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Post by [C]laystar-- on Jan 1, 2008 21:10:08 GMT -5
It was dark. It was the new moon, and Cadence once again found himself wandering through unfamiliar territory. He could scent the rival markings of different wolves, some old and some new, and it kept him on alert.
Winding through the trees, he stumbled upon a small stream. He gazed into it; naught but his amber eyes were reflected in the black water. He turned away from the bubbling creek. What watered here? By drinking from it himself he would poison all that looked to it as a life source, and all that looked to those that he poisoned as a food source.
He followed the river sourly, leaping across a narrow break in the water. Near where he landed was a small puddle, and content with the fact that he could fill it in once he had enjoyed his fill of water, he lowered his dark muzzle. He lapped up the muddy water, pleased that he didn't have to poison and ecosystem for water. Once finished, he kicked dirt over the muddy remains of the puddle and licked his chops.
He continued along the stream at a trot, feeling much better now that he wasn't entirely parched. He came to a grouping of rocks, and lay down on the lee. He was tired. The travelers life was getting to him; it was wearing him out before his time. He thought for a fleeting moment, whether he could survive the structured life of a pack. He could, he concluded. No one ever said you had to trust your pack as a whole.
Uncertain and afraid, he lifted his slim muzzle to the stars, which were burning brightly in place of the moon. He let his harsh tenor sing, and he poured his soul into it. It came out discordant, as it always did, full of the malice and hate he harbored for the world. He cried into the night, the sadness he felt for the loss of his family, and ended it with the ray of hope he had for himself. As his jaws closed and the howling ceased, his eyes remained fixed on the stars. Perhaps his family was up there, making their own constellation. He let his head rest on his forepaws, and closed his eyes. It was likely he wouldn't sleep, he rarely did, but he felt more at ease in this strange land, now that he had confessed himself, in a manner of speaking, to the rest of the world.
Winding through the trees, he stumbled upon a small stream. He gazed into it; naught but his amber eyes were reflected in the black water. He turned away from the bubbling creek. What watered here? By drinking from it himself he would poison all that looked to it as a life source, and all that looked to those that he poisoned as a food source.
He followed the river sourly, leaping across a narrow break in the water. Near where he landed was a small puddle, and content with the fact that he could fill it in once he had enjoyed his fill of water, he lowered his dark muzzle. He lapped up the muddy water, pleased that he didn't have to poison and ecosystem for water. Once finished, he kicked dirt over the muddy remains of the puddle and licked his chops.
He continued along the stream at a trot, feeling much better now that he wasn't entirely parched. He came to a grouping of rocks, and lay down on the lee. He was tired. The travelers life was getting to him; it was wearing him out before his time. He thought for a fleeting moment, whether he could survive the structured life of a pack. He could, he concluded. No one ever said you had to trust your pack as a whole.
Uncertain and afraid, he lifted his slim muzzle to the stars, which were burning brightly in place of the moon. He let his harsh tenor sing, and he poured his soul into it. It came out discordant, as it always did, full of the malice and hate he harbored for the world. He cried into the night, the sadness he felt for the loss of his family, and ended it with the ray of hope he had for himself. As his jaws closed and the howling ceased, his eyes remained fixed on the stars. Perhaps his family was up there, making their own constellation. He let his head rest on his forepaws, and closed his eyes. It was likely he wouldn't sleep, he rarely did, but he felt more at ease in this strange land, now that he had confessed himself, in a manner of speaking, to the rest of the world.
