orca, orca, orca

POSTED: Mon Jun 17, 2019 12:54 am

how pure, how sweet the love beneath it

Fast, fast, fast, it all moved, unbidden and uncontrolled to the stable and hungry hands of man.

The deed had been done. She'd patched up who needed patched up. For now, the fledgling pack, still fresh as it was, was safe, their threat beaten back with a bigger stick than that which was brought to brandish against them. Truth be told, there was an uncertainty in it all, as there always simply had been with her -

It was her curse, an awful thing to bear - her indecision ate her alive. Were the hands of fate, dictated so wholely by action, the correct ones to follow? Through the thread she looped, without even wondering over it. But what made one clan so different from another?

Perhaps she'd find herself wandering off again, into the wilds, until that vicious uncertainty so devoured her alive as she had come to expect.

The riverbanks were quiet, save for the babble of water and the chattering birdsong. Summer's heat filtered down, down, down, through the canopy, and baked her dark-pelted skin - the plants were growing in full, and her satchel packed full. To this end, there was surely no harm to pause and dip her feet, even for a moment, while she pondered the broad blanket of destiny.

ooc stuff here | [wc — ??] template by hilli

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POSTED: Mon Jun 17, 2019 1:48 am

Mateo had barked him into action, urging the mongrel to rise with the early morning sun. It was frustrating, for sometimes Ruckus felt as if there was too much noise trapped in the confines of his mind. It made him lethargic and eager to cover himself in layer upon layer of furs to block out the sunlight that so often dappled his tent. Some days were better for others and though Mateo never asked him about the darkness that hung over him like a cloud he knew that the poet noticed.

He wandered unadorned save for the thick leather collar that was always hung about his neck, and the leather vest that he always wore open. It was thin just like his fur and it allowed for the scrawling marks left on his skin to peek out from beneath the tattered sleeves. Summer was the season that the dog liked most – for there was no need to hide beneath cloaks or furs and instead he was allowed to bask in the heat that so often radiated through the height of the afternoon.

A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as he walked along, billowing smoke behind him like a chimney. It was a terrible habit, but one that he had picked up soon after his mother had abandoned him.

He made a dry sound and coughed, suddenly aware that he was not alone.

Ruckus was not an animal who was built to trust, and so he thrust his hands deep into his pockets and growled softly, leaning against a tree as if in an effort to disappear. The woman who sat alongside the babbling waters sat with her feet extended into the rivulets, the long swatch of her dark hair hanging prettily between her shoulders.

The mongrel watched silently, inhaling so that the end of his cigarette burned too-bright in his hand.

The Director
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Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild