stoneface.

[Skoll]

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I like the descriptions, in your first paragraph especially. Don't ask me why, they just stood out to me, figured I should say something. Images. Each time the bronze dog closed his eyes, that's all that greeted him. He mourned the soothing darkness that would not come...mourned it each time those terrible images flitted across his mind. He saw the poles again, and the wires, that terrible poem scrawled in the dirt, the one that he could make out more and more clearly as he began learning new letters and words. The kids' mother had been on one of them when Twilight Thirteen had first read him that poem, and he couldn't forget the sight of her scorched face, the stinking residue of boiled blood still wafting from those empty holes... He tried his best to squeeze his eyes shut, to deny the memory, but it would not relent. It had been burned into his memory just as surely as the victims' eyes had been burned from their skulls. The blood that had issued forth in retaliation for a dozen such crimes had been copious, but never enough to staunch the wound that the cultists' terror had created. No amount of killing had ever been enough to compensate for what they had done...no amount of bloodshed could slake his righteous anger, nothing could stop the wolves he'd brought from avenging their loved ones, and suspending their sanity just long enough to tear the Shadow Priests' madness from the waking world forever. That still left them all to contend with the horror of their presence by night. The dreams were unending...and so here he was faced with another sleepless night. The warrior walked, on two legs rather than four, hoping to avoid any twinges from his stomach. The wound left there by the Lykoi son had been a vicious one, all four fangs had sunk deep into his flesh. He hadn't been completely self-aware when it had happened, he had been lost in his battle rage, the one he tried to avoid at all costs. The surge of adrenaline had been enough for him not to feel it upon its reception, but he was feeling it now. Any time he ran, he was reminded by that knot of scar tissue. It pained him if he ignored it for too long, and he didn't really need four legs if all he wanted to do was mosey through this new 127.0.0.1 of his. He had been walking for a half hour or so when he came across a dog he hadn't smelled before. Her smell was reminiscent of the Pack of White Supremacy, and so--not sensing a threat--he hailed her. "I didn't know anyone lived here. Don't mean to disturb, I can just amble on through." ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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