An Odd Sort of Feeling

Dartmouth Moineau · 09-26-2012, 04:25 PM

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Fore-dated to the 29th of Sept; in northern Halifax; midday. Darty is in lupus form.

Dartmouth had a chip on his shoulder since waking that morning. It wasn't because he'd slept poorly – in fact, he was happy to find that the ground outside Inferni was just as comfortable as the ground in it. But it was more specific to his actual dwelling: his cave was empty save for the water that still crowded the dark hole. So, after poking around here and there he discovered that there was a place to the south called Halifax, and it was here that he'd most likely find odds and ends to fill his room with; storms had a way of uncovering hidden baubles.

With a quickness to his step that he hadn't experienced in quite some time, Dart slipped through the underbrush and bobbed between trees as he made his hurried journey toward the abandoned town. His whip-like tail lashed about behind him, and his ears laid flat in an attempt to slim down his entire body into a large, black bullet. He had to make good time, he reasoned, for he didn't want his packmates to wonder where he'd gone off to.

Dartmouth didn't have to question if he'd come to the right place – a stinging wave of familiarity hit him as images of the abandoned town back home flashed across his mind's eye. Halifax was so similar to his home, in fact, that he half expected his father to slink out of the shadows and snarl some kind of command at him at any minute. But all seemed quiet – quiet with the whispered pain from the blow of Mother Nature's hand.

#00+

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