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Cervine-sapien

May 25, 2011 - 9:52pm — moonsoverwater
Eyes rest in perfect sockets, almond-shapes forming as they open from behind their lids. Dry, the lids blink to moisten the pair of beautiful orbs so they can see and tell the waking spirit behind them what the world has to show them. The spirit slips and twirls like a kite's tail inside the beast, rousing the body.

The muscles bunch and relax, becoming animated. Inside, the spirit grows happier and more restless, relishing the stretching and tightening of muscles as much as the body does. Long, thin appendages stretch toward the sky, and long, thin appendages stretch down to the earth as the beast stands. A slight moan escapes as the beast ends its morning stretch, spirit thrumming as a heartbeat behind the beast's skin and muscle.

The face of the beast parted in a yawn. A moment of blindness occurred as cheeks pushed eyes closed, before the face closed again. The pale-faced beast looked out at the world. It was new today.. his world was new! This was not good. Not at all. How would his body act in this new world?

Shuddering, the beast let out a bellow. My name is Rentier! I am awake! This is my home! It seemed to announce to every being in a wide radius from his bedding spot.

It scared the spirit, causing it to black out.

The beast stood still, frozen as if it were ice.

Floating, the spirit slowly uncurled, stretching itself to fit the body once again. A gasp came forth from the beast as it took in air. This only whistled back through its body, out a pair of nostrils somewhere between human and cervine. That was also the way one could describe this beast: Somewhere between human and cervine.

Rentier stood as tall as he could have, stretching to an amazing seven feet, not including the antlers perched on his head. They had each six points and measure four feet long from skull to tip, all as deep brown as his fur. The dark ruff at his neck shivered as he let out another long call, this time announcing his passage through the forest.

| no quarter - links |

May 25, 2011 - 5:31pm — Rutilus
[=10]An entry to keep all things related to 'no quarter' in one place. I'd really like feedback on this; it's the first time I've managed to keep interest in a multi-part story and really try with it. I know it doesn't seem TEF-related right now but it is, and I'm getting so little feedback on it that its rather discouraging. I'm glad that there are people reading it and I'm glad I get any comments at all, but like everyone else I'd like more. Is it interesting? Does it pull you in? What do you feel towards each character? What do you feel might happen? Do you have any suggestions of your own? Seriously - I'd love to know what you all think.

| no quarter : part four |

May 25, 2011 - 3:54pm — Rutilus
[=10]
Days passed, and became weeks. The weeks became months, and passed the languid drawl of summer, and the cooling serenity of autumn. Soon, time plunged into the callous chill of winter.

The woods were alerted to her presence very quickly; she was making far too much noise to remain unnoticed. Birds flew to the safety of the trees, the rush of their wings barely audible; drowned by the terrible sounds that the staggering woman was making.

In her arms, she cradled a motionless bundle. In her throat, she held a terrible wail, and let it burst forth again as she slumped forwards against a familiar, leafless tree. The woman's shoulders trembled violently, face soaked with tears as a hand knocked weakly against the bark.

"My baby, my baby, I--please, the keeper--my little boy..."

She had never wanted a son, but gender did not matter now. 'Ven', as she was called, crushed her forehead against the tree's wood, still weeping and crying, clutching the bundle in her arms.

"Please, please, please, anything--bring him back, bring--please, keeper, please..."

Nothing. She gave a tortured wail, high-pitched and atonal, scraping against her own eardrums.

"Please! I'll do anything, anything, please! I want my son, I need him! PLEASE!"

And then, just as she was about to give in - a response.

'The keeper wishes to inform you that Death comes to us all.'

She had heard that before. The woman shook her head with a broken, shattered moan, eyes clenched shut though the tears still freed themselves from behind the lids, and ran openly down her thin, ill face.

"Please--please, keeper, I beg you--I'm dying, I can't take him with me, please--please--"

'The keeper is inclined to believe that the child was never destined to live.'

"Everyone is destined to live!" She raised her head, one hand clawing at the ground, whilst the other kept her lifeless child tucked safely against her chest.

| no quarter : part three |

May 24, 2011 - 1:56pm — Rutilus
[=10]
It was the hardest moment of his life, watching her leave. More difficult to accept than when he realised he was bound to a single tiny building for the rest of his life. More crushing than her refusal to marry him. More frightening than the notion of having a child.

A soft, broken groan slid from the man's mouth, hands gripping at carrot-coloured hair, fingers curled around the greasy strands. They tried to slide from his grasp; he held them still tighter. He gave a shudder and sucked in a breath, trying so very hard to think.

His once-love was a woman of her word, and this tension had been building for a long time now. It had only been a matter of waiting for it, the last straw to break the camel's back, the one thing that would finally make her go. Love, if she even felt it for him, if she ever really had, would not bring her back.

Crippling, to think that the woman carrying his first and now only child, might never have loved him in the first place. But she had been good, once. She had been...someone. But since she'd bound him to that place, she'd changed. Become someone else. Guilt? No. Never. She didn't feel it. What drove her was determination; power; the knowledge that she could do as she wished.

And she would not let her failed, trapped, weak 'lover' stop her from becoming what she wished to become. He knew that. He'd known that from the start, and not once had he tried to get in her way. Perhaps he'd been afraid. Did that make him a coward?

Ven was no average woman. She was cruel; she was distant; she was twisted and she was no-one else's, owned by none but herself. And he, silly and naive, had thought that she could love him. He'd sacrificed everything he had to bring her to their new home, to support them. And she repayed him by binding him to one building for eternity, and leaving him childless.

Auburn eyes watched the long blade in his hand. It was not a sword, nor a dagger; nothing so meaningful as that.
quadraptor's picture

You are an animal, not just meat (Non-TEF writing)

May 24, 2011 - 8:19am — quadraptor
The other day I went to my local grocery store and had to pick up some deli meat. I approached the counter and asked for a pound of ham and a pound of turkey.

While I waited, I looked at all the different kinds of meat there. Turkey, chicken, beef, pork, salami, and so on.

It took me a moment to understand what I was actually looking at. Animals. I'm so used to looking at the meat in the deli and meat departments as nothing more than globs of protein that I often forget what these sources of food truly are. The same can be said any time I eat chicken nuggets or pizza with pepperoni on it.

It isn't my intention to be impolite to these creatures. I just forget. We all sometimes forget.

It simply takes a strong heart to remember.

I may never know what it is like to be an animal. I dream of it as many do, wondering what it would be like to live in an open plain where I could live off of grass and enjoy the gentle breeze. I dream of looking to the sky and wondering what clouds are, and having a moment of triumph protecting myself from a predator such as a wolf or a coyote.

I dream of life as simple, not so complex as I understand it now. I know that to some, that would be an odd request - to refuse wanting to learn vast amounts of knowledge rather than wanting to understand anything and everything. I'd rather be able to live off of instinct than knowledge.

I begin to realize how many chickens, turkeys, cows, and pigs lose their lives to feed our country. I think about all of the grocery stores, fast-food chains, and restaurants there are in America. It's impossible to even imagine.

My order of ham and turkey meat is handed to me. And as I place them in my shopping cart, I look back at the packaged globs of protein behind the glass there. I simply forgot what you were.

I may never know what it is like to be an animal, but I do think that those behind the case would prefer their bodies be used and eaten than go to waste.

| no quarter : part two |

May 23, 2011 - 4:07pm — Rutilus
[=10]

The streets were void of life save for the odd bat that tore silently past. Blinds and curtains were closed. Doors were locked, cars were parked. The world was still.

"He'll rot there."

A quiet, sharp laugh rang from her throat, ashen hair trembling as she shook her head. Talking to herself - how silly of her. But no matter.

"I'll keep you safe."

She patted her stomach, looking down at it for several seconds, stopping in the middle of the street to do so. Slowly, a wry smile flickered onto her sharp features.

"You're almost a curse."

Her shoes clicked again as she walked, eyes straight ahead of her.

"It's not your fault. We made you, after all."

The woman fell silent, and for a long time, she kept going. Eventually, there were no streets - only tree and grass and moss. She looked around, and to her left, a tree caught her eye.

It was not a remarkable tree. There was nothing striking about it at all - it was just a tree, green-leafed and full, brown like the rest of the trees, no marks on it, no scratches, no indents. By all means it should not have caught her eye at all under ordinary circumstances.

But these were not ordinary circumstances.

A slender hand tapped on the tree's thick trunk, and, leaning in close, her full lips parted and a quiet voice came from between. "Young tree, is anybody home?" She crooned at it, sing-song, eyelashes clasped together as she rested the side of her face against the rough bark.

'The keeper does not wish to see you.'

"Oh but it's important, young tree, I promise you." Her voice had lowered to a whisper.

'The keeper does not wish to see you.'

"Would he wish to see me upon gaining the knowledge that my child will no longer have a father, and once born, no mother?"

'The keeper is listening.'

A shaky, shuddering intake of breath. She was limp against the tree now, but her hands clutched at it, pleading, desperate all of a sudden.

| no quarter : part one |

May 22, 2011 - 3:08pm — Rutilus
[=10]edit: made a little change, with regards to the characters' belief of what gender the child is.



"I don't want you anymore."



From opposite sides of the room, they stared at eachother, male to female, day to night, light to dark. His auburn eyes burned at her, filled with tears that he was ashamed to shed. Her cerulean orbs stared calmly back at him, blank.

"You can't...you can't."

"Watch me."

"Please--please, Ven, my child, my child..."

"You don't deserve her."

A choked, rattled sob. A weathered hand covered the man's mouth, and now he was staring brokenly not at her, but at her rounded stomach.

"Please, please, please, don't, we'll sort it out, I'll--anything, please--"

"You had your chance."

When she turned away from him, heading towards the door, he lunged forwards desperately and tried to grab her wrist. Reflex kicked in and she whipped it away from him, stared at him for a split second, and then stepped outside.

"Don't try and follow. You wouldn't survive."

"Please--"

"I don't want you. She doesn't want you. Do us all a favour and stay away from my child."

"Our child, he--she--is our child!"

"You're no father."

The man moved forwards, but did not take a step outside the door, staring after her desperately.

"I could be, please, Ven, give me a chance, give me a chance I--anything, I promise you--"

"You had your chance."

"What did I do?! Ven--Ven--let's talk about it, please just come back inside--"

Slowly, she turned to him, smiling coldly.

"Why don't you come outside, baby? When 'your' little girl grows up, she's going to want to play outside, isn't she?
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