Guarding the gates

[Skoll]

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Sorry for the wait! Don't feel obligated to meet the length, my posts usually run a little long. Skoll hadn't been doing much since the pack meeting. He did his morning ritual, stretching and practicing his moves before enjoying a morning hunt with the bow which--despite his continued use--he still wasn't very good with. Even though the bow had allowed him to go all morning without shifting down onto four legs, he had still decided to thereafter, though he knew not why the desire had struck him. It was possible that a wolf just needed to be on four legs every once in a while, to feel the earth beneath their forelegs as well as their back ones. Breathing deep of the air, he surveyed the territory in front of him. His vantage point hadn't changed in all the time he'd been here, but the hill served just as well today as it had in the years prior. It was nearby where the bodies of the nine he'd killed that night littered the ground, though he didn't know exactly where Gale had put them, he knew that he had done well to get them out of sight. Such a grisly image would have convinced passers-by that Storm was the same as Inferni, and none of them could have that. Those wolves were worse than any Infernian, though. What they had hoped to achieve had been despicable. It had been some miracle of Fenrir that he had managed to fell so many, and a miracle also that he had been saved by Gale and Sarah before he could die of his wounds. It had been a terrible night, a night of valor, perhaps, but of great bloodshed and evil intent as well. The night had been on his side, letting him strike down three of the seven in the raiding party before they were aware of him; the cultists had split up as well, which permitted him to deal with the last two separately. Still, that brief bout with the four of them had taken him to his uttermost limits, and left him with two wounds that bothered him even now, a full year later. Luckily, the other half dozen or so had since healed completely. Maybe that was why he wanted to be unshifted now, as the morning quickly gave way to the afternoon. His most terrible memories occurred on two legs, and though he'd experienced plenty of violence on four legs as well, traditional tooth and claw sat with him much better than memories of human steel and the deeds he'd seen and done that employed it. It was always better to fight with natural weapons whenever possible, in his view. ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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