06-18-2009, 09:45 AM
[html]
http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a329/ ... _raven.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
327.
The Aston woman stood calmly in her lupus form, the preferred one, and watched the assembled troupe. It was peculiar, now, being so disconnected from what was supposed to be her pack. Such things were not uncommon though—she had existed as a loner for more years then not, and still was very much in that mindset. Yet, as she watched her sister’s children (and one she did not recognize, though this was not surprising) and the excitement they showed for this simple task, she smiled. Not for them, of course, but because she knew that the crow-wolf had given her that same gift.
She had returned changed, but it was not anything that she could explain. The goal intended had been acquired. There was something else she had gained, though, something she did not understand. Since waking from that peculiar dream the pied-crow had been following her. Try as she did to ignore the presence, the crow simply would not leave her. He remained just out of reach but always there, and the presence of the bird was a peculiar thing. In all honesty, he felt almost unreal—the bird made no sound and had no smell, and she was only aware of his presence in the same way she was aware of a coming storm. Something in the air that crawled into her skin and made her hair stand on end.
A breeze toyed with her coat, and touched the fresh scars on the back of her neck. Aurèle shuddered and shook her body. The scars were clean, but they could be explained away in many ways. Her coat was doing what it could to hide the wounds, and though they were red and angry, they were not as blantantly obvious as perhaps intended (or at least, so Aurèle told herself). With an exhale through her nose she advanced, sparing a glance to the children before picking up her pace and trotting after the group.
The Aston woman stood calmly in her lupus form, the preferred one, and watched the assembled troupe. It was peculiar, now, being so disconnected from what was supposed to be her pack. Such things were not uncommon though—she had existed as a loner for more years then not, and still was very much in that mindset. Yet, as she watched her sister’s children (and one she did not recognize, though this was not surprising) and the excitement they showed for this simple task, she smiled. Not for them, of course, but because she knew that the crow-wolf had given her that same gift.
She had returned changed, but it was not anything that she could explain. The goal intended had been acquired. There was something else she had gained, though, something she did not understand. Since waking from that peculiar dream the pied-crow had been following her. Try as she did to ignore the presence, the crow simply would not leave her. He remained just out of reach but always there, and the presence of the bird was a peculiar thing. In all honesty, he felt almost unreal—the bird made no sound and had no smell, and she was only aware of his presence in the same way she was aware of a coming storm. Something in the air that crawled into her skin and made her hair stand on end.
A breeze toyed with her coat, and touched the fresh scars on the back of her neck. Aurèle shuddered and shook her body. The scars were clean, but they could be explained away in many ways. Her coat was doing what it could to hide the wounds, and though they were red and angry, they were not as blantantly obvious as perhaps intended (or at least, so Aurèle told herself). With an exhale through her nose she advanced, sparing a glance to the children before picking up her pace and trotting after the group.