Title-- The Berry Story
Rating and Warnings-- G; warnings of extreme cute.
Species and Characters-- Lupos - Treestrong (Lupos brave; beta of the Tehar clan), and Stargrey (Lupos feral shaman; wanderer). Suncaller (Lupos shaman, alpha of the Tehars) is briefly mentioned. Also, Stargrey is poetrywolf's, not mine.
Summary and Notes-- A few years before Treestrong dies in battle, he finds a wanderer and invites her into his clan, and into his life. This is a brief glimpse of a day spent berry-picking, when the worries of the Elderwar and clan management are far from their minds. (Note: this was originally a roleplaying session, so it's been edited to feel more like an actual story... but if it feels different, that's why.)

( Stargrey sang as the two wolves moved through the woods in stride... )

Title-- Excerpt from The Panthera Walkers: Peace
Rating and Warnings-- R; violence and death.
Species and Characters-- Lupos, Avans, and Panthera - Treestrong (Lupos brave; beta of the Tehar clan), Plainstalker (Panthera beastwalker), Songwinds (young Lupos shaman; ambassador), Skybright (Lupos healer; beta of the Tehar clan), and various Avans, largely unnamed.
Summary and Notes-- Treestrong leads a party of six Lupos, including his fellow beta and a young ambassador, and one Panthera to the Spire in order to meet with a party of Avans from a city interested in establishing a truce. What happens after the fairly-successful first meeting, once they reach the base of the Spire once more, is as follows.

( There had been an ambush... )

I now have an HP printer-scanner-copier all-in-one. (It slices, it dices, it makes julienne fries!)

This means I get to make an art post when I haven't done one in literally years. =O

( Just three images, properly resized. )

<3.

Children are so fragile, Vilaere thought as she watched her daughter in the garden. Itteri was one of the darker-plumed Avans, now that she had molted for the first time and grown out her first permanent coat of feathers; it made her stand out among the pastel and primary colors of the flowers.

With a soft rustle of silken robes, Vilaere opened the translucent cloth curtain that kept insects and small animals out of their modest house in Irit-Ykinde. "Child," she called quietly, and her daughter's head swung around instantly. It wasn't the quick head-turn of a bird, as it should have been; it was the muzzle-swivel of a predator. Vilaere tried not to frown. "It is time for your meal, child. Come inside and wash."

Itteri rose from her knees and brushed her clawed hands off against her thighs. She was still a little wobbly, all long, skinny legs and not enough plumage in her tail to help her balance, but there was also something else that always set her off-kilter. Her mother told her it was just her body trying to grow to fit her legs, but Itteri wasn't so sure.

The curtain was closed again, her mother gone inside to the wash basin to mist herself for having poked a head outside, into the dusty air. Itteri walked with only a little gawkiness inside, pausing briefly to rub her talons against the thick floor rug right inside the curtain. The rich soil of the garden and some of the pollen smeared across the woven fibers, marring the lovely picture in reds and golds. Itteri grinned impishly, eyes slitting and plumed crest flaring in the expression.

"Child!" The young Avan looked up at her mother's disapproving voice. "Do not dawdle. Wash yourself so that you may eat."

Vilaere watched her daughter obediently head towards the wash basin, scrubbing her little hands diligently before misting her entire body to more easily wipe the dust away. The older Avan sighed quietly, lifting a hand to adjust her veil. Itteri was the quietest child of her age; she never spoke to her peers and only very rarely to her parents. For an Avan, a social creature, it was nearly unheard-of for a child not to be learning to speak and chattering away at anyone who would listen. It worried her mother.

Itteri came back, feathers gleaming with slight dampness. Vilaere smiled with crest but not eyes and gestured to the table, where she'd laid out a small selection of freshly cut fruits, a small cup of tea, and a thick slice of warm bread. Her daughter sat and ate methodically, all too aware of her mother's eyes on her.

When she was done, Itteri put her plate and cup into the other wash basin and returned to the garden to play. For once, Vilaere followed her outside, blinking and wincing at the direct sunlight. "What are you doing out here, child?" she asked.

Itteri looked up with large, dark eyes, then pointed to the tiny spot of the garden she had cleared of weeds. There was a small flower there, surrounded by bare dirt.

"You are... playing with the... flower?"

Itteri nodded mutely. With a sigh, her mother went back inside, and the sound of her washing could be heard through the thin curtain. Itteri's crest flared, and she knelt before the flower, cupping her lean hands around it without actually touching the fresh petals.

The child closed her eyes and concentrated, and the flower grew another inch.

Title-- The Panthera Walkers: Freedom - Chapter One
Rating and Warnings-- PG; warnings for grief.
Species and Characters-- Just humans this time - President Kevyen and his mother, Witch Eyvi.
Summary and Notes-- The first chapter (prologue is here). This establishes that there is no 'bad guy' in any of the four races on Ykinde, despite the odds at which they find themselves with each other. Also, writing this made me cry like a baby. -_-;;

( 'Mister President, sir!' )

Title-- The Panthera Walkers: Freedom - Prologue
Rating and Warnings-- G; no warnings.
Species and Characters-- Species are humans and Panthera; characters include a nameless engineer and a for-now-nameless witch, both human, and a tribe of Panthera. The Walker tribe is led by spiritwalker Cloudmover and her apprentice, Ashsower.
Summary and Notes-- The prologue to the first of three Pantheran novels. This introduces the Walker tribe, and the humans who mean to capture and enslave them.

( The human town was just beginning to awaken as the morning sun sent orange rays slicing through the pre-dawn shadows... )

As the title says, in this post I will be archiving all of my The Panthera Walkers 'verse information, and stories. This will be updated as necessary and will not include any brainstorming or plotting posts.

The Panthera Walkers is the working name for a trilogy of novels featuring a tribe of Panthera... the Walker tribe. I did the second book in the series, TPW: Peace, for NaNoWriMo 2005. For WriMo '06, I'm doing the first book, TPW: Freedom. (Again, all titles are working titles only and may be changed later.)

First, we have the prologue to The Panthera Walkers: Peace. It was the first bit of last year's NaNovel and explains the history of the world, Ykinde, as well as the origin of the Elderwar.

The world is called Ykinde by Avans and most humans, Aahu by Lupos and most Panthera, and Taerh by some human fundamentalists. It looks like this:


[map made here]
The Avans tend towards the yellow-brown areas, preferring open spaces and fairly dry climates for their cities, farms, and other settlements, whereas most Lupos are concentrated in the stark-brown areas (mountains) or green areas (forests). The Panthera tribe is situated in the middle of the Six Lakes region (slightly left of center on the map). The few Lupos cities that exist tend to be in the mountains. Humans are scattered everywhere, though they tend to build their own cities, ports, and centers of trade along the coastline. A few trading cities exist along the northern longitudes, however, along the border between forest and plains/mountains.

Here is a dissertation on the difference between Panthera Walkers, Panthera Hunters, and 'dancers. It contains MAJOR SPOILERS - you have been warned. Panthera Walkers are the original tribe of Panthera that were enslaved by humans and then escaped to establish themselves on Lupos territory; Panthera Hunters are an offshoot tribe that split from them (yet remained allies). Panthera 'dancers are not a tribe at all, but a minority of cultists, shunned and feared. For details, go to the link.

...

just a shadow on the water, just a shade in the grass,
father sun doesn't light me, unseen i-the-hunter pass.
we are alone in the wild but for the beasts near the bay,
all alone in the wild, and i am more beast than they...

--Pantheran beastwalker song

...

The first chapter, rough draft mind you, of TPW: Peace. Subject to change and/or total rewrite and/or deletion. But still a good read.

"This is war." A short piece by a Pantheran bloodwalker on the Elderwar. Gives a little insight on how the battles work.

There have been times when the spirits have not always dealt with the spiritwalkers; this is one such time.

Speaking of spiritwalkers... they aren't as normal as the rest.

One day, a concept for a character struck me... and his story naturally followed.

Some Panthera are wonderful artists; but none ever paint humans.

Just for a change in pace, I felt like doing a pre-novel ficlet featuring Khivetti, a main character who is an Avan. One day, he broke his fast with a noblewoman of the city.

And for stark contrast to that, a Lupos ranger talks to a Pantheran beastwalker.

At random, I wrote two very short pieces, the second of which featured two Lupos.

And for NaNo 2006, we have two pieces done before the month (and thusly not counted at all in wordcount): The prologue to TPW: Freedom and the first chapter.

Plainstalker defines beastwalkers, then and now. She also rambles about walking.

Once, even the well-known alpha Tehar Suncaller was young.

Newest...

Most Avan children are talkative and sociable... but Itteri was not normal, even in her youth.

Treestrong, beta male of the Tehar clan, had a mate and lost her. However, he did find another woman to love.

Tree was later chosen to escort a young ambassador to the Spire in hopes for peace between the Tehars and the Avans. He met his death there.

More to be added as it comes...

((A note that any and all accents used in any of this are not 100% mockups of real-world accents. I can't do them accurately. So I mix and mash.))

...

"Roigh', see 'ere, wot if... wot if, yeh see, yeh had nae skin. Yeh had nae skin, an' everything wot touched yeh, touched yeh heart. Yeh couldna esscape anythin'. Everything wot yeh heard, wot yeh thought, wot even o'ers felt, touched yeh heart. Yeh felt it all.

Wot then? How does a person deal with thot sort o' thing? Do 'ey try to find some way around it? Or do 'ey just... feel?"

A little like dying, went the thought process. Drowning in experience. It couldn't be any other way, if one had no skin.

...

Human faces get old and wizened with age, hair dying into a grey shag, wrinkles condensing around their eyes and mouths. Wolf faces don't. Wolf fur greys a little bit, but most wolves are dead before their pelts die. The oldest have silvered muzzles and scars putting fake wrinkles in the waning gloss of their fur. They die in battle or in the hunt before age has gotten enough of a grip to put fog over their yellow eyes - long before time has stiffened their bones or beset their minds with cobwebs.

This wolf was so old that he moved stiffly, like an old human, and that his once-black fur had almost all gone lifelessly grey. His gold eyes were hazed with too many years, but the mind behind them showed no slowing of wit.

"'Ware the beast, boy," he croaked, lifting a handpaw to settle the withered thing on my shoulder. His knuckles were large and twisted, the blunt claws tipping his digits cracked and flaking. His muzzle was inches from my face, but I couldn't recoil from the musk of death long cheated - the scent clung to his breath. "'Ware it, an' it won't kill ye... don't hunt it, an' it won't hunt ye..."

He paused, looked me straight in the eye, and then his colorless muzzle twisted into a yellow-toothed grin. With his other handpaw, he pressed a fine stone spearhead into my lax hands. "...but ye can't ne'er stop hunting. The hunt is Death, lookin' ye in the face every time."

I knew the words now, knew what he was getting at, and I mouthed along with him as he wheezed, "...but the hunt is life itself, too."

The wolf realized I'd lip-synched his words, and he smiled crookedly again. One fang was missing. "Then ye know, boy, that I'm already dead."

I nodded soberly. He gave my shoulder a weak push, his elbow popping audibly. "Go hunt, boy." The smile had faded from his face. "Go live."

"'Ere's something what needs be said, old friend, but I cain't find the words ter be expressing it."

My eyes shifted and I lifted my head, glancing towards him. His broad shoulders and thick torso blocked most of my view of the sea below; stars glittered along his rough edges as though he were hewn from some dark, polished stone. He glanced over his shoulder at me, just enough to look at me sidelong, and laid a heavy hand on my neck.

"You always been 'ere. Cain't tell you how much I value 'at. 'S more important t'me than all 'ese stars 'n 'ese waves." He knew me too well and responded to my reaction before I could even react, "Yeah, even more'n my ocean 'n my night." His blunt fingers massaged my neck, and I half-lidded my eyes. He knew all the best spots.

"Only ever saw you once in yer own skin, y'know," he mused, gravelly voice softening as he spoke more quietly. I inched up closer until my claws hooked the edge of the cliff over which we watched the sea, and I leaned my shoulder against his hip. Just as instinctively as I had crept closer, he eased my cheek to rest against his ribcage, and soon we were breathing in time.

"Why is 'at? You ne'er talk, 'n you ne'er walk like yer own." His fingers stopped, and I glanced up to meet his gaze as he looked down at me. After a moment of no sound but the surf, he broke into an affecionate grin. "Seems like I can always hear you, though, fer all you don't say a word." He looked back out towards the distant horizon, running his fingers through my ruff until he was well and tangled in my mane. Like always, he left his hand there, a comfortable weight between my shoulder blades.

"Guess 'ere's still some things in 'is world what don't need said in words," he murmured, and smiled. I gazed outwards and downwards, watching the shadows of the surf meet the pale ghost of the shoreline, and purred.

Title-- Breakfast Conversation [The Panthera Walkers]
Rating and Warnings-- G. Wow.
Species and Characters-- Khivetti, an Avan naturalist, and an unnamed noblewoman/mage, also Avan. (Avans are parrot/hawk anthros. Colorful, tall, lean, sophisticated, cultured. Naturalists are the nature-oriented ones, who tend to have a beast as a companion, and mages are, well, mages.)
Summary and Notes-- I love Khivetti. That is all.

( Once, Khivetti had sat with a noblewoman, a fine magus, and broken his fast at her table... )

Sungazer stared blankly forward, not really seeing the tattered painting she held in her claws. Eyes the color of the river at dusk were unfocused, her ears cocked to listen to a tune that bled beneath her heartbeat, unheard by all others. The lithe Panthera was crouched down, hindpaws pressed deep into fertile soil still damp from a recent rain that hadn't even marred the artistry of the enchanted parchment. It had to be a spiritwalker's painting - only they could so preserve their works against the elements with which they worked.

There was no scent, no signature, no mark to indicate the artist or the owner of the scrap. Most of the painting had been eradicated, shredded away, leaving only this ragged piece that showed a yellow-haired human woman smiling sweetly against a background of green fields. The style, the brushstroke, and the preservation techniques were all Pantheran.

But no Panthera painted humans.

At the beastwalker's side, a massive black wolf lurked in the shadow of a tree, unusual green eyes bright in the gloom. He waited, patiently and uneasily, scenting the cool wind and eyeing the nooks and crannies of the forest around him, for his comrade to come to a conclusion and lead him on the next hunt. They always hunted, he and she, together as wolves. Hunted until the blood ran, hunted until their stomaches were full and they could lie in the grass drowsily.

Sungazer blinked slowly at an insistent whine from her wolf, looking up from the torn painting to meet his eager gaze. 'Sorry,' she whispered in her native tongue, 'but not yet. Not yet...' She gazed again at the image she held in her hands, sharp clawtips snagging on the roughened parchment. Bright colors and a flat-faced smile made her gaze unfocus again, unable to imagine why a skilled Pantheran artist would draw a human doing anything but dying or killing.

After a long, long moment, the beastwalker sighed and tucked the image into a small pouch at her hip. 'I'll find no answer staring at it,' she told her wolf, who cocked his head attentively. 'Let's hunt.'

The black-furred lupine smiled with sharp fangs and followed his comrade - not into the wilds for their prey, not this time. They trekked into the heart of Pantheran territory, into Kurajos. Den.

Sungazer would find the artist who painted a happy human.