12-27-2008, 05:42 PM
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OOC: Sorry for the wait ;_;
So cold and numb. And not from the snow. Lubomir had seen that bleakness of spirit in himself, when he had gazed at his face in the waters of the rivers in his journey. And he knew that for all her youth, this female had suffered something horrid. It reminded him, in a way, of Mew, of his angel and her fight with Asphyxia. After miscarrying her pups, she had held that look of despair, that show of bleak spirit. And here it was again. Lubomir felt his heart give a painful jolt. Her words only emphasised the pain she semed to feel. We are all lost. I read, a long time ago, that in life it is not the destination, but the journey that matters. The people you meet, the things you see.
She spoke as if she were dying. It reminded Lubomir of the wolf he had met in the bookshop, how they had talked of so much. He had no clue where that wolf was. Perhaps he would find him again. But in this time and place, on the borders of this pack, staring into the eyes of the black female, Lubomir felt a need to help her. He padded closer, until he stood but feet from her. So young. And so utterly alone. Home is what you make of it. I came to this land months ago, from my home in the Old Country. I left my dead family behind. I found a new home here. What could you have done, lady, to warrant such harsh words?
So cold and numb. And not from the snow. Lubomir had seen that bleakness of spirit in himself, when he had gazed at his face in the waters of the rivers in his journey. And he knew that for all her youth, this female had suffered something horrid. It reminded him, in a way, of Mew, of his angel and her fight with Asphyxia. After miscarrying her pups, she had held that look of despair, that show of bleak spirit. And here it was again. Lubomir felt his heart give a painful jolt. Her words only emphasised the pain she semed to feel. We are all lost. I read, a long time ago, that in life it is not the destination, but the journey that matters. The people you meet, the things you see.
She spoke as if she were dying. It reminded Lubomir of the wolf he had met in the bookshop, how they had talked of so much. He had no clue where that wolf was. Perhaps he would find him again. But in this time and place, on the borders of this pack, staring into the eyes of the black female, Lubomir felt a need to help her. He padded closer, until he stood but feet from her. So young. And so utterly alone. Home is what you make of it. I came to this land months ago, from my home in the Old Country. I left my dead family behind. I found a new home here. What could you have done, lady, to warrant such harsh words?