01-01-2011, 09:45 PM
Dated January 3. This thread is mandatory. Each pack member must post twice. Posting order will be determined by whoever gets here first until everyone in the pack has gotten a chance to post, and we will go through a round of repeats after I post once more. Quote at the end of this post by MA Radmatcher.
WC: 967
The New Year crept on silent wings, carried upon the frigid winds of winter. Geneva did not always measure time the way humans had, but she knew that today bore a special significance to her pack. With this in mind, she moved with thoughtful steps among the rows of headstones. Her slim body swayed with a strange rhythm, as though her thoughts echoed music that only she could hear that lent her a guileless and unplanned grace. Many thoughts filtered through her mind, lurking like the dark shadows of fish beneath a layer of ice in a frozen pond. She felt that she couldn’t access them all, but she was conscious of the fact that they were there. There was too much for her to consider at once, and right now she did not feel like picking and choosing different memories to focus on, so she just let them flow over her before they departed entirely.
Hill of Graves seemed to be such a naturally dark place. Row upon row of headstones studded the ground, numbering in a few dozen. She strained her eyes as she tried to read the writing on the headstones, ancient artifacts of a human era that was as long gone and dead as the occupants of some of these graves. The years had wished the writing away, and Geneva really had no wish to identify the owners of the remains below the ground. Their stories had played out, and although they were obscured by the veils of time, she still felt that those occupants below the earth played their part within the Valley pack. Their mystery was not hers to know, and she was content with that. She had her own ghosts to chase, and memories of her own dead to consider.
Today marked a special time within Phoenix Valley, although she was certain that not many of her brethren knew. Today was a day of remembrance. But she also viewed it as a day of reconciliation. It was time to shed the trappings of times before. It was time to give up burdens that had weighed them each down. It was time to let go of the dead weight and strive to reach the heights and pinnacles that life had to offer, all while remembering and learning from the things that had come from before. There were valuable lessons within each experience, from each new acquaintance that had been gained and lost. Death could be interpreted literally or symbolically in many instances.
Putting her back to the dense copse of trees that surrounded the dimly lit graveyard, Geneva raised her voice to the dying sunset. Her howl was a thin, strong melody, much like her speaking voice. It had a ghostly quality as it echoed amongst the trees and gravestones. She settled on the uneven ground, kneeling and allowing her hands to rest palms up on her thighs. She would wait for the pack to assemble.
Jefferson was the first to appear, but he already knew the significance of today. She had told him that she would call the inhabitants of Phoenix Valley together for this meeting. He stopped to stand beside her, and although she was not looking at him, she knew that his electric green eye was scanning the shadowy Hill of Graves for their collective pack. When she saw that the others had arrived, Geneva spoke to them, her voice hushed as always, but it rang through the graveyard like a ghostly echo.
”Today is important for our pack. It is La Saoire Na Mairbh; it is Day of the Dead.” Her lime colored eyes washed over the faces of those surrounding her, making a note of each of them, their names playing silently on her tongue before she continued to address them. ”It is a day of remembrance, but also renewal. It is important to recognize the significance of those who came before us, and experiences that have touched us and changed us. This day can pertain to the deaths of our old selves, the loss of friends even if they still live, or the deaths of old habits and ways of life. These things help us to move forward.”
Taking a breath, she glanced for a moment at Jefferson. Usually, her mate would take the role of a leader in terms of speaking and directing their pack. During the previous spring, Geneva had thought she had lost this part of her life. But now, she had regained it. She wanted to make sure that she did this right, and that her pack members would benefit from this celebration and day of significance, although it was rather somber in nature. Returning her eyes to her pack mates, she continued, ”There is strength in our unity, and strength in realizing the truth. I would ask that you share something that you have lost, and something you have realized or gained in return, something that has made you stronger.”
The flow of her words stilled for the span of several breaths. Then, with some tranquility in her expression, she began the process of sharing herself. ”In the spring, I became injured. I asked to be removed from the rank of Savant, second in this pack, and for many months I carried a wounded heart. But much of my suffering was the result of my own devising. I have let go of the part of me that would think that I am undeserving of happiness, the part that would injure me and whisper to my weaknesses. Sometimes, I still war with the voice that tells me that I am unfit and always wrong…But now I have realized…’Courage does not always roar, sometimes it is the small voice at the end of the day that says, "I will try again tomorrow’.”*
WC: 967
The New Year crept on silent wings, carried upon the frigid winds of winter. Geneva did not always measure time the way humans had, but she knew that today bore a special significance to her pack. With this in mind, she moved with thoughtful steps among the rows of headstones. Her slim body swayed with a strange rhythm, as though her thoughts echoed music that only she could hear that lent her a guileless and unplanned grace. Many thoughts filtered through her mind, lurking like the dark shadows of fish beneath a layer of ice in a frozen pond. She felt that she couldn’t access them all, but she was conscious of the fact that they were there. There was too much for her to consider at once, and right now she did not feel like picking and choosing different memories to focus on, so she just let them flow over her before they departed entirely.
Hill of Graves seemed to be such a naturally dark place. Row upon row of headstones studded the ground, numbering in a few dozen. She strained her eyes as she tried to read the writing on the headstones, ancient artifacts of a human era that was as long gone and dead as the occupants of some of these graves. The years had wished the writing away, and Geneva really had no wish to identify the owners of the remains below the ground. Their stories had played out, and although they were obscured by the veils of time, she still felt that those occupants below the earth played their part within the Valley pack. Their mystery was not hers to know, and she was content with that. She had her own ghosts to chase, and memories of her own dead to consider.
Today marked a special time within Phoenix Valley, although she was certain that not many of her brethren knew. Today was a day of remembrance. But she also viewed it as a day of reconciliation. It was time to shed the trappings of times before. It was time to give up burdens that had weighed them each down. It was time to let go of the dead weight and strive to reach the heights and pinnacles that life had to offer, all while remembering and learning from the things that had come from before. There were valuable lessons within each experience, from each new acquaintance that had been gained and lost. Death could be interpreted literally or symbolically in many instances.
Putting her back to the dense copse of trees that surrounded the dimly lit graveyard, Geneva raised her voice to the dying sunset. Her howl was a thin, strong melody, much like her speaking voice. It had a ghostly quality as it echoed amongst the trees and gravestones. She settled on the uneven ground, kneeling and allowing her hands to rest palms up on her thighs. She would wait for the pack to assemble.
Jefferson was the first to appear, but he already knew the significance of today. She had told him that she would call the inhabitants of Phoenix Valley together for this meeting. He stopped to stand beside her, and although she was not looking at him, she knew that his electric green eye was scanning the shadowy Hill of Graves for their collective pack. When she saw that the others had arrived, Geneva spoke to them, her voice hushed as always, but it rang through the graveyard like a ghostly echo.
”Today is important for our pack. It is La Saoire Na Mairbh; it is Day of the Dead.” Her lime colored eyes washed over the faces of those surrounding her, making a note of each of them, their names playing silently on her tongue before she continued to address them. ”It is a day of remembrance, but also renewal. It is important to recognize the significance of those who came before us, and experiences that have touched us and changed us. This day can pertain to the deaths of our old selves, the loss of friends even if they still live, or the deaths of old habits and ways of life. These things help us to move forward.”
Taking a breath, she glanced for a moment at Jefferson. Usually, her mate would take the role of a leader in terms of speaking and directing their pack. During the previous spring, Geneva had thought she had lost this part of her life. But now, she had regained it. She wanted to make sure that she did this right, and that her pack members would benefit from this celebration and day of significance, although it was rather somber in nature. Returning her eyes to her pack mates, she continued, ”There is strength in our unity, and strength in realizing the truth. I would ask that you share something that you have lost, and something you have realized or gained in return, something that has made you stronger.”
The flow of her words stilled for the span of several breaths. Then, with some tranquility in her expression, she began the process of sharing herself. ”In the spring, I became injured. I asked to be removed from the rank of Savant, second in this pack, and for many months I carried a wounded heart. But much of my suffering was the result of my own devising. I have let go of the part of me that would think that I am undeserving of happiness, the part that would injure me and whisper to my weaknesses. Sometimes, I still war with the voice that tells me that I am unfit and always wrong…But now I have realized…’Courage does not always roar, sometimes it is the small voice at the end of the day that says, "I will try again tomorrow’.”*