2. Character Birthdate (including year): November 24th, 2006
3. Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci Ortus
4. Gender: Male
5. Your e-mail: thevaliantknife@gmail.com
6. A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M): N/A (I hardly use messengers, plus I get emails on my phone. So it'd be the best way to contact me).
7. How did you learn/hear about 'Souls?: Heard about it years ago. I've been an on again, off again member for about two of them.
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[/html]A storm was rolling in over the greater Halifax area, and it was moving on the swift oceanic wind that was ripping across the coastline. The smell of sea salt was in the air, and the roaring waves in the distance could be heard for miles. Surely, with the ferocity of the coming storm, all creatures great and small were frantically vying for a secure shelter; curling up under rocks, burrowing underground, or hiding out in the old, abandoned human structures. A sudden gust of wind crashed into him as he crested the hill that led down into the inner territory. His sandy fur was whipped around, and he flattened his ears further against his skull, as if hoping to shut out the world. For a moment he closed his eyes against the burning tears that spilled freely down his cheeks; not from the wind, but from the torment currently shredding his heart to tiny, battered bits. A soft whimper spilled from his lips as he opened his eyes and caught sight of the tattered linen bundle cradled in his arms. He held it like something infinitely precious, as if holding the very essence of his soul between his fragile, mortal fingers. Slowly -- carefully, he pulled it closer to his warm chest, using a free hand to wrap part of his coat around it, clutching it as if embracing a lover.
Suddenly as the private moment began, it was interrupted by another clap of thunder. His head snapped up, and his expression grew even more desperate as he realized the severity of the situation. With a frantic glance over his shoulder, he moved into the claimed territory, wide, frightened eyes searching for a sign of life. He knew well the potentially severe consequences of inviting himself into a pack's lands, but there was little reason left to harness in the panicked man. There was a deliberateness in his step, but a terrible horror in his expression. Locke knew... oh he knew the truth, but he was unable, and unwilling, to face it. However, with each intentional step forward, his hear broke just a little bit more as the bundle in his hands remained still, and began to grow as cold as the air buffeting his lean frame. No, there was nothing that could deter him now. He had to find help... he had to save her, and them, and everything! That was his duty, his virtue; the meaning of everything he'd ever imagined, known, and come to known. The purpose; the drive. These sweet, wonderful things that made him smile; the beautiful beauty that gave him so much, for so little in return. He was her knight, it's what they do...Locke kept walking, because there was nothing else he could do.