01-29-2010, 06:08 AM
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It is I, Marit, with my war-temp!
Word Count: 658 1. Character Name: Semyon Terho 2. Character Birthdate (including year): December 14th, 2005 3. Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci 4. Species: Grey wolf 5. Gender: Male you have to believe in yourself
How embarrassing. The throbbing in his foot was ever increasing as he traversed land at a much slower-than-normal pace. And for what? Tripping over a root? It was some days ago, and it seemed he had underestimated the pain from it when it had happened. Now it was still swollen and one toe was out of shape. It looked as if he had cut himself, too, for in some places where it was swollen he could poke it and pus would come out. He'd seen many wounds, but oddly enough wounds of war didn't tend to be this disgusting. And he had brought it upon himself, wandering with his head in thought and not watching his step. The urge to just bury himself in shame was strong, but as of now there was no one to hide from, only himself. His injured foot ached where he stood, sling and knife in his belt and his hands in his sides. He had tried already, to put some weight on it, but it refused to let him stand properly. The other leg ached from being used much more than it was used to, and now he bent to rub its large thigh-muscle to see if this would help. Semyon was familiar with pain and did not really mind it, but fact was that his body was near exchaustion. Still, he could go on for a mile, perhaps several miles, before the need to rest would become so urgent that he might collapse. He'd traveled far now, and he knew he had passed other packs as he did so. He was very much independent, and did not like to have to rely on others at all. But his nose told him that he was near yet another pack, and his brain told him that this would be a good time to swallow his pride and make sure he would not be a cripple for life. With any luck this pack had a healer of some sort, and he could be on his way again shortly. He had not settled anywhere for years, not since his birth pack had been demolished completely through skirmishing with neighboring packs. He'd taken his things and left as one of the few survivers, and had since then stayed here and there in one place, then the other, but never long enough to call it a home. He dreaded doing so, but did not realize how much his subconsciousness was steering him in the matter. Unknowingly, he saw settling and the following destruction of the pack in an action-and-consequence kind of pattern; should he settle, the pack would be destroyed. He had just decided that he didn't want a specific place to live, and did not realize just how much the loss of his home pack had affected him. The gray and golden male limped over to a tree and rested his hand on it before he raised his muzzle to the skies and let out a howl. It was not specific, just calling for someone at all, though probably a leader would come. Semyon wasn't entriely certain whether he should just say it as it was, or say that he had been attacked. It was much easier to say that he had been attacked, but if there were intrigues in the area saying such a thing could lead to complications. Perhaps he could get away with not saying anything about what had happened at all, merely point? Whatever happened, he hoped it would not bruise his pride further. The hand that was not on the tree was in his belt, thumb wrapped around it. The leather he wore itched and he longed to take it off for the day; he'd been sweating more than usual now, with the injury, and wherever he wore leather, his body was clammy. Not comfortable. Hopefully someone would come soon. Standing there with the injured foot lifted, he could only wait. |
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