11-28-2007, 03:34 PM
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| One would not be wrong in suggesting that Tamerlane was solitary by choice rather than temperament. It was difficult to travel in a desired state with a fellow at your side; difficult to be lost in your thoughts with a talker at your ear. The life of a loner had great impact on Tamerlane's personality, which meant that whilst he had a lot of charisma, he still chose to spend most of his days alone. Alone, but not lonely. He awoke early that morning in the packland he had grown used to. A thin coat of powder snow covered the frosty, dead ground, and the brook at the end of the forested valley was almost entirely iced over, its muddy banks rock solid. Although this was the pack he put his name to, Tamerlane did not wake here every morning -- his life still consisted of travelling, and the dips and heights of Bleeding Souls were slowly working their way darkly into his memory. The tall Luperci ran his long hands over his face as he walked, his head feeling particularly heavy, flexing his stiff muscles and stretching his arms back in an attempt to waken himself up more fully. He only slept a few hours every night, but in truth he preferred to live in the awake world more than anything, so would actively discourage his own rest. Nevertheless, the fact that Tamerlane felt particularly weary that morning was one that could not be escaped, and in mild contemplation he leaned upon a tree, gazing straight up into the thick black canopy above him. |