01-08-2010, 03:16 PM
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Darkness fell over a lone white figure, deep in the Valley. One could barely see paw prints littering the pristine sparkle and shine of the snow, which appeared blue underneath the waning moon. Artemis was exploring his new home, glad for the chance to wander around. His new home was an artist’s dream; he couldn’t wait to pick up a brush and oils and recreate this amazing place. He looked up, noting with an artist’s mind that the pine needles glistened in a fine blanket of frost, and the moon, in all her blue glory, lay guarded in her bed of clouds.
He sighed, grateful for the chance to examine this place. If he was going to make himself known in this land, he would have to know the lay of the land first. He had already seen the farm, with its multitude of farm animals, and the hot springs, with the steam rising in seductive circles. Artemis had also been to Halifax, and drawn the graceful architecture of the human cemetery, left to rot in the aftermath of the virus.
At the moment, Artemis found himself fairly close to Mirror Lakes. He strode, tall in his optime form, towards the water’s edge, glancing down. True to its name, the water shone with an inexplicable brilliance, reflecting his red eyes. He grimaced, throwing a rock into the water to disturb the reflection. He growled. Artemis didn’t much like his eyes; he had caught too much hell for their color, and the fact that he was an artist had outcast him even more from his uncle’s pack. His mother had cared a great deal for him when she brought him to the pack, but then again, she never expected to die and leave him at the ruthless hands of his worthless uncle.
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Word Count 301
Darkness fell over a lone white figure, deep in the Valley. One could barely see paw prints littering the pristine sparkle and shine of the snow, which appeared blue underneath the waning moon. Artemis was exploring his new home, glad for the chance to wander around. His new home was an artist’s dream; he couldn’t wait to pick up a brush and oils and recreate this amazing place. He looked up, noting with an artist’s mind that the pine needles glistened in a fine blanket of frost, and the moon, in all her blue glory, lay guarded in her bed of clouds.
He sighed, grateful for the chance to examine this place. If he was going to make himself known in this land, he would have to know the lay of the land first. He had already seen the farm, with its multitude of farm animals, and the hot springs, with the steam rising in seductive circles. Artemis had also been to Halifax, and drawn the graceful architecture of the human cemetery, left to rot in the aftermath of the virus.
At the moment, Artemis found himself fairly close to Mirror Lakes. He strode, tall in his optime form, towards the water’s edge, glancing down. True to its name, the water shone with an inexplicable brilliance, reflecting his red eyes. He grimaced, throwing a rock into the water to disturb the reflection. He growled. Artemis didn’t much like his eyes; he had caught too much hell for their color, and the fact that he was an artist had outcast him even more from his uncle’s pack. His mother had cared a great deal for him when she brought him to the pack, but then again, she never expected to die and leave him at the ruthless hands of his worthless uncle.
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