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set on the edges of rabbit lake, near the border of the packlands! 327 words
Ares was concentrating really, really hard. Writing with a pen was a skill that did not come very naturally to him. He had picked it up late in life and never employed it as much as he should have. Consequently, every word he wrote onto the pages of his tatty notebook was constructed very slowly, very deliberately. Sometimes the ink would bleed through a page or two, so firmly and resolutely did he press down on the page. He had recently finished "You Were the Sunshine that Lit Up My Dark Self," the poem that Mati had caused to bubble up in his mind at the recent pack birthday celebration. Now, though, he was onto something new. His current working title was "My Burning Heart," but... well, it seemed to be missing something, to be honest. He'd would just have to come back to that after he wrote more of the actual content.
He was curled up within his favorite writing place, the nest of roots near this one particular part of Rabbit Lake. Ares fit just perfectly inside of it, and the light playing on the water and the birds in the tree above him were just the perfect backdrop for writing. He wrote a few more words, then another stanza or so. He was really on a roll. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding the gray boy that he should probably take a break to get some food soon. His dark bangs dangled in front of his face as he wrote out a few more words. Inspiration flash, striking him like lightning. He knew what the title was missing! Flipping back one page, he added four words before his current title, transforming it into the far more expressive "The Flaming Fire of My Burning Heart." His golden eyes glowed with pride, and he leaned back against the tree trunk, reveling in his genius and the chill breeze that whipped its way through the forest around him.
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Seeker of Truth was presently seeking nothing but a place to sit and write. A thick, leatherbound book with yellowed pages and various papers sticking out of the side was tucked tightly beneath his right arm as he worked his way through thick grasses and roots, fighting to get to some kind of place where he could settle down. Seeker much preferred the peacefulness of lakes to write, which allowed him to think. He'd heard some preferred the ocean, but Seeker thought that body of water was a place to admire as opposed to a place to think. He liked the way that lake water lapped slowly and rhythmically against the sandy banks, the way you could occasionally hear a fish jump, causing a ripple, or a bird scream its battle cry as it dove to the water to capture a meal. It was the perfect place to write poetry, and the lake he'd currently found seemed like it would do just fine--if he could just find a damn place to sit.
It was then that he realized he wasn't the only one who had come to the lake for some bonding time with a pen and notebook. A gray wolf with bright, piercing yellow eyes seemed to be fully enveloped in the book in his lap as he leaned against a tree trunk, looking rather comfortable. Seeker didn't usually like company when he worked and wasn't sure that the stranger would appreciate it either, particularly since Seeker sensed that the lake interfered with a pack's boundaries, but he wasn't really one to care about the concerns of others and therefore made his way with limited difficulty to the wolf's side.
"Hello," he offered, glancing at the dark words engraved into the page. "What are you writing?" There were two routes this stranger could choose to take: he could be warm and offer Seeker the contents of his notebook, or he could be an ass and tell him to get lost. Either way, Seeker would be just fine. [/html]
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my apologies for the delay, i'm playing catch up after a busy last weekend! 301 words
Ridiculous superstition kept Ares away from the ocean himself. He knew his mother loved the coast, and thus very simply he detested it. The gray boy had absolutely no interest in ever incidentally running into her and would do anything in his power to avoid doing so, however unlikely it was that she'd ever come near Crimson Dreams. The lake, though, was somewhere he felt very comfortable. Even after the awkward encounter with Savina here after the unfortunate incident with Amata, this place still had its charm. And almost no one was ever around here, giving him the time and space to actually get some writing done. Of course, it was after a thought like this that a voice broke the silence. It was okay because he wasn't mid-thought or anything; he was still proud of the verse he had constructed.
Besides, this stranger was asking about his writing. Ares was very very proud of his writing, but also incredibly hesitant to let anyone see it. It was so personal! "Um, hi. I'm writing a poem, but it's not very good." He lied modestly. You weren't ever supposed to brag about art. And talking poorly about one's art usually drove others to compliment it more strongly, which was always fun. His golden gaze was drawn to the book beneath the other gray male's arm. Oh, fancy. After a pointed look at it, he glanced up to the others' face. "What about you, what do you write?" Curiosity rang in his tone. Ares had never actually met anyone else who enjoyed writing things that sounded cool; it was rare enough to find another canine that enjoyed to even read that much. His sister certainly saw it as more of a chore than a hobby. "Oh, I'm Ares by the way." Introductions were polite.
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