Post by Pongo on Feb 28, 2016 15:05:25 GMT -5
[[April fourth, around sunrise-ish. Open to any and all fathers in the war, from any side. Mostly a peaceful thread for them to just compare notes, so to speak - but some conflict will be allowed. Still, a low-risk thread.]]
The reds and oranges of sunrise, only the third sunrise in a longer time than he had honestly kept track of, were still kissing the savannah as Pongo set out. Everything was bathed crimson, painted as if by an expert artist's stroke, including the dalmatian's usually-white fur; and it leant the grasslands an unreal look. To anyone else, it might have been a spectacular sight; to him, it appeared as if the lands were bathed in the blood of those who the war had claimed.
And so Pongo didn't look, not anymore than he had to.
His paws carried him swiftly across the savannah, long-legged strides that covered the ground with speed. While the dalmatian didn't have an exact goal in mind yet, he wasn't moving without purpose. Now that the sun was back - even if he didn't know how - it was safe to leave camp again; and now that was the case, he was even more determined to round up his wayward pups and bring them home before anything like that fell again.
Even if they'd hate him for it, Pongo's mind was made up. He just wanted them home, safe - all else was secondary. Back in England, he could try and bring them around; but even if that failed, he'd rather have them back home and angry at him than out here and dead.
His goal now, however, wasn't to charge the Outlands for them - at least not yet. Rather, the spotted canine just wanted to venture around, not close enough to intrude on the enemy army's base of operations, but near enough that he could at least look, weigh up what he was up against. This wasn't going to be easy, after all - and unlike the last pair of canine parents, he didn't have a train to ram into the middle of the Outlands.
Then again, nor did he have any reason to believe that his kids were being mistreated out there. He just wanted to bring them home for their own safety, before any more of them got killed.
He might not be destined to get that far today, however.
The dalmatian was just a bit over half-way towards the Outlands when he was struck by the feeling of not being alone. Rather than keep moving and hope to avoid any trouble, Pongo slowed, all his senses at once on heightened alert. He didn't know who else might be out here, friend or foe, but...
If it was an Outlander, maybe he was in luck. At least, if they were one who would talk rather than straight-out attack; he might even be able to get more information that way than by nosing around enemy territory alone might have yielded. Perhaps. He couldn't say for certain.
Finally, he stopped fully, glancing around. Sniffed the air; just waiting for the other presence to reveal him or herself.
The reds and oranges of sunrise, only the third sunrise in a longer time than he had honestly kept track of, were still kissing the savannah as Pongo set out. Everything was bathed crimson, painted as if by an expert artist's stroke, including the dalmatian's usually-white fur; and it leant the grasslands an unreal look. To anyone else, it might have been a spectacular sight; to him, it appeared as if the lands were bathed in the blood of those who the war had claimed.
And so Pongo didn't look, not anymore than he had to.
His paws carried him swiftly across the savannah, long-legged strides that covered the ground with speed. While the dalmatian didn't have an exact goal in mind yet, he wasn't moving without purpose. Now that the sun was back - even if he didn't know how - it was safe to leave camp again; and now that was the case, he was even more determined to round up his wayward pups and bring them home before anything like that fell again.
Even if they'd hate him for it, Pongo's mind was made up. He just wanted them home, safe - all else was secondary. Back in England, he could try and bring them around; but even if that failed, he'd rather have them back home and angry at him than out here and dead.
His goal now, however, wasn't to charge the Outlands for them - at least not yet. Rather, the spotted canine just wanted to venture around, not close enough to intrude on the enemy army's base of operations, but near enough that he could at least look, weigh up what he was up against. This wasn't going to be easy, after all - and unlike the last pair of canine parents, he didn't have a train to ram into the middle of the Outlands.
Then again, nor did he have any reason to believe that his kids were being mistreated out there. He just wanted to bring them home for their own safety, before any more of them got killed.
He might not be destined to get that far today, however.
The dalmatian was just a bit over half-way towards the Outlands when he was struck by the feeling of not being alone. Rather than keep moving and hope to avoid any trouble, Pongo slowed, all his senses at once on heightened alert. He didn't know who else might be out here, friend or foe, but...
If it was an Outlander, maybe he was in luck. At least, if they were one who would talk rather than straight-out attack; he might even be able to get more information that way than by nosing around enemy territory alone might have yielded. Perhaps. He couldn't say for certain.
Finally, he stopped fully, glancing around. Sniffed the air; just waiting for the other presence to reveal him or herself.
