Capturing the Storm {Crow/Open}

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y105/evanyanka/guiscard_middle.gif] Guiscard knew quite well that these inhospitable hills were the closest a Northerner like himself could find to home, but in the sweltering summer months they still looked shabby, tumbledown, a little sad in the oppressive heat, no snow to redeem their rocky sides. It was rare enough that the brainy homebody left his family's ancient home that he supposed he ought to see some remarkable sights as long as he was out here, but he was finding it difficult to push himself truly beyond the northern spaces. A summer thunderstorm was brewing in the distance, a proper punisher, clouds heavy, oily and dark, curling in and around themselves in the distance. The light that fell upon Guiscard and the scenery around him was still golden and bright, but that only contributed to the eerie effect. The same light flickered in shimmering patterns of his feathers, their iridescence throwing strange hues of pinks and purples into the warm tones of the afternoon sun. His pin feathers trembled in the increasingly strong gusts of wind, and he tilted himself in the air, ducking under the worst of the gusts and then flapping hard to lift above them. It was there, suspended in the air, facing a certain kind of storm in a certain kind of climate he was certain he had never been in before, that the raven was gripped by, of all things, a sense of strange nostalgia. In waves like the wind waves that rippled over his trim body, disjointed memories arose, events he hadn't thought about in years, emotions he hadn't felt since the ones involved had died or otherwise exited his life. The power of the moment nearly made him forget to keep beating his wings, but he caught himself and finally pushed himself to a vantage point over the storm and looked down. It was calmer up here, for the moment, though it would grow wild as the storm came closer. Guiscard cocked his head to one side, taking in every little detail he could. Gusts of warmer air were streaking past him, some of them seeming to pull back towards the storm. Adjusting his tail feathers to keep himself afloat, he pondered over this, and began having an inkling as he watched clouds further on seeming to boil up where those hot gusts had been. Another memory resurfaced to distract him, and he shoved it back down. There were more important things to record. Bracing himself against the tumult, the raven tucked his wings and dove back through the clouds and storm, barreling out in the calmer atmosphere and fluttering down at the base of a scrawny, lightning-blasted tree. With his beak and quite a bit of flapping, he managed to tear off a chunk of bark, and with his talons, the bird began to write.

[BlindMoon]

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[atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/vnft6v.jpg,true] The little black fox looked up at the sky. There was a storm on the way. Great, that's just what I need right now! She was near the western edge of the free lands then. Shadow was searching for something. She didn't know what though. Her memory extended to only a few moons ago, when she woke up in an old badger set. Now she was traveling to find... what? Her family? Her friends? A home that used to be hers? I wonder who they are? Did I have a mate, pups?! Now what would I do with pups! The little fox laughed out loud at her thoughts. She was walking and not really paying attention to where she was going. Soon the storm broke over her head, and before she could look up to find out where she was, it was impossible to see anything. It seemed that it was raining and gushing strong bouts of wind that almost blew Shadow off her feet. Instead of trying to find shelter, Shadow pushed on. Before she knew it, she was on the northern border. The air was cooler and the ground was hard. Cussing softly, Shadow sat down and pulled a fit of attitude for herself. "I hate this! I'm tired, I'm cold and I'm so fricken fed up with searching for.... GAH!!!! I can't even remember that!" She had no idea that the storm was starting to clear for a second, then she came up for air and realized that the heavens weren't soaking her anymore. Looking up, Shadow saw that she had sat down near a skinny, burnt tree. There was a large raven sitting on it holding some bark. "What an ugly creature," She muttered to herself, not realizing that the bird could probably hear her. Image from here

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y105/evanyanka/guiscard_middle.gif] Arranged in strange, vertical lines, glyphs began appearing on the bark the corvid was holding down with one foot, struggling to maintain his place in the wind that was doing its best to tug his little parchment scrap away from him. The runes were rudimentary, as was necessary for any but the most nimble-handed of creatures, and apes had, so far as Guiscard knew, never been terribly taken with the scholarly arts. The raven felt that, so far as was possible, his scratchings managed to express a clean, minimalistic nature in the writing style, and he had polished his calligraphy, such as it was, for years. "Hot air seems to cause larger storms," was written there in the corvid alphabet, along with many other musings, some more scientific, some of a distinctly philosophical bent. In the tradition of alchemists and the original philosophers, Guiscard's intellectual tradition melded science and philosophy in a unique, multi-modal way of seeing the world. He was still writing when he heard the first mutterings of another creature nearby. His extensive studies, fortunately, allowed him some knowledge of languages other than the North. "I hate this!" snapped the voice, a female one, faint over the sound of rustling, crackling grass. "I'm tired, I'm cold and I'm so fricken fed up with searching for.... GAH!!!! I can't even remember that!" His company sounded canine by the accent, but her voice was high and small enough that he did not think he would be faced with a wolf, or anything else large enough to pose him a threat. A fox could injure him, but, as the largest corvid and one of the largest passerine birds, he could injure it right back. Which he had no wish to do. Guiscard was a thinker, not a fighter, and he felt strongly that this world would be a more pleasant place if everyone else could just follow that pattern. The voice was louder now, as the vixen came closer. "What an ugly creature." Guiscard clacked his beak together in annoyance, and without looking up from his writing, responded: "The fact that you find my figure less than appealing may have more to do with possessing a mind that is not prepared to fully appreciate my unique appearance, than with my appearance being objectively revolting. Beauty, in fact, is rarely an objective trait, but is strongly subject to the whims of personal taste and, in turn, personal upbringing and childhood environment." His lecture delivered, the raven looked up from his work, his fierce eyes and slightly curved beak enhancing the irritated expression he was making. One foot remained on the bark, while the other was still upraised, talons curved, almost as if holding an invisible stylus. "And one might argue, mademoiselle, that an individual who cannot recall her own reasons for traveling on such an unpleasant day is not in a position to cast the first stone." ((OOC: Hehe. Guiscard's such a jerk.))

[BlindMoon]

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[atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/vnft6v.jpg,true] Not really paying attention to the bird, nor expecting a reply, Shadow jumped a fair bit when he began to rant at her. "The fact that you find my figure less than appealing may have more to do with possessing a mind that is not prepared to fully appreciate my unique appearance, than with my appearance being objectively revolting. Beauty, in fact, is rarely an objective trait, but is strongly subject to the whims of personal taste and, in turn, personal upbringing and childhood environment." As the raven finish up, Shadow sat there gaping at him. "What?" She was not in the mood for thinking or reasoning. All of the words strung together to chastise her made no sense to the fox, and she was starting to become annoyed. The canine began to show her teeth and growl. "And one might argue, mademoiselle, that an individual who cannot recall her own reasons for traveling on such an unpleasant day is not in a position to cast the first stone." The last comment from the feathered creature made Shadow back off a little. Ya? Well... what are you even doing up there?" Trying to change the direction of the conversation rather than talk about her memory loss was the easier option in Shadows mind. She stood up and shook the water from her pelt, sending a few droplets spinning towards the raven. She then sat down and fixed a slightly annoying smirk on her face. Staring unblinkingly at the bird was easy for her. OOC: Sooo sorry for the late late reply!! Image from here

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y105/evanyanka/guiscard_middle.gif] The fox jumped quite high when Guiscard began speaking, a fact that gave him a small sense of pleasure. He always enjoyed the chance to show that he was more perceptive than the average creature, and more aware than he looked, so her surprise gratified him. If he had been hoping for a brisk argument, however, he was swiftly disabused of that notion. "What?" the sable fox snapped out, evidently annoyed at suddenly having to deal with so many complex concepts at once. Guiscard snorted, unsurprised. Very few creatures managed to impress the raven with their intellect. "Groundlings," he muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly. As if to follow through on his presumptive comment on the nature of such creatures, the fox became so irritated that she started showing her teeth, hackles rising and a war-like strut appearing. Guiscard merely gave her a cool, calculating, weary look, somewhat like a bachelor uncle or curmudgeonly grandfather would give to an uppity nephew he's been given charge of for the day. Nevertheless, he raised his own feathers, choosing to remind the young lady that he, too, was of considerable size. Just to drive the point home, he risked the high winds and opened his wings briefly--a nearly 5 foot wingspan was revealed, unfurling in pure blackness and, from ground level, blocking out some of the eerie yellow storm light. They were tucked in again just as quickly, as if the vision had never been, and Guiscard preened a few out of place feathers carefully back into their proper homes as the fox became a bit more thoughtful, responding to his question. "Ya? Well... what are you even doing up there?" "Collecting information," he said shortly, and, for the moment, returned to his task, scratching out more runes. "I would not be surprised if you had never seen writing before--the state of education in today's world is appalling. But I am recording my observations about this storm. It seems to me that this storm was precipitated by, and is being built along, large masses of hot air, moving up and over the cold air that is so kindly gracing the Northern parts of this land." Turning one gimlet eye on the fox, he paused his raven-scratching. "Foxes have a reputation for cleverness. So tell me--if this turns out to be true, can you imagine the implications?"

[BlindMoon]

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[atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/vnft6v.jpg,true] Shadow watched the bird fluff his feathers and spread his wings momentarily. She thought that the length of the appendages was pretty impressive, so she temporarily re sorted her fur and brought her teeth inside her mouth. "I would not be surprised if you had never seen writing before--the state of education in today's world is appalling. But I am recording my observations about this storm. It seems to me that this storm was precipitated by, and is being built along, large masses of hot air, moving up and over the cold air that is so kindly gracing the Northern parts of this land." Trying not to be curious was hard for the little fox. So you think that cold air and hot air together makes storms? That would mean that we could determine when storms are coming by the wind, right? She thought that she had understood everything. Well everything except for the writing bit. "Now writing is, what exactly?" Curiosity killed the cat, Shadow remember that! Her thoughts burst through her head right after the words left her mouth. But how could wondering what writing was kill her. When the raven complimented her species, an idiot grin appeared on her face. "We are a clever bunch, that is for sure. Some have more intelligence than others though," Image from here

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y105/evanyanka/guiscard_middle.gif] Guiscard watched, and then gave a sharp, approving nod as the fox thought better of her initial gambit, drawing her fangs back into her mouth. Any creature who would prefer to converse intelligently than to fight for an imagined insult got at least a few good marks in his book. This was not to say that he was ready to be buddy buddy friends--in fact, there was no one currently in his life who would fit that description--but at least she was no longer outright in his bad books. So you think that cold air and hot air together makes storms? That would mean that we could determine when storms are coming by the wind, right? "Yes, indeed." The feathers above Guiscard's eyes lifted somewhat, as close to eyebrows as a bird like him would have, making his face considerably more expressive. "I see that reputation was not entirely stuff and nonsense. Yes, you are correct. And not merely predict it a mere hour or so in advance, based on some "funny feeling in my paw," but days, perhaps." Seeing that he was probably not going to get much more writing done while he was planted in this inhospitable location, and, anyway, having run out of additional things to note, he began rolling up the makeshift parchment. Surprisingly deft talons rolled the birch bark up as he flapped and hovered above it, hopping here and there and always taking care to avoid stepping on the fragile thing. When it was done, he pinned all his talons on one foot together, slipping that foot into the center of the roll until the roll itself rested securely on his scaly leg, prevented from falling off by his outspread toes. "Now writing is, what exactly?" "Kaaark!" Rarely did Guiscard sound like a proper corvid, but when he was frustrated, certain caws and calls did escape him. The sleek black bird shook his head dolefully. "Pitiful, the state of education in the world today." He strutted slowly back and forth, making two quick trips either way. With his wings folded behind his back, it looked almost as if he had hands clasped behind himself, neck bent in thought. "That is not your fault, I suppose. Merely the unconscionably skewed values of a society biased towards senseless warfare." Finished with his pacing, the raven stood nearly at attention, in a proper lecturing stance, head held high, chest expanded for better breathing and projection. "Writing, my dear Vulpes vulpes, is the ancient art of recording, through abstract symbols, the words that we speak and think every day. For instance, were I to decide that this symbol--" Here he fluttered back over to the tree and, with the claws unburdened by bark, scraped a symbol into the exposed flesh. "--meant "rock," this tree would forever be labeled as a rock." He chuckled briefly at himself, evidently pleased at the absurdity of such an idea. "Of course, it is useful for far more than mislabeling. Writing, when executed in mediums that stand the test of time, such as stone, can preserve information that the memory of generations could not, not even if passed on from parent to child. Families, after all, die out." He shrugged as if this last sentence meant nothing to him, but it had an ominous ring to him, something like the sound of his own talons on the stone of his now empty roosting place. The words he had written would last, but if no one remained with the power to read them, what use were they?

[BlindMoon]

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[atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/vnft6v.jpg,true] Shadow nodded and listened carefully, nodding when appropriate. "I think I understand... If I wanted this to mean 'fox'" The black female scratched a small marking in the dirt and then continued her train of thought, "Then I would have to remember what it meant so that I could go back and read it again, yes?" The fox sat down and looked rather pleased with herself. That is until her stomach rumbled, trying to tell her that she needed to eat. "Please excuse me," She said softly towards the black bird. She was becoming more respectful to this very inelegant bird. Instinctively, the carnivore opened her mouth to let and scents flood into her scent glands. Nothing was stirring though and the little female had to accept that she would go hungry for a while. Image from here

[Stardust]

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[atrb=background,http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y105/evanyanka/guiscard_middle.gif] The shadowy fox seemed to be picking up his lesson quickly, which was promising, and not treating the art of writing with the superstition so many illiterate creatures seemed to feel towards it. Perhaps the arts of wisdom were not so hopelessly lost as he'd thought. "I think I understand... If I wanted this to mean 'fox'" she began, scratching out a letter with her paw in the dirt. Guiscard was amused to see that it was oddly close to the symbol in his script for "food." "Then I would have to remember what it meant so that I could go back and read it again, yes?" "Yes indeed," he croaked at her, "and you might write more than that with more signs and words. For instance, you might write 'Fox was here,' or 'Beware, hungry fox den!'" A grin tugged remorselessly at the edges of his beak, flexing in the tiny corners of featherless gray-black skin. "Though I have not yet heard of a mouse who knew how to write." The fox's attention span seemed a little limited, perhaps. Her stomach grumbled just as she sat down, considering her handiwork, and she grimaced. "Please excuse me," she said, opening her mouth to waft the air through, obviously seeking prey. Guiscard kaarked low in his throat, mumbling to himself about the body being the mind's biggest stumbling block. The young and hale always did seem to put their physical needs and urges first. Mid-grumble, however, a particularly strong gust of wind shoved into him, forcing him to take a few stiff, rebalancing steps and ruffling all his neatly ordered feathers. A loud caw emanated from the indignant bird, and he hopped around to face into the wind, squinting at the fox. "Food might not be a handy option at the moment, but if the weather continues as such, it would behoove us to find shelter," he grudgingly admitted, "and continue our search for comestibles or our pursuit of higher knowledge therein." Another gust of wind blew dust up into his eyes, which he blinked and half-closed, dark lids allowing bright shards of obsidian to still peer through. "Though I would prefer to know the name of any creature I house with, however briefly."