11-25-2008, 09:53 PM
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Slaying the Dreamer
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The arctic wolf in question lay comfortably on his belly, frost-white paws crossed so that his chin fit perfectly atop them. His eyes swept lazily across his surroundings - he was back in his old haunt, the Dahlia graveyard. He certainly had no desire to become closer to death, nothing of that morbid mindset. No, Slay often slept around the old graveyard because he liked how the decorative tombstones provided shelter for the wind, and a unique setting. Not many of the pack members - perhaps none of them - had realized that he was too claustrophobic to take a human house as his dwelling of choice, or even to dig out his own den in the thickets. Since it was difficult for him to fall asleep on his own, he needed the familiar sight of the open skies above him. Nothing was worse than waking up to complete darkness.
Besides, during the spring and summer months, the graveyard was a pleasant place, rich with flowers and thrumming insects, and abundant with rodents to snack on. As the weather grew sharper, though, Slay was beginning to foresee it being less comfortable... The ground was getting harder, the fallen leaves would soon be crisp with rime, and the flowers were already naught but a memory. His thick ebony-marked fur would have no problem with snow, but whether or not the rest of him was okay with winter was another story. "And the ocean will be too cold for fish," he added in a discontent grumble, drawing his muzzle back against his fluffy chest. It had been misting on and off, giving Slay something to complain about. Rain itself didn't really bother him, although the feeling of wet fur was a pet peeve of his. Sighing with almost comical dejection, the wolf rose to his paws, about to consider wandering towards the shoreside, when he heard the unfamiliar howl. Slay tilted his head in curiosity, white-tipped ears perked forward with interest. The call was female and non-threatening; a prospective pack member? No, that searching cry sounded too specific... A slow smile spread across Slay's muzzle, and he let his tail swish in a lazy circle as he padded towards the stranger. "From the pack meeting! She was in the two-legger form like everyone else, Cer said her name, what was it now... something tricky to pronounce..." Furrowing his brow in concentration, he tried to recall who she was but could not. Why would she be calling him, though? Wasn't she a higher rank than he, after his demotion? Well, he was curious. And certainly, nothing else was going on on this grey, drizzly day. Cheerfully, he tilted back his muzzle and howled his deep reply, strong voice carrying far across the open fields beyond the graveyard he called home. |
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