09-16-2009, 09:46 PM
[html]ooc: I made it foggier. x3 Sorry for the typical delay!
Slay sat quietly on the steps outside the church, his ice-pale eyes reflecting the morning mists around him. Things had been oddly quiet lately. Since Cwmfen had given birth without incident, the dual threats of Brennt and Corvus had been eliminated, and his German puppies had been returned to their biological mother, all of the drama had settled down into a gentle lull marked only by the changing of the seasons.
The arctic werewolf was still in his hulking two-legger form. It was so strange to him, he wondered if he would ever get used to his towering height or lion-like mane, or the fact that his stark markings could be seen from miles away, or that his pale blue eyes were nearly washed out to white... but he had not given up on this alien new version of himself, because his sleeping sickness had not returned. He had more energy and strength than ever, and he could sleep throughout the night without waking up without warning. So far it was worth it to look like a freak, if it meant getting a good night's sleep.
Cercelee was still soundly napping inside of their now-quiet den of a church. She had taken the loss of her adopted children quite hard. Slay felt the ache as well, but some part of him knew that the five de Sadira children never really fit in here. Hell, they barely spoke English. It wasn't a huge shock to learn that one by one, they got older and decided to seek out their true family. He just didn't want to see it eating away at his poor mate like this. She missed motherhood. And perhaps soon, he would have to give her that back... If she asked him to, they would start their own family together. It was just a frightening prospect, since there would be no "other parents" to step in and rescue them if he made a mistake.
Unsettled, the tall werewolf lurched to his feet, deciding he'd rather walk than stay in one place. He was fairly accustomed to the lumbering movements required of walking upright, but it still felt like he was going to fall flat every time he bent his knees. The opalescent mist obscured some of his form, and he welcomed it, self-conscious as ever about his queer markings and overwhelming size. It was not far to the graveyard, the most solitary place he could think of. It was mostly a resting place for humans, although he knew now that several wolves also laid claim to its sanctity. Slay brushed the shaggy white fur from his eyes, peering into the hazy fog. He thought he'd caught a whiff of cottontail blood, a familiar prey to any wolf, but he hadn't yet spotted who was lingering by the statue of the deity...
Slay sat quietly on the steps outside the church, his ice-pale eyes reflecting the morning mists around him. Things had been oddly quiet lately. Since Cwmfen had given birth without incident, the dual threats of Brennt and Corvus had been eliminated, and his German puppies had been returned to their biological mother, all of the drama had settled down into a gentle lull marked only by the changing of the seasons.
The arctic werewolf was still in his hulking two-legger form. It was so strange to him, he wondered if he would ever get used to his towering height or lion-like mane, or the fact that his stark markings could be seen from miles away, or that his pale blue eyes were nearly washed out to white... but he had not given up on this alien new version of himself, because his sleeping sickness had not returned. He had more energy and strength than ever, and he could sleep throughout the night without waking up without warning. So far it was worth it to look like a freak, if it meant getting a good night's sleep.
Cercelee was still soundly napping inside of their now-quiet den of a church. She had taken the loss of her adopted children quite hard. Slay felt the ache as well, but some part of him knew that the five de Sadira children never really fit in here. Hell, they barely spoke English. It wasn't a huge shock to learn that one by one, they got older and decided to seek out their true family. He just didn't want to see it eating away at his poor mate like this. She missed motherhood. And perhaps soon, he would have to give her that back... If she asked him to, they would start their own family together. It was just a frightening prospect, since there would be no "other parents" to step in and rescue them if he made a mistake.
Unsettled, the tall werewolf lurched to his feet, deciding he'd rather walk than stay in one place. He was fairly accustomed to the lumbering movements required of walking upright, but it still felt like he was going to fall flat every time he bent his knees. The opalescent mist obscured some of his form, and he welcomed it, self-conscious as ever about his queer markings and overwhelming size. It was not far to the graveyard, the most solitary place he could think of. It was mostly a resting place for humans, although he knew now that several wolves also laid claim to its sanctity. Slay brushed the shaggy white fur from his eyes, peering into the hazy fog. He thought he'd caught a whiff of cottontail blood, a familiar prey to any wolf, but he hadn't yet spotted who was lingering by the statue of the deity...