12-03-2011, 07:35 PM
Despair was a hard emotion to combat. He could feel it waging war within him, destroying what little warmth had remained. It felt as if his blood had turned frozen with the snow. In his mind's eye he pictured his body being enveloped in ice, it wove down from the tip of his claws with a snakelike consistency, spreading across his flesh like some freezing virus. Tristan pictured himself frozen here for all eternity, stuck to this landscape of death like some eerie memento to his life's many failures. The brute wanted to sigh, wanted to expel the depression rising in his lungs, but the image engrained into him was too deep. It appeared he was stuck in the mindful hallucination. He was certain he would die here, stuck still in the freezing cold, half-starved. There would be no rescue, there was no one left that mattered anything to him. Dying seemed a blessing at the moment.
Snap! The sound reverberated across the empty place like a gunshot, shaking the Timber Wolf out of his depressed reveries. His head shot around towards the sound, catching the sight of what he was sure was a ghost. What strangeness had the fates sent him now? A image of his dead beloved, come to what? Compel him to continue? Or perhaps a demon in her lovely shell, here to lure him into the depths of hell. The second long musings brought a grin to his sorrowful features. He was being a fool. Ghosts didn't exist, they lived only within one's soul. Upon second glance he noticed her blue eyes, quite the opposite of his beloved albino's stark pink ones. No, this white she-wolf was no Ophelia.
Social skills, long unused, flooded to the forefront of his mind. Immediately he lowered his maw, remained seated as he shuffled to face her. His face was angled more to the right, keeping the she-wolf in the gaze of his single working eye. A lopsided grin fell on his features as he pictured the ice dripping from his body. Perhaps 'Souls wasn't as dreary as earlier thought. With a dip of his head and a pupish grin he growled out the first spoken word in weeks, "'Ello. The name's Tristan. Tristan Scorn. I'm of no threat so long as you aren't."
Snap! The sound reverberated across the empty place like a gunshot, shaking the Timber Wolf out of his depressed reveries. His head shot around towards the sound, catching the sight of what he was sure was a ghost. What strangeness had the fates sent him now? A image of his dead beloved, come to what? Compel him to continue? Or perhaps a demon in her lovely shell, here to lure him into the depths of hell. The second long musings brought a grin to his sorrowful features. He was being a fool. Ghosts didn't exist, they lived only within one's soul. Upon second glance he noticed her blue eyes, quite the opposite of his beloved albino's stark pink ones. No, this white she-wolf was no Ophelia.
Social skills, long unused, flooded to the forefront of his mind. Immediately he lowered his maw, remained seated as he shuffled to face her. His face was angled more to the right, keeping the she-wolf in the gaze of his single working eye. A lopsided grin fell on his features as he pictured the ice dripping from his body. Perhaps 'Souls wasn't as dreary as earlier thought. With a dip of his head and a pupish grin he growled out the first spoken word in weeks, "'Ello. The name's Tristan. Tristan Scorn. I'm of no threat so long as you aren't."