murder of one
#1
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Backdated to December 20th
The sky was gray, not very much unlike the trees around him. Had he not been able to see the color of his own coat, Tristan might have thought himself as colorblind. Everything here was black, white, or that dreary gray. He imagined this place might have once been beautiful, even though it looked fire-scarred. Most people, especially those who never leave home, will rarely experience any traumatic force of nature greater then a thunderstorm. Tristan was not one of those people. He had seen fire tear apart the ground and the sky. He had felt it tear up his back—even though time had healed that wound, and even though it was hardly visible in his current form.

Trotting along the forest floor, the wolf spared a glance skyward. A group of crows circled through the cold sky and landed on the branches of a nearby tree. His pace slowed and he came to a stop, studying the birds.


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#2
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The plan for today had been to do a little exploring and maybe find a nice spot to sit and re-learn how to read. Something about these grey, desolate lands had drawn him in, and he soon found himself leaning against one of the dying trees with a book open in his hands. It was quite a contrast to the lush and lively territory of his home. A bleak area to match the bleak tales in the book he was attempting to read. From what he could make out, the small volume he had snatched from the city spoke about a human war. Each word he read spoke of the conquest, the bloodshed, and the horror the conflict had created.



Immersed in the bloody narrative, he hadn’t noticed that he was no longer alone. Another moment went by before he caught the ruffling of feathers, the subtle sounds of paws walking across the dry earth. He tore his eyes from the pages and glanced around the tree he leaned against, noticing the reddish wolf standing a few yards behind him. "Hello." A quick, polite greeting.
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#3
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Tristan was never completely unaware of his surroundings, a fact that had become closely tied to him from the time on the road. So when the stranger spoke, Tristan’s reaction was calm. He turned his head down, pale eyes focusing on the darker male, and offered a friendly wag of the tail before advancing to a comfortable distance, where he settled onto his haunches. Only then did he catch the scent of Jaded Shadows, marking the stranger as someone from his own pack (though Tristan was still very much a ghost, in his own way). “Hello. What have you got there?” He asked, nodding towards the book.

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#4
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He gave the other a quick nod when he approached, tearing his gaze from the pages it had wandered back to. Out of habit he studied the stranger for a moment, silently making note of him in his memory banks. A vague familiarity surrounded him, and Kieran finally pinpointed it as the faint scent of Jaded Shadows. Ah, so this was another of his mysterious pack mates. They sure had a knack for popping up everywhere.



He turned the book over to allow his pale-eyed companion to see the cover. “It’s a book I found out in the human city, about one of their wars. Apparently a ‘World War’” Kieran found human history to be interesting, but he couldn’t be sure if his pack mate thought the same.
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