying the risk that came with confrontation, silent as it may be. But whilst Odette was not one to throw herself carelessly into situations, there remained binds to the Code at the core of her being that demanded she hunt down the man who broke it.
The hiss of wind grew stronger; a banshee’s wail that enveloped the landscape in blanketed haze of pelted snow and obstructed vision that chilled to the bone. Each step become a struggle and with each and every one, so too was the trail she followed stolen away with the breath of her lungs for weather’s vengeful turn. It was not the harsh bite of storm’s chill alone that rose the hairs of neck’s nape, however. For within the icy veil, there came a feeling of being watched; the bottomless churn of one’s stomach and the dart of keen-ocean hues into the darkness of unknown space. Gloved fingers uncurled from half-frozen state to flit about frozen cloth wherein blade rested, yet there remained only she and the howl of blizzard’s wrath.
So it was that the highlander, in her wisdom, forced abandon for the trail snowed over in the dark of night; retreating to the craggy outlay of mountain’s stone corroded to inlet by the sculpt of time. Beneath the shallow cliff, no more than ten fulm from the ground she walked, Odette took what little shelter it offered with the firm press of swaddled, shapely form to rocky surface. The trail was lost to the storm that raged around and beyond, a present failure that drew jaw to clench in frustration. And yet… there remained that which the snow did not, or could not, swallow. A sensation; a presence. The undeniable feeling of being watched and the eyes that drank in the vision; manifested to stare through frosted curtain with the gleam of predatory yellow irises. Gloved fingers, stiff from the chill of the highlands, slowly moved to draw sharpened blade from it’s sheath upon shapely hip, clenched at the hilt in preparation to defend. No sound betrayed the impending attack, creature’s snarl lost to the howl of wind with sudden visitation of four-pawed lunge through sleet and snow.
The flurry of grey and white was met with blade and realization, the savagery of a startlingly large direwolf all but attempting to crush the woman beneath the bestial form that dwarfed her person. There was little time to note the curiosities that marked the attack - the hound’s unnatural size, it’s lacking inclusion of pack and ignorance of shrieking blizzard. There was only survival and the flick of wrist for bared blade that found little more than grizzled fur with the shove from stone wall to roll. The thud of paws at Odette’s side were deafening, all too loud for the storm that raged, and amplified for the pulse of blood in rounded ears as the canine gave chase. It was fast, too fast, the melody of snapping teeth a requiem sung all too quickly.
Jaws that spanned from neck to waist found their mark to sink and tear through flesh and muscle, snapping bone with sickening clarity that drew hitched scream of agony stolen by the wind. The black spots that formed to dance in the vision of ocean hues was instantaneous; twisting, melding, splitting in wild waltz for the lift and viscous shake of prey, claimed by jagged vice. The flame of firey spirit flickered, casting shadows upon the walls of the woman’s soul in flashed memorium of twenty six cycles. Though it wavered and threatened to snuff, there remained the roar of Highlander blood that seeped in pulse from ancestrally barbarous veins.
Amidst the pain, through the terror of being torn limb from limb, chilled steel plunged from fingertips that hung loosely in lofted state to find mark in fiendish flesh beyond fur’s embrace. Flung. Floating. Falling. Odette hit the wall of the rocky outcrop with a sickening thud, brutally thrown from the strength of hound’s jaws in snarled release. Crimson bloomed to mark the pale fur mantle of the wolf’s throat, a brilliant sash of red awarded in vengeance. Dressed to match in cloak that flourished vermilion, the pool of blood that stained the snow beneath the blonde’s crumpled form rose to steam in contrasting heat.
Darkness was quick to place it’s chilled fingers in the the bloodied punctures of flesh rendered torn, seeping through the paint of bruises with each and every ragged breath that struggled through gasping lips. With the slow lift of snow-licked features from frozen foundation, hazed ocean hues sought to meet the gaze of her killer in expectation of inevitable attack. In those moments, Odette could have sworn there was a near humanoid smirk in the curled lips that flashed a row of yellowed teeth as it watched. Waited.
The turn of tail was the last she saw between the blackened spots of vision, the deep biting cold of the mountain claiming each ragged breath that slipped from crimson-tainted maw. Failure. Acceptance. Apology. Broken and alone, with the last of her strength the seafarer’s gloved fingers curled into the snow; greeting the back of her closing eyelids with but one, ancient Ala Mhian term.
Það er kominn tÃmi fyrir mig.
With the passing of time, each step placed upon the snowscape drove the highlander further into the chilled grasp of blizzard’s claw. Each whipped sheet of hail; a rake of frozen nails that tore at her person, bundled as she was. The howl of wind was her melody now, a haunted orchestra that accompanied forced trail through sleet, past the remains of encampment and bloodied bandages where wolf’s prints beckoned ever onward. There had been little to find in such a place beyond the curiosity of discarded dressings and scattered nuts and bolts, strange in it’s own merit. Yet it was the booted tracks that returned anew, three sets of humanoid tread joining the clawed pads for a time; only to break and separate at undefined crossroad that held her focus.
It was the trail of three she chose to follow up through the rocky crags of the north, the sharp words of violet-haired duskwrite’s nagging akin to a buried splinter at the back of her mind with the clench of jaw. Frost had always been the smartest of those she worked with, despite his sadistic nature and highly questionable ethics. He thought her foolish, of course. Acting in disobedience of ‘orders’ she’d not once heard, unknowing of just what it was that drove her to action and the steps she’d gone to for success. Perhaps she was, in her own way. There was no denying the risk that came with confrontation, silent as it may be. But whilst Odette was not one to throw herself carelessly into situations, there remained binds to the Code at the core of her being that demanded she hunt down the man who broke it.
The hiss of wind grew stronger; a banshee’s wail that enveloped the landscape in blanketed haze of pelted snow and obstructed vision that chilled to the bone. Each step become a struggle and with each and every one, so too was the trail she followed stolen away with the breath of her lungs for weather’s vengeful turn. It was not the harsh bite of storm’s chill alone that rose the hairs of neck’s nape, however. For within the icy veil, there came a feeling of being watched; the bottomless churn of one’s stomach and the dart of keen-ocean hues into the darkness of unknown space. Gloved fingers uncurled from half-frozen state to flit about frozen cloth wherein blade rested, yet there remained only she and the howl of blizzard’s wrath.
So it was that the highlander, in her wisdom, forced abandon for the trail snowed over in the dark of night; retreating to the craggy outlay of mountain’s stone corroded to inlet by the sculpt of time. Beneath the shallow cliff, no more than ten fulm from the ground she walked, Odette took what little shelter it offered with the firm press of swaddled, shapely form to rocky surface. The trail was lost to the storm that raged around and beyond, a present failure that drew jaw to clench in frustration. And yet… there remained that which the snow did not, or could not, swallow. A sensation; a presence. The undeniable feeling of being watched and the eyes that drank in the vision; manifested to stare through frosted curtain with the gleam of predatory yellow irises. Gloved fingers, stiff from the chill of the highlands, slowly moved to draw sharpened blade from it’s sheath upon shapely hip, clenched at the hilt in preparation to defend. No sound betrayed the impending attack, creature’s snarl lost to the howl of wind with sudden visitation of four-pawed lunge through sleet and snow.
The flurry of grey and white was met with blade and realization, the savagery of a startlingly large direwolf all but attempting to crush the woman beneath the bestial form that dwarfed her person. There was little time to note the curiosities that marked the attack - the hound’s unnatural size, it’s lacking inclusion of pack and ignorance of shrieking blizzard. There was only survival and the flick of wrist for bared blade that found little more than grizzled fur with the shove from stone wall to roll. The thud of paws at Odette’s side were deafening, all too loud for the storm that raged, and amplified for the pulse of blood in rounded ears as the canine gave chase. It was fast, too fast, the melody of snapping teeth a requiem sung all too quickly.
Jaws that spanned from neck to waist found their mark to sink and tear through flesh and muscle, snapping bone with sickening clarity that drew hitched scream of agony stolen by the wind. The black spots that formed to dance in the vision of ocean hues was instantaneous; twisting, melding, splitting in wild waltz for the lift and viscous shake of prey, claimed by jagged vice. The flame of firey spirit flickered, casting shadows upon the walls of the woman’s soul in flashed memorium of twenty six cycles. Though it wavered and threatened to snuff, there remained the roar of Highlander blood that seeped in pulse from ancestrally barbarous veins.
Amidst the pain, through the terror of being torn limb from limb, chilled steel plunged from fingertips that hung loosely in lofted state to find mark in fiendish flesh beyond fur’s embrace. Flung. Floating. Falling. Odette hit the wall of the rocky outcrop with a sickening thud, brutally thrown from the strength of hound’s jaws in snarled release. Crimson bloomed to mark the pale fur mantle of the wolf’s throat, a brilliant sash of red awarded in vengeance. Dressed to match in cloak that flourished vermilion, the pool of blood that stained the snow beneath the blonde’s crumpled form rose to steam in contrasting heat.
Darkness was quick to place it’s chilled fingers in the the bloodied punctures of flesh rendered torn, seeping through the paint of bruises with each and every ragged breath that struggled through gasping lips. With the slow lift of snow-licked features from frozen foundation, hazed ocean hues sought to meet the gaze of her killer in expectation of inevitable attack. In those moments, Odette could have sworn there was a near humanoid smirk in the curled lips that flashed a row of yellowed teeth as it watched. Waited.
The turn of tail was the last she saw between the blackened spots of vision, the deep biting cold of the mountain claiming each ragged breath that slipped from crimson-tainted maw. Failure. Acceptance. Apology. Broken and alone, with the last of her strength the seafarer’s gloved fingers curled into the snow; greeting the back of her closing eyelids with but one, ancient Ala Mhian term.
Það er kominn tÃmi fyrir mig.
![[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 ||-
