Arda Perrio fell upon his rump with a grunt after emerging from AniWaya's Town Hall. He had seated himself close to the entrance, close enough that he could retreat into it quickly should he feel the need for another nap. The last day or so - he hadn't been paying attention to the passage of time - had been blissfully uneventful for the old furbag. He had managed to avoid most of the meeting and greeting that came with entering a new place. As soon as he had found his sleeping spot, he had been out like a light. He had awoken only to satisfy his thirst and hunger. His limbs creaked and the throbs of arthritis poked at him relentlessly. Arda's lame leg splayed out awkwardly at his side as he rested himself down. Tired of being cooped up in the Town Hall, he had decided to rest in sight of other pack members, to watch and perhaps learn a thing or two or meet someone.
The huts of the AniWayans reminded him bitterly of the place of his birth. The sands of the pueblos still dusted his soul, and he wondered if these huts might provide more shelter than the wind-blown adobes. He wondered if terrible things went on behind the walls of these dwellings, as they had in the New Mexico of his youth. He suppressed a gasp as the memories hit him like an iron fist. Memories of Rikaiso, his beloved sister and the way he had overtaken her in the sandstorm of his youth. The way he had taken her into a hut not unlike those of AniWaya, yet made of stone. The horrors of the event still cried out from inside his heart, and the screams of newborns rang in his ears.
He whimpered softly, pressing his muzzle further into the earth, golden eyes scanning the tribe's village for any distraction. He had seen no one so far even close to him in age, and the sight of so many young wolves filled his heart with pity. Surely life was so full of mistakes that it was hardly worth living. And yet there he rested, breathing just like any other. Arda turned on his side now to take a better look at his leg. Such a position was not one he would normally like to be caught in, but shame was something the old learn to forget, just like everything else that sets the old from the new. He laid there then, grey coat embracing the soft ground below him, golden eyes still searching.
He stretched out the injured leg, wincing as it resisted his effort. How weak he must have looked then did not bother him so much as the thought of never getting back up on two legs. He was useless in this form, injured and broken. His rough paws could not hold the stone, could not shape the precious rock. All that Arda was good for was his work, and his travel. And now, there would be very little traveling in the Perrio's future. It was time to give up the old spirit, the yearning for adventure. All that Arda could do with youth now was watch it fade away.
Argh, I hope that was okay. I'm just about as rusty as Arda when it comes to roleplay.
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