04-08-2010, 07:30 PM
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Kneeling on the soft moss that bordered the small spring, Chehalis carefully placed the old leather bag next to him, leaning it against his leg to keep it from spilling over. He then leaned forward, reached out and cupped a small pool of water in his hand, before bringing it to his mouth to drink. The cool liquid was refreshing after a few hours of continuous travel, and it aided greatly in soothing his growling stomach. The older wolf had not paused to look for food in over a day, and his body was staging a loud protest, accented by yet another churning rumble as it was brought to attention. Water was great, but he knew it was no substitute for real nourishment. So, with another quick drink of the spring, he grabbed his leather bag and pulled it onto his shoulders (a frayed chord of rope was tied to either end of the bag). He pushed himself up, and continued on through the forest.
There was a moment when he wondered if he was perusing the right options. The facts to consider were numerous, and each weighed heavily on his decision. However, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, he was getting older; soon enough he would be too old to travel great distances, and beyond that, he would soon be unable to leave his home. A great part of him wanted it to end before he turned into a listless vegetable. But Chehalis didn't have the heart, nor the peace of mind, to end his life before it ran the natural course. No, he much rather hoped he died valiantly, or for the greater good. Not that he wanted to die, but he wasn't one to throw his faith into falsehood.
The scent of the borders hit him square in the face, and it sent him reeling with surprise. The wind had changed to favor him, and the rain did little to mute the pungent array of wolf that permeated the surrounding area like a wall. The old wolf turned his graying nose to the nearest tree, finding fresh territory markers cut into the wood. He reached out for the nearest tree and placed his hand against the trunk; claw marks gouged the thick bark of the pine, exposing the stark white of the wood below like a great wound. Spreading his hand, he ran three fingers through each groove, trying to imagine the leader who marked it. A smile lit across his lips like wildfire, and he patted the trunk twice before picking up and moving closer to the borders. There was nothing left to consider, not when he was placed so suddenly on the threshold of his final decision.
Years had passed since he last sought the guidance and protection of a pack, but the howl that rose from his parted lips gave no indication of ignorance. He remembered the dance, and found the rhythm of his pounding heart a particularly fitting beat. His howl soon died in the pitter-pattering of the rain, but he was confident he was heard. Chehalis rested on hand on the satchel, and the other hung limp; his tail was low, and his ears flat.
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Kneeling on the soft moss that bordered the small spring, Chehalis carefully placed the old leather bag next to him, leaning it against his leg to keep it from spilling over. He then leaned forward, reached out and cupped a small pool of water in his hand, before bringing it to his mouth to drink. The cool liquid was refreshing after a few hours of continuous travel, and it aided greatly in soothing his growling stomach. The older wolf had not paused to look for food in over a day, and his body was staging a loud protest, accented by yet another churning rumble as it was brought to attention. Water was great, but he knew it was no substitute for real nourishment. So, with another quick drink of the spring, he grabbed his leather bag and pulled it onto his shoulders (a frayed chord of rope was tied to either end of the bag). He pushed himself up, and continued on through the forest.
There was a moment when he wondered if he was perusing the right options. The facts to consider were numerous, and each weighed heavily on his decision. However, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, he was getting older; soon enough he would be too old to travel great distances, and beyond that, he would soon be unable to leave his home. A great part of him wanted it to end before he turned into a listless vegetable. But Chehalis didn't have the heart, nor the peace of mind, to end his life before it ran the natural course. No, he much rather hoped he died valiantly, or for the greater good. Not that he wanted to die, but he wasn't one to throw his faith into falsehood.
The scent of the borders hit him square in the face, and it sent him reeling with surprise. The wind had changed to favor him, and the rain did little to mute the pungent array of wolf that permeated the surrounding area like a wall. The old wolf turned his graying nose to the nearest tree, finding fresh territory markers cut into the wood. He reached out for the nearest tree and placed his hand against the trunk; claw marks gouged the thick bark of the pine, exposing the stark white of the wood below like a great wound. Spreading his hand, he ran three fingers through each groove, trying to imagine the leader who marked it. A smile lit across his lips like wildfire, and he patted the trunk twice before picking up and moving closer to the borders. There was nothing left to consider, not when he was placed so suddenly on the threshold of his final decision.
Years had passed since he last sought the guidance and protection of a pack, but the howl that rose from his parted lips gave no indication of ignorance. He remembered the dance, and found the rhythm of his pounding heart a particularly fitting beat. His howl soon died in the pitter-pattering of the rain, but he was confident he was heard. Chehalis rested on hand on the satchel, and the other hung limp; his tail was low, and his ears flat.
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