01-17-2011, 01:09 AM
The cemetery certainly wasn't one of Davyn's favorite places, but there were memories that could most likely be unearthed by visiting the dismal place. His silver eyes darkened, with emotions that spun in his chest. He wanted to be the best companion that he could be to those wolves he knew, but in order to find himself, he needed to find the memories that continued to evade him. Davyn sighed, stepping quietly into the grove that humans had buried their dead in for centuries before the outbreak of the virus. The grove was quiet, much like his mind, and Davyn drew his aura closer around him out of habit. The chill buried to his bones, so much colder this side of the gates.
The souls were quiet as he made his way through the rows upon rows of marble stones, some of them crumbling away with age. Davyn's ears pricked forward, hearing a quiet feminine voice whispering. At first, he thought the voice was just a remnant of a spirit that lingered in the cemetery; perhaps an old soul that had either not yet found peace, or a soul that had something to remain for in this very changed world. So when the scream of frustration rent the air, Davyn jumped, thinking he had offended the soul. Shadows fell over his eyes as he saw the stark white fur standing out against the shadows that were present in the cemetery even in full daylight. He observed as the female buckled, and his soul cried out to help her in any way he could.
Davyn approached slowly, then circled around so that he approached her from the front, careful to make sure she at least heard his steps in the crunching snow. Her sobs tore at his heart, and he clutched at his chest as sorrow enveloped him. "Milady, may I ask why such a lovely lady is so wrought with grief?" Davyn stood a few feet from her, out of arms reach in case she, in her wrenching sorrow, struck out.
The souls were quiet as he made his way through the rows upon rows of marble stones, some of them crumbling away with age. Davyn's ears pricked forward, hearing a quiet feminine voice whispering. At first, he thought the voice was just a remnant of a spirit that lingered in the cemetery; perhaps an old soul that had either not yet found peace, or a soul that had something to remain for in this very changed world. So when the scream of frustration rent the air, Davyn jumped, thinking he had offended the soul. Shadows fell over his eyes as he saw the stark white fur standing out against the shadows that were present in the cemetery even in full daylight. He observed as the female buckled, and his soul cried out to help her in any way he could.
Davyn approached slowly, then circled around so that he approached her from the front, careful to make sure she at least heard his steps in the crunching snow. Her sobs tore at his heart, and he clutched at his chest as sorrow enveloped him. "Milady, may I ask why such a lovely lady is so wrought with grief?" Davyn stood a few feet from her, out of arms reach in case she, in her wrenching sorrow, struck out.