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waylay the din of the day
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[html] PROZACS--
PROZACSTsunami no longer carried the open, welcoming aura of storm or the misty scent of Cloudeds Tears -- instead, clinging vaguely to his fur now, was the musty smell of coniferous trees and the thick dust and dirt that had gathered for so many years on the untouched forest floor. It was fading as well, because the gray wolf belonged nowhere and to no one, and for once he found it didn't plague him like the thunder and lightning had the ancient peoples who viewed them as omens from the angry gods. His life was his -- fucked up beyond measure and sometimes too confusing to piece together, but it was his. Including all the scars and the torn up eye and ears -- they were signs of a life lived, however wrong most of the fights concerning the injuries had been. She turned him down. Oh well -- some had a knack for the morbid, and some just weren't interested, in one way or another. Four-legged, there was no eyepatch. The natural form was exactly that, and the scars seemed more suiting then and less hideous.
PROZACSThe hybrid lady then brought up information that clued him in to her past, or at least a vague part of it. In some way or another, her roots were embedded into the ground here as well. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, the gray wolf was really unsure. It was thing. A conversation piece. I come and go, came his vague reply. It wasn't intentionally vague; he simply had no more to offer. It was the truth. Whether or not he had left of his own volition, the fact was that all three times he had stayed away for some time because he had wanted to. Call it fear, or soul-searching, or a thirst for adventure; something had, every single time, held him back. Perhaps it would happen again. One day he would die here, and the cycle would end. I was born in Storm some years back. Stayed in Clouded Tears for a few months last year. How about you?
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