I always stagger back again

Anatole Aston · 12-04-2011, 12:50 PM

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+3 He's in a non-descript area of the woods right now, in his lupus form. Early morning.

It felt strange to be here again. Anatole could recall the landscape in part, but he had begun taking wide and exploratory loops through the territory. They had expanded since he had last lived here, and the dark wolf was pleased with this. His legs were strong from his journey and despite the hardships put on by traveling alone, his weight was still healthy. The dried food offered was enough to fill his belly, though he disliked the coldness of such a thing. Hot flesh, now that was truly a meal.

He had not left his lupus body since arriving. Anatole had known such a thing was peculiar here, as it seemed to be looked down upon. This, he found, was foolishness. They had all once been born in such a fashion, and he had never considered it lesser. The Tribe might have changed this view if not for his mother whisking him far north, to their homeland. Even there, Anatole had found no quarter. Bored with the day-to-day he had gone off looking for something more; a bachelor group of wolves had suited his purpose for a while, but then quarrels began when the idea of leadership arose.

Anatole answered to no man. He was not so daft as to shake the pillar of leadership, and he was more than capable of toeing the line, but deep within him he longed for the absolute freedom of a loner. Such things, though, would not suit him yet. He had to find his aunt, first, and he had been journeying for so long that the idea of rest appealed to him. One would not think it from the way he moved, his feet a constant trot, his body (while massive) streamlined and propelled by hard muscles over the snow-brushed ground.

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