ArchivedLogs:Quiver

Quiver
Dramatis Personae Arrow, Flèche, Saeta
In Absentia	2017-08-23 (Preceded by an intervention.)
Location <NY> Shawangunk Mountains
The sun rides high amongst puffy white clouds, but between the altitude and steady breeze, the day feels brilliant and balmy in this alpine meadow. Against the backdrop of a craggy ridge, the field looks storybook-perfect, dotted with clumps of trees and shrubs but mostly just carpeted with wild grass and wildflowers. A scruffy brown mutt bounds across this picturesque landscape, so fast that he at times seems to be skimming over the tall grass. His mouth is gleefully wide open, tongue hanging out of one side, floppy ears trailing behind his head, and tail held high like a banner. He leaps several feet up in the air and snatches an arrow out of its long, sluggish (at least by arrow standards) descent. The arrow is matte black, with red and black vanes and a puffy red miniature boxing glove for a head, which likely explains its low airspeed. Not far to one side, a lean black and tan mutt is half watching this performance -- her one cocked ear makes her seem far more keenly attending than perhaps she truly is. She's maybe only vaguely concerning herself with her companion's picture-perfect catch -- and not at /all/ concerning herself with any voices in the distance. Mostly, she's busying herself industriously gnawing on the shaft of her own black-and-green vaned arrow, which at some point in the not too distant past has deployed a large net. She's not /overly/ fussed with the net, either. Maybe a little. Leaving the net be is, honestly, probably for the best. The last of their trio -- larger, musclier, far more eager in the matters of net-exploration, has shoved her huge square head under the weighted end of the thing. Then the rest of her, when /that/ went successfully. A few excited wriggles later, there is a decided amount of netting tangled up in her thick (but still wagging) tail, coiled around two paws, wrapped over her body. Net or no net, she's watching the boxing glove arrow intently. Lunging at it as it flies... and kind of tripping and falling on her chest, still tangled. Still wagging. Arrow has slowed to a jaunty trot, boxing glove-arrow clamped in his teeth, giving it a few good shakes as he circles back to his companions. Drops into a play bow in front of them, tail wagging high. Then drops his own prize in favor of investigating the net wrapped around Saeta's body. Sniff sniff sniff. Slow, uncertain wag. Another play bow, wagging faster. Flèche's tail thumps happily against the ground throughout this. She continues to gnaw at her arrow -- at least until Arrow drops /his/, at which point she leaps to her feet, collecting them both. And presenting them solicitously to Saeta, muzzle pressed up to the net. When this fails to deliver, a tentative nom at the net that doesn't entirely relinquish the arrows in order to bite. Saeta's whole body is wagging, now, beside herself with excitement at all this attention. Her nose smooshes back up against the net, thrusting eagerly against Flèche's when the arrows are offered. Following this, a vigorous shake -- it leaves her body still half ensnared, though her head at least comes free. Delighted by this turn of fortune, she throws herself at Arrow, chest and (kind of tangly) forepaws engaged to TACKLE him to the ground. Arrow looks faintly indignant at the theft of the arrow he had just abandoned, but does not try to wrest it from Flèche. Instead he just chomps down on the boxing glove end of it, causing it to squeak repeatedly. He lets out a gleeful yip when Saeta tackles him. With her considerable size and strength, she easily bowls him over, tangled or no. Arrow's legs flail in the air and become somewhat ensnared in the net, as well. Flèche's tail thwaps harder at the squeaking of the glove. Her excited WHUFF causes the arrows to tumble to the ground -- though now there is tackling, and she ignores her toys in favour of circling the tumbling tangle of other dogs. Eager, antsy. Eventually she dives back in, gripping the net in more of an earnest this time where she had started tearing at it earlier, head shaking to break away more of its strands, pull it free of the others -- probably do a little bit of pulling the others -- as she scoot scoot scoots backwards. Saeta growls low and playful as Arrow goes down, briefly backing off before -- well, /trying/ to charge him again. It only half works, her advance sort of stumbling with the net shifting under them. Nevertheless delighted to find herself freed, she bounds to her feet, does three gleeful turns in place before bowing low to the others and then taking off full speed in a gallop across the meadow. Even half-tangled, Arrow is back on his feet quickly, dancing back and forth in front of Saeta as though /daring/ her to come at him. Evidently his intention had been to start a chase, he makes a valiant attempt to take off when she charges him again, though he is little more successful than she is owing to the net. Once un-snared, he shakes himself off vigorously, bounds /into/ Flèche--more of an enthusiastic chest bump then a tackle--and chases after Saeta with wild abandon. Flèche is prancing in place for a moment as the other dogs find their feet again. Her ears prick -- one ear pricks, at least, the other flopping over as her head tilts, eyes darting eagerly from one of her companions to the other. The tan underside of her tail makes an enthusiastic flag, high and waving as she bolts off, one lean streak following the others through the grass.