10-15-2009, 02:48 AM
[html]ooc: Yes, it's pretty! And I like the lyrics. :>
Slay jogged along the border, the crisp fall air materializing his breath in foggy clouds. He felt oddly energetic, his ice-pale eyes scanning the familiar borders of his packland as his broad footpaws rustled through the dead leaves. Life was finally good for him. His mate's happiness buoyed him up, helped chase away the thoughts of inadequacy. As long as he didn't take her for granted or shirk his responsibilities too much, she wouldn't be going anywhere... and that stability brought warmth to his commitment-fearing heart.
The tall shaggy werewolf slowed his pace, brushing his wild mane from his face. He was starting to feel a rumble of hunger, and as Dahlia's Head Hunter, it was his duty - nay, his calling! - to keep the prey around here in check. It was an entirely different experience to hunt on two legs, as he had learned in the past month or two since his first shift. It was easier to catch fish, at least. His wet nose scented the air, jaws parted as he focused on the chilly October air.
It was not the scent of a stray hare or wild hart that drifted on the wind, but rather, the scent of a strange wolf... Slay's eyebrows furrowed, pacing forward through the rustling leaves as he followed the trail. He was more curious than defensive, since the smell was vaguely familiar, and the female had not yet crossed their borders anyway. When he caught a glimpse of pale grey nestled amidst the vivid reds and oranges of the fall foliage, he remembered his encounter with Pendzez - and how he had last spoken with the little flower on the day of her exodus, when snows had blanketed the ground and she was still a young pup.
"Is that you, Flayra?" he called out, tilting his head with a quizzical smile. Since he was a runaway himself, he never took offense to those wolves who deserted their pack. Some might find it insulting, but he was always friendly to his former packmates. It was nice of them to visit.
Slay jogged along the border, the crisp fall air materializing his breath in foggy clouds. He felt oddly energetic, his ice-pale eyes scanning the familiar borders of his packland as his broad footpaws rustled through the dead leaves. Life was finally good for him. His mate's happiness buoyed him up, helped chase away the thoughts of inadequacy. As long as he didn't take her for granted or shirk his responsibilities too much, she wouldn't be going anywhere... and that stability brought warmth to his commitment-fearing heart.
The tall shaggy werewolf slowed his pace, brushing his wild mane from his face. He was starting to feel a rumble of hunger, and as Dahlia's Head Hunter, it was his duty - nay, his calling! - to keep the prey around here in check. It was an entirely different experience to hunt on two legs, as he had learned in the past month or two since his first shift. It was easier to catch fish, at least. His wet nose scented the air, jaws parted as he focused on the chilly October air.
It was not the scent of a stray hare or wild hart that drifted on the wind, but rather, the scent of a strange wolf... Slay's eyebrows furrowed, pacing forward through the rustling leaves as he followed the trail. He was more curious than defensive, since the smell was vaguely familiar, and the female had not yet crossed their borders anyway. When he caught a glimpse of pale grey nestled amidst the vivid reds and oranges of the fall foliage, he remembered his encounter with Pendzez - and how he had last spoken with the little flower on the day of her exodus, when snows had blanketed the ground and she was still a young pup.
"Is that you, Flayra?" he called out, tilting his head with a quizzical smile. Since he was a runaway himself, he never took offense to those wolves who deserted their pack. Some might find it insulting, but he was always friendly to his former packmates. It was nice of them to visit.