11-06-2007, 05:55 PM
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Thanks for getting this started. _____ When was the last time that he had wandered towards a stand of trees and shimmied up one of the broad trunks? It had seemingly been ages, and Pilot still found comfort in his roots, though he had grown away from them in the past year. Most often than not, other wolves would find the white male perched a hundred feet above them and instantly brand him eccentric. Now, though still bearing the same Monroe-clad grin, he didn’t seem so unusual and awkward. In fact, he rather fit in with the group of wolves known as Storm. When he did have a chance to steal some time for himself, however, he did find himself venturing back to his roots almost as if it was a bad habit. He tried to conceal it from others (though he was sure they probably didn’t care) which was really a front for concealing them from himself. He wanted to prove that he had changed. That he could change. And resorting to old ways tainted that. _____ Though he was high in the trees, less camouflaged now that most leaves scattered the ground below, things were different from when he had first arrived. He was a Luperci now, and climbing things was considerably easy once he took up his Optime form. Climbing with opposable thumbs made things wondrously simple, who would have thought? Now that he had grown accustomed to this life of being a werewolf, a simple life confined to one form was his bete noire. In no way would he trade what he had now for what he had only a year ago. Though he loved his former family, his new life offered things more precious to him, including his first love. |