01-26-2008, 01:39 PM
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| Bleeding Souls, to Tamerlane, had a distinctive taste. Firstly, any conventional beauty in the landscapes was overwhelmed by the environment. Ravaged, broken and stunningly historic; places with a history that — to anyone with a sense of depth — should not be taken at face value. Even the natural landscapes, from the richness of the forest to the wildness of the mountains, were stooped in the mood of the environment. The people, furthermore, all seemed to have a certain something about them; some that Tamerlane had met with had observed this too. They were wrapped up tightly in their own lives, often dipped in a thick jar of melancholy and rung dry on emotional turmoil. He was finding it difficult to find any normalcy; not that he was completely normal himself, but on common grounds it was easier to find similarities. And with similarities there came connections. The traveller, as he walked through the snow with his long hands dug deep into the pocket of his jeans, mused over the fact that he cared about so few in Bleeding Souls. He had friends in Pilot and Dierdre — and had in Phoenix too, until he had discovered that the Alpha wanted to be a leader first and foremost — and in a handful of creatures from other packs, but nothing really flew beyond. This was surely because Tamerlane had, so far, failed to relate to any of them. |