------System loading . . . . Autopilot activated. Set course due west--destination: Dahlia de Mai. Full speed ahead.
------If he allowed it, his mind would race so hard that everything would blur together and the engine would eventually overheat and shut down. Who had done this? Why? What happened to Umbra, Naniko... the wolves here that didn't seem half bad? For once in his life, he didn't want to think. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for some, it was adrenaline that fuelled him now--not logic. The stench of blood had so heavily permeated the area that the attacker's scent was nearly lost in it. He had to focus on it to keep it fresh in his mind. All he knew was where those flowers grew, and all he knew was that somebody was going to pay.
------They entered the territory quickly and wasted little time in finding the two males. One thing in particular triggered such a violent reaction in him that he might have wretched, given half a chance: the flowers. One of the males had several resting at his paws, and he was just about to pick them up in his mouth. Perhaps they were simply a gift for a young female he was courting, but in Anselm's mind they screamed "guilty on all charges." This was the guy that did it! It was an honest mistake.
------Gabriel flew at the male's companion, and the red-eyed wolf was all too happy to have the alleged "killer" for himself. The element of surprise was on their side (something he would later question), and he crouched low to the ground and immediately went in for the kill. Once in striking distance (which was within a fraction of a second), he leapt up and snapped with his jaws, tearing a giant laceration into the male's neck. He gasped helplessly, but no screams were offered to the stormy skies above--his vocal chords had been severed. Anselm darted off to the side just as quickly as he had come, then whirled tightly around the wolf and now latched on hard to the back of his neck. Viciously he shook the wolf, but no resistance was offered.
------The flowers' petals, once vibrant and suggesting the plentiful time of spring, were now tattered, crinkled, and dirtied by the mud. It was an image that would be etched into his brain until the moment he took his very last breath.
| Messages In This Thread |