BiC:
So the seasons were turning. Slay felt a mixed emotion stir in his wide chest, a worried furrow on his brow as he studied the yellows and oranges creeping up the tree leaves, watching the cool breezes tease the dead leaves on the ground. They made a crunching sound beneath his paws, crinkling as his blunt nails accidentally shredded the fragile fibres. The arctic wolf had two thoughts in his mind -- one, that it felt like forever since he had chosen to stay with the Dahlia de Mai pack. The flowers had just barely been spreading their petals into bloom when he had wandered here, inspiring the very name of their mismatched family. Now they had all but withered away, leaving only the dry husks of seed-blowers such as dandelion and milkweed behind. Slay didn't like to think about time passing, since it only reminded him how little he had accomplished. Still, he had done better here than anywhere else. The second thought was that winter was creeping closer. It was silly that an arctic wolf with husky blood would have any distaste for snow, but he'd spent so long away from the icy mountain ranges of Alaska that all it would serve to do would be remind him of his birthplace. Slay carefully avoiding thinking the word "home", and shook the dead leaves from his thick fur.
The black and white wolf brightened considerably when he thought of Cercelee. She was finally home, and no longer looked so pitiful like last time. It was wonderful news to him, although he hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak with her on the first day. She was surrounded by well-wishers and the occasional curry-favor, and so after the informal meeting, Slay retreated to the fields to clean up and ready himself to confront her. "Okay, 'confront' is a little strong," he murmured with an amused grin, checking out his reflection in a puddle. It had taken a few days to think of what to say, when he finally decided on saying nothing at all. It was his style to just move on, even if it was difficult to forget whatever was bothering him. Besides, didn't they always make everything up as they went along? Whenever either of them tried to breach with true sentiment, it always got rather awkward... It was easier to play games and tease each other. "Call it stress relief," he explained to his handsome reflection, before moving away from the entrancing puddle between his furry white paws. It was almost his position, it seemed, to help his friend Cer shed some of her Rosea worries by acting goofy and rough-housing. Not that he would admit he needed her just as much, for the self-esteem problems his narcolepsy harried him with.
Surrounded by the autumnal trees, the quirky wolf settled onto his haunches with a grin and began to bellow a fast-paced ditty he had been taught by a stranger once about this season. "The leaves are falling, falling, falling, all around, 'round, 'round -- they keep falling, falling, falling, to the ground, ground, ground -- I guess they're turning, turning, turning, yellow-gold and rusty-red -- but if the trees keep falling too, I think I'll end up dead!"
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