people create stories create people

[Urma]

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OOC: ::Word Count:: 700+       The sun cast its last shimmering rays of light onto the world below, fighting an age old battle as the darkness of night etched the surface of the lilac canopy of the sky. The clouds moved slowly across the vast, translucent layer now dotted with weary spots of see-through white, in an attempt to conceal the blemishes of colour. The wind blew softly, an unfelt breeze that carried whispers of lovers miles distance, that told the ageless story of the trees and the grass and the many generations of birds whose songs they had heard. Beneath all these tales lay the history of the lands and the many moons and suns reflected on the waters of the world, carefully concealed in the heavy folds of time. As this part of the Earth tucked itself to sleep, a world away another part of it was opening its eyes to a bright new dawn. And this endless cycle had been happening since the beginnings of time, long before humans or wolves had fed upon its wonders or drunk from its rivers, and it would keep on happening long after their age had passed.       The surface of the lake was still, mirroring the changes that were taking place overhead, creating an upside-down replica of the sky. The pale femme lay near the edge of Rabbit Lake, her front paws almost touching the water. She felt strongly connected to the glass opening that lay before her, thinking of the seas that she had seen and the ocean that had carried her here. She recalled how small and lost she had felt after the shipwreck, staring back into the unknown depth concealed by the womb of the planet that unfolded before her, stranded in a strange land. As she stared now into the waters of the lake, she delved deep inside her feelings, only to find the same sense of solitude that had overcome her then, and the frightening knowledge that her existence was as insignificant as a drop of water in the ocean. Her story would one day become just another of the winds' whispers on a lonely night such as this, a tale that would go unheard, robbed of its power and its enchantment. Her ears strained to catch the hushed tones, faintly imprinted on the swift movements of the zephyr, desiring nothing more than to catch a quick mutter, the smallest part of someone else's life.       One of the stories she had most enjoyed was one that Mörker had shared with her in one of the snowy nights spent together under the old star-strewn sky of their ancestors. It was a story about loss and grief and the sometimes insurmountable task of overcoming them. Urma had listened to the tale of a she-wolf's anguish upon hearing that her loved one had been taken from her during battle with a rival pack. Although wolves were not creatures that frequently mated for life, the heroine had been crushed by the weight of the news and had left the safety of her home in search of her mate. When she found him, lying on his side, half-covered by snow in a ditch on the side of the forest, she had desolately spent days and nights by his side, singing to him the songs of their forbearers. This was a ritual done by the wolves of their pack as a means of helping the spirit cross over with only the thought of their ancestors, aiding them in the difficult task of letting go of the hopes and aspirations that still tied them to their former lives. However, the experience had slowly taken the she-wolf's own life away, and in the midst of a blizzard she gave her last breath under the heavy blanket of snow, with no one there to cross her soul over. Mörker had finished the story by telling Urma that it was a custom among wolves of their lands to gather around their dead and tell those that were no longer part of this world this tale, that had since then been carried by the wind, generation after generation. It was this same myth that the white Crimson Dreamer hoped to pick up, lying as she was by the side of the lake, in the midst of a dark night, surrounded by the soft murmurs of the endless expanse of the Earth.

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