Tears
@raincrest
Sap coated logs that carried the scent of pine trees, they covered the forest floor and grasped to the last autumn leaves that had fallen that past October. Spring had yet to come so some trees, naked to the bare bark, reached up into the sky. They gripped for something so far away, so distant, that he couldnât quite understand. The darkened sky, with clouds heavy with icy rain, angel tearsâ it blocked out any sunlight that may want to come to him. An ominous shadow of foreboding seemed to have itâs hold on the woodlands. This darkness, however, didnât bother him in the slightest; made obvious by the fact he easily vaulted over a log with the practiced precision that beat an amateur gymnast.
Scrooge maneuvered quietly through the forest, his steps careful and light, he was far too worried about alerting a dark presence to his location than any of the comfort of the animalsâ but it worked for both it seemed. The animals didnât seem disturbed by his presence and as he slipped past a few deer who merely stared at him, he didnât set them to run away. The leaves crumpled beneath his light weight, but that still didnât make him all that loud and as such was able to sneak around without much difficulty. Old three foot tall duck, quiet as a mouse, and yet he moved quickly without much trouble. He was an adventurer after all, going on insane treasure hunts, wanting to feel the danger and the trouble all while searching for new ways to improve his wealth.
When the sound of movement reached his ears, he froze, eyes wide and gaze drifting about the wilderness around him. âDomesticatedâ duck that glared around in concern and worry. Was there a chance that someone would try to attack, or some wild beast that knew what he had come here for? A rumor, a story, of something special hidden in the depths of the forest that he found himself in. Deep in some cavern within the breathing earth, with trees that hid it away into obscurity. Monsters that lurked in bushes and in the trees, glaring down at any that dare search for it. He was stronger than that though, and if this was the adventure to kill him, well than so be itâ he wouldnât turn back. That didnât make him any less alarmed though.
Bending down, getting low to the ground, he scanned the surrounding area and proceeded even more carefully than before. He listened as close as he could to the sounds that may or may not be going on around him. There was nothing but silence, not even the wild beasts stirred. At first he thought that it may just be a wild bear, but his mind went and disposed of that idea quickly. Would bears be out to attack this time of year? He wasnât quite sure, and as he slipped around he felt even more sure of this. Perhaps it was something more intelligent? Maybe he wasnât the only searching for this treasure, or perhaps someone else was just here. Someone who resided within, perhaps maybe even a guardian.
He peeked up over the underbrush and found himself to be face to face with a being far different than himself. The other was much taller than him, instead of feathers they had skin, and instead of pure white exterior they looked so much different. They werenât a duck at all! They werenât an animal like Mickey or Goofy either! No they were truly something different. Memories of sea salt ice cream, creatures dark as ink, and a king that just so happened to also be his honorary nephew due to his being best friends with Donald. With this shocking revelation he stumbled back a bit, falling on his rear end and nearly knocking his head on a tree just behind him.
âCurse me kilts!â He couldnât help himself from crying out when he fell, staring up at the face that gradually morphed from someone he thought he knew until it became the stranger he was truly staring at. He didnât know what to think about this all. He had seen humans through those past encounters, but that didnât make them any less surprising to him. Scrooge had gotten up quickly, refusing to look like just a poor old man, he was âtougher than the toughiesâ after all and heâd like to stay that way. âAnd who might ye be?â His voice was still showing signs of that surprise and shock, but for the most part it had returned to that harsh Scottish tone. The tone that so easily put Donald in a position and want to throw fists. Not like he ever would.
As he stood awaiting for an answer he brushed the leaves out of his white feathers, the scent of sap flowering up into his nostrils. At least that was pleasant enough.
((If you donât want to reply to this starter/you prefer to plot before RPing feel free to IM me, I wont be offended or upset. These starters are here solely to cut out that middle man known as awkwardness.))
