he still walks when the thunder rolls [joining]

Chehalis Hawkings · 04-08-2010, 07:30 PM

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Kneeling on the soft moss that bordered the small spring, Chehalis carefully placed the old leather bag next to him, leaning it against his leg to keep it from spilling over. He then leaned forward, reached out and cupped a small pool of water in his hand, before bringing it to his mouth to drink. The cool liquid was refreshing after a few hours of continuous travel, and it aided greatly in soothing his growling stomach. The older wolf had not paused to look for food in over a day, and his body was staging a loud protest, accented by yet another churning rumble as it was brought to attention. Water was great, but he knew it was no substitute for real nourishment. So, with another quick drink of the spring, he grabbed his leather bag and pulled it onto his shoulders (a frayed chord of rope was tied to either end of the bag). He pushed himself up, and continued on through the forest.

There was a moment when he wondered if he was perusing the right options. The facts to consider were numerous, and each weighed heavily on his decision. However, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, he was getting older; soon enough he would be too old to travel great distances, and beyond that, he would soon be unable to leave his home. A great part of him wanted it to end before he turned into a listless vegetable. But Chehalis didn't have the heart, nor the peace of mind, to end his life before it ran the natural course. No, he much rather hoped he died valiantly, or for the greater good. Not that he wanted to die, but he wasn't one to throw his faith into falsehood.

The scent of the borders hit him square in the face, and it sent him reeling with surprise. The wind had changed to favor him, and the rain did little to mute the pungent array of wolf that permeated the surrounding area like a wall. The old wolf turned his graying nose to the nearest tree, finding fresh territory markers cut into the wood. He reached out for the nearest tree and placed his hand against the trunk; claw marks gouged the thick bark of the pine, exposing the stark white of the wood below like a great wound. Spreading his hand, he ran three fingers through each groove, trying to imagine the leader who marked it. A smile lit across his lips like wildfire, and he patted the trunk twice before picking up and moving closer to the borders. There was nothing left to consider, not when he was placed so suddenly on the threshold of his final decision.

Years had passed since he last sought the guidance and protection of a pack, but the howl that rose from his parted lips gave no indication of ignorance. He remembered the dance, and found the rhythm of his pounding heart a particularly fitting beat. His howl soon died in the pitter-pattering of the rain, but he was confident he was heard. Chehalis rested on hand on the satchel, and the other hung limp; his tail was low, and his ears flat.

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 04-08-2010, 07:47 PM

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Sorry this is kind of a crappy reply. :[ Welcome to Souls!

Conor had taken Dahlia by force—but it was not by his hand alone. Still, Larkspur understood if he was to survive, if he was to continue to live under this guise, he would need to obey. So he had begun, slowly, taking up duties that had never been forced on him. Haku had expected nothing of Larkspur except a willingness to fight, which had been granted once. There was a stillness in the black wolf that was yet untouched by this abrupt change in his world. He was used to such things, and accepted them quietly.

A call rose from just south of his position, and the bulky D’Angelo trotted towards the source. He did not patrol outside of his lupus form, finding that the horse more often then not was troublesome. She did not trust other wolves, and would react poorly around them. Still, having spent the majority of his life on four legs, this was not a bother to him. After three or five minutes, the orange eyed man spotted the source of the call. The wolf waiting for him was much older then Larkspur himself, likely as old as Misery, and almost instantly this caused a change in his demeanor. Though he had every right to act out and flaunt his position, Lark did not. He approached calmly, without any mark of hubris to speak of rank. “C’n I help ya?” Though thickly accented, his voice did not hold the same gruff tone it might were he speaking to a younger wolf.

Chehalis Hawkings · 04-08-2010, 08:32 PM

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Nah, not at all! Thank you for replying, and the welcome. Smile

As he expected, a figure rose from the woodland to join with the drums that beat... oh wait, that was just in his ears. Right. Chehalis marveled at how anxious he had become in such a short time, and wondered just long it had truly been since he had lived in the company of a pack. But he wasn't given much of a chance linger long on this, as the large figure soon swept up to him from the inner land of the territory. He was a big male, much larger than Chehalis himself to be sure. The curious flecks of white markings on the Dahlian male's legs briefly caught his attention, but the old wolf knew better than to stare and soon moved his eyes away and down; he did note, however, the unusual blotches of white scattered across the blanket of pitch. The large wolf was unmistakable, as Chehalis had never seen another like him. No, correction. Once, but he markings were not so random, and there was a rhyme to the reason.

What struck him as odd was the lack of dominance displayed by the younger wolf. Clearly he was the ranked individual here, and even if Chehalis himself belonged to another pack of the area, he had come knocking. It was strange, and caught him momentarily off guard for a second time today. But he remained staunch to the lessons he was taught, and decidedly kept his ears swept back, and eyes diverted. The words directed towards him were thick with an accent not unlike his own, so the older wolf was able to understand easily enough. He replied with a short swish of his bottlebrush tail, "A home, like many other road-weary folk. If'n it pleases you and your own, sir." His own rough voice was thick with a southwestern drawl, though Chehalis was quick to realize (since the memories he was recalling paralleled this moment) that it had been subdued over the years to a more casual southern air.

Not that it mattered, of course.

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 04-09-2010, 10:12 AM

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You're quite welcome. Don't mind Larkspur, he's a weirdo. :]

There was no doubt that despite his attempts to blend into society as it was, Larkspur would always look different. He had been chosen, not that long ago, by an aging madwoman that he considered his mother now. It was her wish for him to remain here, and her wish to fix what had been broken. Despite her teachings, and despite his own observations, it was painfully obvious that the man was not normal in the least. Still, he attempted to play the part despite these shortcomings.

Across from him, the gray-brushed man remained in a subordinate position. Had he been raised with a normal upbringing, Lark would have been pleased by this. Because he was not, and because the Khalif valued age over all else, he was uncomfortable with such a thing. This was made doubly apparent when the man called him sir; the black and white wolf shifted his weight and turned his ears back. “Now don’t go callin’ me sir,” he countered, lowering his haunches to the earth. “Y’can relax ‘round me, ah know t’treat mah elders w’respect.” As if pleased by this, the can tah whispered, and both of Larkspur’s ears turned forward. He had long ago realized that none heard the voice but him, and for this reason, the noise did not perturb him. “Mind tellin’ me what y’can offer us?” Formality. Haku had asked him the same, even though Larkspur had promised him very little.

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