08-08-2009, 10:05 PM
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As typical, Gabriel was walking. He did this more then perhaps anything else in his life. Four paws hit and rose from the earth with intense purpose, though he had no location in mind. The Aquila was moving because he had not been able to comfortably in several days—the rain had rarely let up and any area that was not firmly packed had turned swampy. This was something new to the doggish hybrid, whom had never seen water turn so violent. In his world there had only been drought and fire; both of which had turned him into a killer.
He no longer thought about the drought. The fire he could not wash from his skin, his fur, his scent. Often he imagined he could smell ash. Each time he did he saw one of a dozen faces. It was either Rachias, screaming for her brother, a nameless stranger burning alive, or the terrible and knowing gaze of a boy he had raised. While the dreams had once plagued him, they had quieted as the weeks had turned to months and the months had passed the one year mark.
This did not mean he did not feel the weight of days dampen his spirits. This did not mean he woke each day without the smell of soot in his nose and the taste of sulfur on his tongue. So was the case today, where the Aquila could not shake the somber mood from his skull. As caught up as he was he did not notice the girl until he had nearly walked into her. Gabriel balked and took a step back, gold-amber eyes widening with slight surprise. “Oh, Ryan, I didn’t see you there,” he said, and offered her an apologetic wag of the tail.
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As typical, Gabriel was walking. He did this more then perhaps anything else in his life. Four paws hit and rose from the earth with intense purpose, though he had no location in mind. The Aquila was moving because he had not been able to comfortably in several days—the rain had rarely let up and any area that was not firmly packed had turned swampy. This was something new to the doggish hybrid, whom had never seen water turn so violent. In his world there had only been drought and fire; both of which had turned him into a killer.
He no longer thought about the drought. The fire he could not wash from his skin, his fur, his scent. Often he imagined he could smell ash. Each time he did he saw one of a dozen faces. It was either Rachias, screaming for her brother, a nameless stranger burning alive, or the terrible and knowing gaze of a boy he had raised. While the dreams had once plagued him, they had quieted as the weeks had turned to months and the months had passed the one year mark.
This did not mean he did not feel the weight of days dampen his spirits. This did not mean he woke each day without the smell of soot in his nose and the taste of sulfur on his tongue. So was the case today, where the Aquila could not shake the somber mood from his skull. As caught up as he was he did not notice the girl until he had nearly walked into her. Gabriel balked and took a step back, gold-amber eyes widening with slight surprise. “Oh, Ryan, I didn’t see you there,” he said, and offered her an apologetic wag of the tail.