06-30-2009, 02:47 PM
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OOC: I'm terribly sorry for the delay in getting this up! Backdated to the 24th if possible, please? 400+
Dead. Ril'o was dead. He'd seen the body go up in flames, he'd been there to watch it all turn to ash and disappear into the sun. He'd been there and he still couldn't get over it. How could he? Sure, his acquaintance with the other wolf was passing, a few fleeting glances and nothing more, but he had been a member of Dahlia, he had been someone to talk to in case he needed to. And then something awful had turned on their pack, some unseen atrocity, and torn them apart. He could remember Cercelee's face, and Cwmfen's too. He could remember little else beside that. What else was there to remember? The way the flames engulfed the body, hungrily devouring it? The way he had stood there, silent, watching death fall upon his home? It had struck too deeply in his heart, it reminded him too much of the Old Country. He had spent the night awake, staring at the ceiling of the house he shared with Mew, trying hard to recall the faces of his sister and her mate. Lubomir could not sleep. He could not even think of sleep. His sister was easier to remember, the stern set of her jaw and the way she held herself, with pride and dignity. But her mate was a blur.
Would Ril'o end up like that too? The thought scared him. He was not old, not really, not yet. He should remember these things, he should think hard and recall every single thing that had marked his life in the old pack. But he couldn't. Futile, all futile. So the grey wolf had set out to speak to old friends, to find some company outside the borders of the pack. Savina. He had helped her and she was still his friend, at least as far as he knew. He was still Ambassador for the pack, he could use that to go and see her. Ask for her advice. She would understand his grief differently from the others in his pack. She could offer him words of advice. Words he needed to hear.
Setting off at a brisk pace, the unshifted wolf soon found himself outside the borders of Crimson Dreams. He didn't know how time had passed, but here he was. It was almost the same spot where he had found her, so many moons ago. Now, though, he had come with a purpose. Sitting on his haunches, he let out a soft call. Savina? Perhaps it would be enough for her to hear him. He knew better than to trample pack territory and seek her. No, he would do his best to sit and wait.
Dead. Ril'o was dead. He'd seen the body go up in flames, he'd been there to watch it all turn to ash and disappear into the sun. He'd been there and he still couldn't get over it. How could he? Sure, his acquaintance with the other wolf was passing, a few fleeting glances and nothing more, but he had been a member of Dahlia, he had been someone to talk to in case he needed to. And then something awful had turned on their pack, some unseen atrocity, and torn them apart. He could remember Cercelee's face, and Cwmfen's too. He could remember little else beside that. What else was there to remember? The way the flames engulfed the body, hungrily devouring it? The way he had stood there, silent, watching death fall upon his home? It had struck too deeply in his heart, it reminded him too much of the Old Country. He had spent the night awake, staring at the ceiling of the house he shared with Mew, trying hard to recall the faces of his sister and her mate. Lubomir could not sleep. He could not even think of sleep. His sister was easier to remember, the stern set of her jaw and the way she held herself, with pride and dignity. But her mate was a blur.
Would Ril'o end up like that too? The thought scared him. He was not old, not really, not yet. He should remember these things, he should think hard and recall every single thing that had marked his life in the old pack. But he couldn't. Futile, all futile. So the grey wolf had set out to speak to old friends, to find some company outside the borders of the pack. Savina. He had helped her and she was still his friend, at least as far as he knew. He was still Ambassador for the pack, he could use that to go and see her. Ask for her advice. She would understand his grief differently from the others in his pack. She could offer him words of advice. Words he needed to hear.
Setting off at a brisk pace, the unshifted wolf soon found himself outside the borders of Crimson Dreams. He didn't know how time had passed, but here he was. It was almost the same spot where he had found her, so many moons ago. Now, though, he had come with a purpose. Sitting on his haunches, he let out a soft call. Savina? Perhaps it would be enough for her to hear him. He knew better than to trample pack territory and seek her. No, he would do his best to sit and wait.