my hands are tied

Razekiel Lykoi · 07-24-2010, 10:50 PM

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Why hello, hope you don't mind a hippie.

There was a change in the air, a taste in the wind; he could sense it with every fiber of his being, every drop and scratch and smell that became of him knew of the difference. What was it, he supposed? Razekiel was not a child of this place, he was not born here, and yet the coyote stood grounded to the dry, dead earth he felt in tune with somehow. Inferni was a wasteland, despite having moved from the wasted earth now burnt to cinders and abandoned. They had shifted north, and their air moved with them like some dead, mist of blood and torment that circulated such deceitful lands, the dark place where so many a wolf had lost its life or had its head staked on the borders. How gruesome, Razekiel would grimace, every time he passed them by. The Great Mother hates to forgive for that.

And yet through the dead and foggy air that hung so limply over Inferni, a change lingered. The earthlover hardly knew what it was, what it held in store, or when it would even occur. Would he be a piece of it, a pawn yet again sent to kill trespassing wolves? Razekiel certainly hoped not. He had seen so little of his mother and the Aquila leader the rest of the clan seemed to subconsciously worship, or so it seemed to the misty-eyed prince. What were they planning? Was war a common occurrence with this new Inferni? His children, he had seen them recently; were they now safe, wherever they had wandered, or was there a risk they would somehow be caught up in it all?

The prince had smoked some earlier, but its effects were already beginning to subside. He felt no remorse, oddly; Razekiel felt on edge even under its swirling effects, and as his mind cleared he felt no need to put himself in the state again. He had tossed aside a finished cigarette, tobacco and nothing more, on he walked, as he always did, and he walked, and he walked. Mother Earth stretched all around him, dead and dying in that land like so many of her children had, and in the wind she whispered to him, but Razekiel said nothing. He said nothing, and he found Gabriel, and at first he said nothing there either.

"Gabe, my brother," he said, finally giving in and approaching the stiff, statuesque Aquila. "...You look tired, man." In his voice there was a typical cheeriness, but on the prince's face were lines of exhaustion, like the Mother's whispers had haunted him in sleep.

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