08-21-2008, 11:47 AM
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Pain. It was there, raw and real and everywhere, engulfing him. The blow had made him fall, his body, bruised, broken, worn beyond its wear, landing with a thud, his head hitting the sand so hard he was knocked out. There was blackness again, and the other was there, though he seemed subdued somehow, as if he were lost within himself. Lubomir stared at the other and the other stared at Lubomir. Slowly, they touched front paws and their thoughts were one. The grey wolf learned that his split, his twin, whatever the hell the other was to begin with, had been a violent wolf from birth. He was brutal and brash, he was loud and strong, and he loved the sight of blood. No body was too weak to control, no mind too strong to overcome. In Lubomir, he'd found someone of almost unwavering ethics, a broken mirror image of his distorted self. Slowly, the wolf absorbed the other back into himself with a gasp, for it seemed he was being doused in icy water. The other would remain, like a shadow, one Lubomir could bring up, to fight, to destroy, to be in battle all the gentle one could not be.
It was with a gasp that he awoke, his body screaming with the agony of it. His eyes focused on Skoll, who seemed to be winning, and Lubomir's heart soared. His friend would prove him right. And then... yellow eyes seemed to glaze over. The grey wolf held his breath. His mind reeled. The scent of blood filled the air. He swore to himself that he was dreaming. He swore that this was his knock playing tricks on him, his disgusting, filthy mind, this was a joke, a trick, illusion, smoke and mirrors, magician's work, devil's trickery, a lie, a lie, a lie. He found that he was standing, shakily, on all four paws. He found himself walking slowly towards his friend, the great fallen warrior. His eyes would refuse to blink, and Lubomir knew it must be an illusion, some silly folly, maybe a game between these two? Skoll was just pretending to be dead.
The cry that escaped him was ear-shattering. It spoke of hollowness, of longing, emptiness and futility, it spoke of lost friendships and broken hearts. Lubomir drew breath and the same keening sound pierced the air, tears rolling down his cheeks. They wet his fur and Skoll's chest, they wet the sand around them. His cry seemed to chase clouds and sun, drawing in darkness. But it was only a darkness of mind, for Lubomir now cried earnestly, no longer calling out to some dead god to keep the golden warrior's soul. He cried for lost stories and fallen friends, for pointless deaths and valour, he cried for his guardian and mentor, he cried for all that could never be again. Not once did he think of attacking Asmodai. It would change nothing. Skoll was dead.
Lubomir lifted himself off his friend's body and did the one thing he could do. He said goodbye, as only bards knew how. It is possible that we are past the middle now.
It is possible that we have crossed the great water
without knowing it, and stand now on the other side.
Rest, friend. May your sleep never be troubled again. Lubomir looked on, to where the golden female and the grey killer stood. He said nothing more. Afterall, it had been said and done, and no one could undo the damage here.
Pain. It was there, raw and real and everywhere, engulfing him. The blow had made him fall, his body, bruised, broken, worn beyond its wear, landing with a thud, his head hitting the sand so hard he was knocked out. There was blackness again, and the other was there, though he seemed subdued somehow, as if he were lost within himself. Lubomir stared at the other and the other stared at Lubomir. Slowly, they touched front paws and their thoughts were one. The grey wolf learned that his split, his twin, whatever the hell the other was to begin with, had been a violent wolf from birth. He was brutal and brash, he was loud and strong, and he loved the sight of blood. No body was too weak to control, no mind too strong to overcome. In Lubomir, he'd found someone of almost unwavering ethics, a broken mirror image of his distorted self. Slowly, the wolf absorbed the other back into himself with a gasp, for it seemed he was being doused in icy water. The other would remain, like a shadow, one Lubomir could bring up, to fight, to destroy, to be in battle all the gentle one could not be.
It was with a gasp that he awoke, his body screaming with the agony of it. His eyes focused on Skoll, who seemed to be winning, and Lubomir's heart soared. His friend would prove him right. And then... yellow eyes seemed to glaze over. The grey wolf held his breath. His mind reeled. The scent of blood filled the air. He swore to himself that he was dreaming. He swore that this was his knock playing tricks on him, his disgusting, filthy mind, this was a joke, a trick, illusion, smoke and mirrors, magician's work, devil's trickery, a lie, a lie, a lie. He found that he was standing, shakily, on all four paws. He found himself walking slowly towards his friend, the great fallen warrior. His eyes would refuse to blink, and Lubomir knew it must be an illusion, some silly folly, maybe a game between these two? Skoll was just pretending to be dead.
The cry that escaped him was ear-shattering. It spoke of hollowness, of longing, emptiness and futility, it spoke of lost friendships and broken hearts. Lubomir drew breath and the same keening sound pierced the air, tears rolling down his cheeks. They wet his fur and Skoll's chest, they wet the sand around them. His cry seemed to chase clouds and sun, drawing in darkness. But it was only a darkness of mind, for Lubomir now cried earnestly, no longer calling out to some dead god to keep the golden warrior's soul. He cried for lost stories and fallen friends, for pointless deaths and valour, he cried for his guardian and mentor, he cried for all that could never be again. Not once did he think of attacking Asmodai. It would change nothing. Skoll was dead.
Lubomir lifted himself off his friend's body and did the one thing he could do. He said goodbye, as only bards knew how. It is possible that we are past the middle now.
It is possible that we have crossed the great water
without knowing it, and stand now on the other side.
Rest, friend. May your sleep never be troubled again. Lubomir looked on, to where the golden female and the grey killer stood. He said nothing more. Afterall, it had been said and done, and no one could undo the damage here.