04-23-2008, 10:31 AM
OOC: All members of Shadowed Sun welcome. Basically Lubomir's going to tell whoever wishes to listen about his journey from the Old Country. Also, he uses haiku because that is the only form of poetry I can decent write *lame*
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He'd been with the pack for a few days now. Lubomir missed the Old Country. This new land simply did not have the same smells, the same feel of the earth beneath his paws. But he had decided that this new pack, this Shadowed Sun (the title rang poetically melancholic for some reason) had earned enough of his trust to warrant a short telling of his journey. He knew he was an outsider, that somehow these wolves had been connected before, that whatever had happened before had only strengthened a bond. But Lubomir was from the Old Country, he was from lands of cold long winter nights and scarce prey. He was had been a storyteller and this was what he wished to employ here. His skill to entertain. He'd shifted earlier in the day and now stood tall, leaning against a tree. He looked healthier than when he'd arrived.
He'd left notes around the territory, in long, flowing handwriting. It was a rather strange poem, a haiku, a Japanese form of verse he'd picked up from a travelling scholar. It read: Shadows on the sun/For many moons I've travelled./Tale of a journey and Lubomir had managed to scrounge a piece of coal and something which may have once been paper from a cave. It was not much and it would certainly mean that, if he wished to regain a position to the one in Dawn Valley, he would have to find the necessary resources. Lubomir smiled to himself and patiently waited for anyone interested.
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He'd been with the pack for a few days now. Lubomir missed the Old Country. This new land simply did not have the same smells, the same feel of the earth beneath his paws. But he had decided that this new pack, this Shadowed Sun (the title rang poetically melancholic for some reason) had earned enough of his trust to warrant a short telling of his journey. He knew he was an outsider, that somehow these wolves had been connected before, that whatever had happened before had only strengthened a bond. But Lubomir was from the Old Country, he was from lands of cold long winter nights and scarce prey. He was had been a storyteller and this was what he wished to employ here. His skill to entertain. He'd shifted earlier in the day and now stood tall, leaning against a tree. He looked healthier than when he'd arrived.
He'd left notes around the territory, in long, flowing handwriting. It was a rather strange poem, a haiku, a Japanese form of verse he'd picked up from a travelling scholar. It read: Shadows on the sun/For many moons I've travelled./Tale of a journey and Lubomir had managed to scrounge a piece of coal and something which may have once been paper from a cave. It was not much and it would certainly mean that, if he wished to regain a position to the one in Dawn Valley, he would have to find the necessary resources. Lubomir smiled to himself and patiently waited for anyone interested.