09-10-2009, 04:36 PM
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OOC:
The swollen and sore paw pads bled underneath him, but scarcely did he notice as he made his way to the borders. Why had he returned here? There wasn’t an answer to that question, but as far as Leland was concerned anymore there weren’t any answers to any of life’s many questions. Such as why had he gone back home? Let Lysander run him off? No, no, it hadn’t been Lysander. The fool had never meant enough to him to control his actions. It had been Lyla. Lyla all along. Lyla always. And Rue. Asha and Catherine had paled in comparison to the mere memory of Lyla. And the shadow of Rue. And then the images of them, of their family. But the pups had looked nothing like what he had imagined. Hybrids, he had seen them before, but he had instead pictures little miniature Lylas and Rues, but no. They had just been puppies, could have been anyone’s. Could have been his. Should have been his.
Yet here he was, and when he stopped at the borders, because ever polite was Leland, he finally looked down and saw the fur around his toes stained red. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t even felt it. The whole walk he had been thinking of her, that one night. He had gotten that one night after years of loving here, and for what? Rue had left her, with the puppies and then he had too. That wasn’t him. This wasn’t him. Skinny, fur dirty and matting, paws cracked and bleeding and his eyes. His eyes were vacant. Leland didn’t think he had smiled since he left her, only three days after they had joined together. He couldn’t take it. That wasn’t him either. He had no idea who he was.
But maybe they did. This had been his home once. It couldn’t be again. He wasn’t part of them. Pixie had left. The tiny kitten had pranced after him on the journey home, watched with wide eyes as, against her advice, warnings and disapproving glares, fornicated with the love of his life, and then she had abandoned him. Then he had abandoned her. The tiny black, orange and white creature hadn’t come back, though often when asleep he awoke, thinking he heard the soft mewing of the cat. He was not longer part of the tribe, but all the same he couldn’t think of where else to go, so he sat. The scents he remembered where there. Dawali, Catherine, the others that he had never really gotten to know. Asha was not and that was just as well. He’d only let her down too. Just like Lyla. Just like everything and everyone he had touched in the past months.
The swollen and sore paw pads bled underneath him, but scarcely did he notice as he made his way to the borders. Why had he returned here? There wasn’t an answer to that question, but as far as Leland was concerned anymore there weren’t any answers to any of life’s many questions. Such as why had he gone back home? Let Lysander run him off? No, no, it hadn’t been Lysander. The fool had never meant enough to him to control his actions. It had been Lyla. Lyla all along. Lyla always. And Rue. Asha and Catherine had paled in comparison to the mere memory of Lyla. And the shadow of Rue. And then the images of them, of their family. But the pups had looked nothing like what he had imagined. Hybrids, he had seen them before, but he had instead pictures little miniature Lylas and Rues, but no. They had just been puppies, could have been anyone’s. Could have been his. Should have been his.
Yet here he was, and when he stopped at the borders, because ever polite was Leland, he finally looked down and saw the fur around his toes stained red. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t even felt it. The whole walk he had been thinking of her, that one night. He had gotten that one night after years of loving here, and for what? Rue had left her, with the puppies and then he had too. That wasn’t him. This wasn’t him. Skinny, fur dirty and matting, paws cracked and bleeding and his eyes. His eyes were vacant. Leland didn’t think he had smiled since he left her, only three days after they had joined together. He couldn’t take it. That wasn’t him either. He had no idea who he was.
But maybe they did. This had been his home once. It couldn’t be again. He wasn’t part of them. Pixie had left. The tiny kitten had pranced after him on the journey home, watched with wide eyes as, against her advice, warnings and disapproving glares, fornicated with the love of his life, and then she had abandoned him. Then he had abandoned her. The tiny black, orange and white creature hadn’t come back, though often when asleep he awoke, thinking he heard the soft mewing of the cat. He was not longer part of the tribe, but all the same he couldn’t think of where else to go, so he sat. The scents he remembered where there. Dawali, Catherine, the others that he had never really gotten to know. Asha was not and that was just as well. He’d only let her down too. Just like Lyla. Just like everything and everyone he had touched in the past months.