Pain. Hurt. It was relentless. His heart throbbed -- no, burned. It was charred and unrecognizable. It was in ruins. It had gone up in flames when his mother had been killed, then his brothers, and, next, his father, in perfect precision. His heart was in ruins, but it had survived. But, when his mate was killed as well, and he was cast out of his beloved pack, his heart was consumed ever-so-quickly again, by the merciless embers in his chest. It had ignited within seconds, and engulfed his whole heart -- And this time, his heart didn't survive. The flames ate at him until there was no longer any of him left. There was no quenching these flames. It was out of control -- a wild fire. And so he carried on, the fire lapping at the burnt, sore, raw edges of what remained as his heart.
He never stopped thinking about those horrid murders, and thus, the fire never extinguished. It fed off of his remorse, living off of his hate and fear. His hurt was its fuel. Toklo never complained, but he never told anyone that he was fine. That would be a lie. It was not that he wouldn't tell them he was OK, it was also the fact that he had nobody to tell. Usually, as soon as other canines of any sort saw him, they turned and started in the other direction in a full-out sprint. Not that he blamed them. He wasn't exactly a social wolf...any more. He hadn't had a true friend since he'd been ousted from his pack, and that seemed like ages ago.
Toklo's paws dropped as heavy as a brick, almost in defeat. But, he told himself it was just him tiring. So, he laid down. He dropped to the ground right where he was -- in the middle of the forest. Usually, he never did this, but it was an exceptional day. He'd just run a rounded twenty miles. In his Lupus form. His breath fogged in front of his face and caught on his whiskers. His eyes were heavy and already drooping, but he knew he couldn't sleep here. He would't! But, he could feel his will slipping away, and his eyes closing slowly as he fell away from consiousness and into the deep, dark, black hole of sleep. He was comatose.
Chill, moisture clung heavily in deep volumes of breaths. Asphalt visage of shaggy fur bounded through the creaking trees, taking no heed of their old, sluggish sentiments. Enticing scent whispered teasingly faint upon the breezeless air. It spiked his cool black nose, acidic almost. Whipping past yet another branch whose spiny fingers clawed at his thick mane. Slow, slow down and sleep in the dreary hollow. Strange mood permeated the undergrowth, a soothing, luring lullaby. Thunder’s paws thudded dully the soft earthy ground, muffled quiet, as he slowed his pace. That scent was growing stronger, the lullaby more confident in its scheming ploys. The sturdy asphalt male, lowered his skull, hackles raised. He sensed something, something amiss.
Not danger though. The racing of his heart and tenseness in each toned tendon, merely alert. Ears pricked forward, and he hesitated beyond pitiful coverage of the thinning brush, as breath fogged in the space before him. Surprise flickered through his stony features, as dulled amber eyes fell upon the body of a wolf. No, wait, not dead, but sleeping. The loner drew pointed ears flat and sighed a resonance of, what, relief? That the wolf he had crept upon was alive? Or that he had crept upon another living soul? He dared not linger for such thoughts to entangle in emotional connotations. Padding forward, stealthy, the bulky lupus released a high pitched sound.
`Hey? Hey, can you hear me?`
Cautious, testing. Comatose, the stranger wolf’s limbs had a heavy look to them and Thunder detected the hint of dry sweat mingled with his unique scent. The stranger appeared to have come a long way. Something stirred in the asphalt’s mood, kin. They were both travellers in this territory, it seemed.
Wind ruffled his fur. Tugged at it, pulled at it. The wind was intense, driving him. It swirled around him, carrying leaves, twigs and other unrecognized objects. As the objects were carried through the air, Toklo trekked on, searching. The wind seemed to drive at him angrily, biting at his fur ferociously. But he couldn't do anything to stop it. He couldn't seem to arrest the angry wind as it pummled his fur like fists. They seemed to bite at his flesh as they came. The blasts were like bullets, cutting into his flesh. He was sure, if he looked he would find blood, but he dared not look. If he looked, he might not be able to force himself to continue. He had a purpose, that he knew, but through the fear and pain he couldn't remember what it was for the life of him. All he knew was that he had to keep searching, searching, searching.
Toklo's head lifted, his ears drawn back. He didn't know how long he had slept. The dream had seemed breif, but that could've been because the scenery hadn't changed. As he thought more about it, he realized nothing had changed in the dream. The same biting wind ate at him, and he still soldiered on, trying to find it. Find what? he thought, bewildered. Toklo shook his head in confusion. Then another realization hit him. The dream had basically defined his life. Even as he was battered and scarred, he carried on, never ceasing. He had no particualr location, but, always, he continued going; moving; running. It was the story of his life nowadays. He had no home, no friends, no hope.
Suddenly, through the dark, luminescent, yellow eyes reached him. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the eyes' owner spoke loudly. The creature must have thought he was either still sleeping or dead. Toklo jumped to his feet and backed away slowly, keeping his eyes locked on the other wolf's eyes. Everything started to come into focus as his eyes adjusted. The wolf was a male; Lupus form, like Toklo. The other wolf jsut stood there as Toklo gawked at him. How long had the other wolf been there and what had he been planning to do?
Hmph. The sound that escaped the asphalt’s maw in a plume of foggy breath. Luminous eyes, molten fire, glaringly piercing, as they struck the sleepy wolf. Skull borne aloft on stiff-maned neck, proffering an ambiance of sheer fearlessness that seemed to almost reverberate about the black-grey furred beast an omnipotent aura. While his tail, at ease by his hind legs, swayed gently, not all iron dominance, a softness played in the hues of his persona. Pointed ears flicked back, forward, back, distinguishing vibrations in the air as the wolf sought specifics sounds.
His moist black nose, too, drank deeply in the rich damp earth that gave so slightly beneath the weight of his large paws, which he placed so sturdily with each paw-fall, to give him a girth of broad power. The asphalt one did nothing else to respond to the one he had awoken. It was not his habit to seek introductions. Bluntly, he released a gruff sound of apology for waking Toklo. Before that acidic scent tinged at his senses, and drew him to move on past Toklo. However, the enigmatic asphalt threw Toklo a curious glance from the corner of his almond orbs.
An invitation to follow perhaps?
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