every artist is a cannibal every poet is a thief
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PROZACS28th okay?




PROZACSThe wolf's paws carried him heavily through the territory at a steady jog, head low, tail fanning lazily behind him. Lately the two-legged form had been the norm but now he wanted speed and agility, two things that escaped him to some extent when he needed those opposable thumbs. This was nice, sort of a return to nature, a return to his roots, his ancestry. They had, after all, been the wild ones so many years ago, howling to the moon and hunting the caribou and the rabbits winter and summer alike. Tsunami was half-running for a reason, but what reason that was he was unsure. Running from the thoughts that trailed him like a hungry predator. No reason to distract himself right now. Right now, he was still readying himself. Rome wasn't built in a day and all that. Not that he'd ever been there to see it.

PROZACSThe mountain loomed like a living monolith beside him. It demanded attention and respect and the gray wolf gave both unintentionally with his semi-submissive pose and single watchful eye. Of course, he wasn't going to go through Inferni territory, not after learning of the horrors they'd committed against Aremys. As if losing an eye and fucking their once-leader weren't enough reasons to keep his distance. Ha. Who was in charge there now anyway? He had no reason to think it wasn't Kaena. My, how backed-up on the times the ghost-watcher was.

PROZACSAnd then, there it was: the ocean. Despite nearly being swallowed by its hungry waves, Tsunami still found it beautiful. It slowly spread out behind the trees, and he could see the sand, yellow-white in the mid-afternoon sun. Nice day, it was, nice to be far away from civilization, from the lands claimed by packs and the lands that, once upon a time, had been. Reaching the sand, the gray wolf tilted his head upwards, breathing in the air and the saltwater smell that had clung to his fur -- no, his very skin -- for so long after being washed away by Mother Nature. He was alone; there were no scents that were recent enough to worry about. Head heavy with thought, he plodded through the sand, leaving large footprints in his wake, and settled to sit mid-way down the beach. Perhaps he would start a fire and camp here tonight. But he had hours to think that over before the sun set. It was kind of unfortunate; when you least wanted to think about life, all you had was time to do exactly that.







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