08-23-2009, 05:49 AM
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Hemming felt strangely gloomy. The sun was setting on another day, and as its white light struck the horizon and burst into reds and pinks and oranges so did the wolf's thoughts. Things that had seen so clear before, so obvious, were becoming tangled and confusing in the hazy light. The previous night he had not slept well, dreams of a past life clutching to the edge of his subconscious and preventing him from ever falling as deeply into his sleep as he would have liked. The thoughts that riddled him now were not bad ones, merely unfamiliar ones. Though he might have felt them before, as if in passing, he had never dwelled on them, and it was this very act that made them confounding. The fading light seemed to facilitate their emergence from the shadows, and as the male scrunched wet sand into neat little piles they danced like ghosts within his mind. They were elusive creatures, sneaky beasts that Hemming did not particularly trust. It seemed as if he was living the perfect carefree life, the days characterized by little more than happiness and personal growth, and yet the male did not feel as if he was contributing anything. He thought fondly of his time helping Dawali to build the town hall, but even that, now, seemed rather insignificant. He tried to pass the heavier feelings off as a product of lack of sleep and being alone, and though he had convinced himself that they were mere creations they did not fade. Perhaps it was a sort of culture shock, his days previous to life in AniWaya being so different to the ones he lived now. His way of life had shifted considerably, from surrounding himself with books and burying himself in them to not having read a book fully for months. Other wolves were his friends, now, replacing letters on a page with living, breathing beings. His previous reclusion had kept him responsible to no one but himself, but now he had others to stand before. Living in a tribe was certainly more interesting and more fulfilling, but still there seemed to be a hole within the wolf, rendered visible only in the dusky light, and in solitude. His Spirit Guide was often quiet, in between bursts of blabbery, and now she seemed even more ruminative. Surely, she felt things more deeply than did Hemming, and perhaps she even understood them. He was not building anything in particular, but by now his long fingers had created and smoothed three little domes of sand, in a triangle formation. The repetitive task gave him time to think, and realizing this, he started to consider a more complicated structure to pull his mind away from feelings that should not even exist. What were they, anyway? He knew that his last meeting with Anu had strengthened them. Here he was, at last, with someone that would consider him a friend. With her confession had come the realization that there were a few canines in these lands that would also call him friend. The feeling that welled up within the male was one of immense happiness, but also immense dread. Deep down inside, Hemming was worried that he would let them down. He could only see this apprehension as shadows, though, and though the outline of the bad feeling was evident he could not make out its real form. As Dagrun nestled her little feathered body closer to the crown of his head, the wolf started to make little ridges of sand between his three domes. It would be a fortress, and soon it would have a moat and three towers. Hemming had not yet figured out what it would be defending. |