[m] the lovely scarecrow

Caillen Winters · 05-25-2011, 09:07 AM

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WARNING This thread contains: sexual content, graphic violence, or extremely offensive material starting with the -- post. Reader discretion is advised.

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table © sie :: forward-dated to May 27th

He had watched the mountain melt away.

Winter had released its cold talons from the world he knew - A restrictive world, one that became shallow and fleeting. Loneliness had long since seeped into the back of the male's mind. He no longer thought, most of the time, he merely existed. Functioned. An animal, in the purest sense of the word.

The brute clung to the recesses of the civil world. He watched from his god-perch on the happening below. Sometimes, a dark man would enter his secret mountain world, but Caillen was not an aggressive nor territorial being by nature. He would merely watch as the Hunter came and went, never seen, never existing. He oversaw the movement of a small gathering of wolves that crossed his mountain from south to northwest, and when the dark man returned again, he left smells of a new place.

The thought of new scared Caillen. He had become fixated in his world, riveted to the purpose of being on the mountain, and being near to the woman he loved. In a way, she controlled him, as the baleful moon controls the restless sea - Always pulling, always. And wander as he might the scrawny and dangerous mountain terra, always he returned to the small cave near Inferni, and always, he waited for her.

She had not seen him since the event with the whore, the wretched woman who had fashioned him in her womb. He had known love for her once, but the loneliness and the betrayal had stolen that. The anger the male had felt was an emotion he blamed for all things - But it was an emotion, nonetheless, and his somewhat peaceful existence was bland without emotion. He hunted, killed and ate, but it was for the purpose of fueling large body and existing, always that and nothing more. Waiting. Waiting for her.

Many times, he considered calling for Talitha Lykoi. He had felt her body and remembered it, like one remembers sweet dreams - Vaguely, but tenderly. He knew that he wanted her again, wanted to hold her like that again. Loyalty existed for the woman with the bleeding eyes, if only she would think to reach out for it. Had she thought of him at all, while he rotted away on the mountain? Days slipped by like grieving years, and still he felt nothing.

Dusk was falling now, Caillen's dusk. He sat in his human-like form, absently carving small luperci figures into the wood of a large pine near to his den with the tip of a dry, but blood-stained antler. The tool had been sharpened for hunting purposes, but so to did it work in etching. The trees around the den, for many many strides, were all carved with similar depictions of a man and a woman running together.

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