Word Count » 305 :: (Backdate; 11th May) Starter fail x.x
Within the newly claimed lands, it had surprised the Russo male that such a mighty pack would house themselves within the ruins of human civilisation; for Salsola was a pack of the strong, those of pride and power; and with that in mind he had assumed that his leaders would order for housing to be constructed. But such initial surprise had quickly worn away into an understanding acceptance. The bleached, pale ruins of a mighty structure provided shelter, privacy and most of all, protection. If one became familiar with the landscape, it would be easy to outmanoeuvre another within the area, if any canine was fool enough and skilled as such to trespass so deep into their home.
Unlike the others, he had no great vision, nor drive, not even a hunger for power. All he wanted was a quite, simple life for he and his child like master, where they could be safe and not judged by others. From the whispers of pack ideals he had heard, he truly believed that he would be able to build a home for himself and Bastion with this newly founded pack.
Turning and twisting his way through rubble and ruins, he located a cleared area that was darkened by a building’s shadow. Moving forward, he cast his eyes around him; a habit formed for self preservation during his time as a slave. Once satisfied no threat was within sight, he crouched down and then stretched himself out upon the cool, hard floor. Worn down leather separated him from the floor as he lay upon the ground; his tattered coat falling to each side of him, revealing normally hidden scars that covered his sides.
Crossing his legs over, he brought his arms up to cover his eyes and sat there in silence; only his thoughts to accompany him.
