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OOC: ::Word Count:: 700+
The sun cast its last shimmering rays of light onto the world below, fighting an age old battle as the darkness of night etched the surface of the lilac canopy of the sky. The clouds moved slowly across the vast, translucent layer now dotted with weary spots of see-through white, in an attempt to conceal the blemishes of colour. The wind blew softly, an unfelt breeze that carried whispers of lovers miles distance, that told the ageless story of the trees and the grass and the many generations of birds whose songs they had heard. Beneath all these tales lay the history of the lands and the many moons and suns reflected on the waters of the world, carefully concealed in the heavy folds of time. As this part of the Earth tucked itself to sleep, a world away another part of it was opening its eyes to a bright new dawn. And this endless cycle had been happening since the beginnings of time, long before humans or wolves had fed upon its wonders or drunk from its rivers, and it would keep on happening long after their age had passed.
The surface of the lake was still, mirroring the changes that were taking place overhead, creating an upside-down replica of the sky. The pale femme lay near the edge of Rabbit Lake, her front paws almost touching the water. She felt strongly connected to the glass opening that lay before her, thinking of the seas that she had seen and the ocean that had carried her here. She recalled how small and lost she had felt after the shipwreck, staring back into the unknown depth concealed by the womb of the planet that unfolded before her, stranded in a strange land. As she stared now into the waters of the lake, she delved deep inside her feelings, only to find the same sense of solitude that had overcome her then, and the frightening knowledge that her existence was as insignificant as a drop of water in the ocean. Her story would one day become just another of the winds' whispers on a lonely night such as this, a tale that would go unheard, robbed of its power and its enchantment. Her ears strained to catch the hushed tones, faintly imprinted on the swift movements of the zephyr, desiring nothing more than to catch a quick mutter, the smallest part of someone else's life.
One of the stories she had most enjoyed was one that Mörker had shared with her in one of the snowy nights spent together under the old star-strewn sky of their ancestors. It was a story about loss and grief and the sometimes insurmountable task of overcoming them. Urma had listened to the tale of a she-wolf's anguish upon hearing that her loved one had been taken from her during battle with a rival pack. Although wolves were not creatures that frequently mated for life, the heroine had been crushed by the weight of the news and had left the safety of her home in search of her mate. When she found him, lying on his side, half-covered by snow in a ditch on the side of the forest, she had desolately spent days and nights by his side, singing to him the songs of their forbearers. This was a ritual done by the wolves of their pack as a means of helping the spirit cross over with only the thought of their ancestors, aiding them in the difficult task of letting go of the hopes and aspirations that still tied them to their former lives. However, the experience had slowly taken the she-wolf's own life away, and in the midst of a blizzard she gave her last breath under the heavy blanket of snow, with no one there to cross her soul over. Mörker had finished the story by telling Urma that it was a custom among wolves of their lands to gather around their dead and tell those that were no longer part of this world this tale, that had since then been carried by the wind, generation after generation. It was this same myth that the white Crimson Dreamer hoped to pick up, lying as she was by the side of the lake, in the midst of a dark night, surrounded by the soft murmurs of the endless expanse of the Earth.
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Yay! :3
700+
Darkness was starting to clutch the eastern edge of the sky, its nebulous fingers embracing the vast expanse of lightened sky as it climbed higher and higher. The night was still a very mysterious thing to the young boy, and he was starting to push his bedtime further and further back just to get a glimpse of its precursors, the tinges of violet light that streaked across the sky as they were caught up in the death throes of the sun. But what Gotham learned of death from the endless cycle of night and day was that it was temporary, and almost trivial in the grand scheme of things. Each morning the sun would be resurrected, and the great king of the sky would rise again to make his golden light known to the subjects of his kingdom. The moon would chase him across the sky; perhaps she was some long lost lover that was still, after the endless time that the Earth had been spinning and maybe even before it (Gotham did not know of these things) was trying to just be close to him.
Perhaps no one would never know the exact relationship between the sun and the moon. Would the two ever meet and be reunited at last? The boy actually pondered this as he walked, his cerulean eyes looking as the sun drifted towards the horizon, and he felt such a mysterious call to the story, and perhaps he even felt the beginnings of sadness. He was still too young, of course, to recognize little more than the shallowest of sorrows. The wolf was a sensitive one, though, and with time stories and even mere ponderings such as this would come to affect him greatly.
Gotham had been busy lately, as the insect population seemed to have expanded by an enormous amount. The boy had learned that indeed it was true that a caterpillar transformed into a butterfly. Such an idea surprised and even shocked him, and at first he had not believed such an absurd concept. Once he had seen evidence for it, though, the metamorphosis became an amazing thing, one that left him thinking for days afterwards. How could it be that such a tiny bug could simply sprout wings and become beautiful? The only word for it that he could find was magic. There was magic in the world, and he had glimpsed just a little part of it.
He had wandered away from the Manor, his growing legs taking him with more ease every day, and headed towards the lake. Perhaps the insects would be out at night, too, and maybe even different ones. His plan drifted away like a wispy dream when he saw Urma at the lake, and a little smile pulled on his lips. He had recognized her at once, as a subconcious thing rather than any grasping for names, and altered his path the slight bit required to bring himself to her. The boy did not speed up his pace; if anything he slowed it down. As he had spotted his friend he had noticed the strangeness of the lake, too, and the boy peered at it in awe as he took his slow steps. It almost looked as if there was a whole other world in there, separated from this one only by a thin membrane of water. The sky was just as brilliant in this other world, each color reflected so faithfully and with such diligence. A little sigh of wonder escaped his mouth as he stared.
Soon enough he was close to Urma's side. He crouched, just as she did, and let his paws hang over the side of the water. The boy couldn't help it and he leaned forward and gave the lake a quick lick, and whether out of thirst or mere curiosity even he didn't know. The touch made a wave of tiny ripples spread out in a circle, and Gotham watched them for a moment, fascinated by the way they distorted the perfect sky. He was a little bit tired, and this and the bit of maturity he had gained since he had played with Urma that day showed in his subdued actions. Pressing a large puppy tongue to the side of Urma's face, the boy said nothing. Gotham cast his gaze back over the water and placed his head on his paws, so transfixed by the image before him that he felt as if his thoughts had left his head and were floating above the gateway to that second world, ready to fall in.
Ithen made this! ♥
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OOC: ::Word Count:: 500+
The silence danced upon the zephyr, unspoken legends tucked soundly in the mute line of the horizon. Her golden eyes were fixed on the sky, the awning of her imagination, a place where stars could turn into solitary rocks, interwoven with the dark skin of the world, leading the weary traveler to a destination of his or her own liking. The lull of the vast welkin that watched upon her begged the imagination to wonder freely, exploring hidden corners of the mind that could shape themselves into ceaseless fountains of creativity. Her time, that was maybe less than a second to the universe, seemed to wish nothing else than to be extinguished in this fairy tale surrounding, where the wind could gather a new myth to share with the nights of the world. This boundless network of lives, exactly as they consumed themselves, had helped create the stories of her childhood. Tales of bravery, of love, of chance, of loss, of knowledge, of power had sought her ears time and time again, and she had always willingly lent her undisputed attention to those who were willing to tell them. She had faced danger fighting demons from beyond, had felt the emotions of lovers, had enjoyed the luxuries of luck, had wept with the coming of grief, had gained infinite awareness of the things that were part of her life, had tasted the sweetness of absolute control, all alongside the heroes and heroines that had been an essential part of her growing years.
She felt the soft pace of another, and turned her amber gaze to meet Gotham's ultramarine one. It somehow felt reassuring to watch the clear blue of the pup's eyes, so unlike the obsidian of the lake; his cerulean orbs spoke of the calmness of the sea as it brings its waves to shore, of the paths of the wind and of better things to come. Although half-lost in the realm of fantasy and remembrance, the pearl femme smiled at the small wolf beside her as he rested upon the edge much like herself. She watched his pale pink tongue as it briefly touched the surface of the water, counting the faint ripples that remained, like incomplete circles. Like incomplete cycles, the fair she-wolf thought to herself. Like a partial day or a half-night. Like a crude dawn quickly discarding its array of colours and unceremoniously becoming day. She felt the now cold pup's tongue as he pressed it to her face, and a soft, gentle smile, as if from another world entirely, adorned her muzzle. She too said nothing for a while, afraid to break the fragile spell that had befallen them, wrapping them up tight in the mysteries of the world. Her yellow orbs followed the single ray of moonshine upon the glass exterior of the lake, until it became one with the misty horizon. It felt as if the world ended at that spot, and the water was falling off the edge of the planet. Finally, she turned towards Gotham and asked, her tone warmhearted, "Out so late? I don't blame you. It's a beautiful night."
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To Gotham the night seemed like its own entity, its own living creature that enhaled the empty space and breathed out stardust. His eyes moved from the darkness of the lake to the sky, tracing lines between stars as if to make his own constellations. The hyper pup that explored bushes looking for bugs during the day had gone to sleep, leaving its less energetic counterpart to ponder the pinpricks of light. Being a fairly typical little boy, he did not usually stop to reflect on the beauty of something, the perfect catch of light or the way the sky seemed to be formed of flawless glass, but the night and his companion's silence drew it out of him. He could only find himself agreeing with her statement, his gaze turning back to her as he nodded his head. Words did not seem to come, as if his voice would shatter the delicate matrix the world so seemed to be.
The last time the two had played, Urma had mentioned that she had gone on a long journey with lots of dragonflies. Now that he was not so caught up in chasing dragonflies, the boy wondered where she had been. She must have been there for a long time, because Gotham had not recognized her that day. Turning his head a little towards Urma but still resting it on his paws, he asked quietly, "Where did ya go on yer long long journey?" A journey seemed like an excellent idea, a splendid adventure, and perhaps one day the boy would go on as well. It would certainly be grand if he saw lots of dragonflies, and lots of other insects as well. Judging by the unknown thing that he was facing now, the night, the world held many mysteries. Gotham had a deep feeling that one day he would have to go find some of them.
Ithen made this! ♥
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OOC: ::Word Count:: 300+
The silence continued without any demand to be interrupted, and the blanched female allowed herself to be overcome by its depth. This long stretch of quiet settled upon them like a luxurious blanket, beckoning their words to be spoken softly, becoming of the atmosphere that surrounded them. For the first time in a long while, the fair Crimson Dreamer felt at ease with herself, the calmness of the lake imprinting itself upon her; her muscles relaxed, her posture slack, her breathing easy, Urma relished the slow, steadiness of the world as it was now. If only you were here, the pale femme thought with a brief touch of sadness, the shortest she allowed herself in the dream-like state she was now in. She wished she would be able to share all of this wondrous sight with him, cherish each moment alongside the knowledge that it wouldn't be the last of its kind. Dwelling for long on these thoughts made the alabaster female feel chary-- her surroundings, so interlaced with fantasy, would only be here for a few hours, before the steady light of dawn would alter them.
When the small pup beside her spoke, Urma jumped a bit, surprised at having so suddenly heard his voice in the silence of the night. She sifted through memories, looking for the particular recollection she and Gotham shared of their day together. Indeed, she had mentioned her journey, in a different light so as to entertain the pup. However, it had not been an entire fabrication-- she had been on a journey, and she had spotted some dragonflies. The nature of her quest, though, was an entirely different thing. She smiled again, although this time there was a soft shadow of forlornness playing on her muzzle. "I left to find my loved one," she said simply, a touch of shakiness adding to her tone. She kept a brief moment of silence, before continuing, "Unlike the heroes and heroines of fairy tales, I wasn't successful." Not wishing to sadden Gotham, who was still a child that had no need to learn yet of the sufferings of adulthood, she added, on a somewhat warmer note, "I think I would have found him if I would have had a trustworthy, brave companion, like you. Just like we found the dragonflies, we would have found him." The fair femme smiled at the pup seated next to her, feeling her golden orbs prick with the watery sensation of unshed tears. She turned her head away from him, and allowed only a few to roll down her muzzle, before closing her eyes so as to push back the ones that were threatening to break her apart.
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The boy cringed a little, folding his ears back for just a moment as he realized that his words had come as a surprise. Indeed, the sudden vocalization of thoughts seemed to contrast with the frosty tranquillity of the night, the quiet that seemed to form like a layer of ice over the world. He had taken a few steps out onto that ice, tiny cracks forming under his paws as he did so. The guilt of shocking her faded quickly, her next expression seeming to forgive every tiny transgression: it was a smile that played across the other's lips, but it was one of a kind that Gotham didn't think he had ever seen before. Though it was an almost subconscious process he could feel a twinge of sadness in himself, and as Urma spoke the pup's eyes widened with a kind of sympathy that despite feeling it strongly he did not even understand. A vague outline of a story was drawing itself, though, and it did not seem like the storybook kind that Gotham was so fond of.
He did not know the full meaning of the term 'loved one' yet. He knew that it included his sisters and his parents, but beyond the bounds of a family that lived together and dreamed together he was almost unable to comprehend the concept. The emotions behind it were unmistakable, though, and he could feel a sadness gnawing away on his very core. 'Find' was such a telling word: someone she loved was missing. That must be the most horrible feeling that existed, and just thinking of one of his own loved ones being missing made a knot twist in his stomach so tightly that for a moment he felt faint. His eyes turned back to the water as he let the feeling dissipate, but the concerned look stayed on his face. Such a pain was palpable, even though it resided in a body other than his own, and Gotham hated that someone that was so kind to him should feel such a thing.
When she mentioned that having a brave companion would have helped her, the boy did not read the compliment that laid within it. Instead, he saw a way that he could help to put that demon to rest, to make that sadness disappear from Urma's smile. "I will come with you to find him, Urma," he murmured softly, bringing his wide eyes back to hers. Of course, he was far too young to do such a thing now, and perhaps even in the future it would still be a silly endeavour. Such dampening thoughts did not do as much as cross his mind. Anything to lighten that heavy heart.
Ithen made this! ♥
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OOC: ::Word Count:: 500+
The tears threatened to tear her apart, deliberately, piece by piece, and she found in the reserves of willpower that still remained the force to push them back into the recesses of her mind, where worries and the daily turmoil took refuge. Her heart felt heavy with bitterness, and had it not been Gotham sitting next to her she would have probably shed all her defenses and allowed her share of unhappiness to take its toll on her. As it stood, however, the wolf beside her was still too young to know all the troubles of adulthood, and the impact her anguish would have upon him would be devastating. In due time, he would taste the true bittersweet aroma of maturity, and learn to live with it on his consciousness, a burden to be carried for the rest of his life. Urma clearly remembered the shock that had sent her into early adulthood, and did not wish any such thing to befall another young wolf. She composed herself with great care, and turned to face the pup just as he spoke his gentle, heartfelt words. His innocence was the only thing that made her muzzle take the shape of a true smile; the probity behind his intentions gave her a warm feeling deep inside, caressing her bruised soul.
"Thank you. You're very kind to offer such a thing to me. Maybe, someday, we'll set on that adventure, together." Her own words spoke of better days to come, of the hope that she had so far prohibited herself from enjoying. One day, she would meet Pilot again, and she would look back upon these moments and think of them as little more than a nightmare. She knew, and it was a deep-rooted certainty, that she would always love Pilot, no matter what; in the depths of the night she felt it more clearly than ever that nothing, not even what had happened in Inferni, could ever make waver her convictions about the white male's true self. That conviction warmed her soul, somewhat, renewing her stale hope. She looked at Gotham with different eyes-- a more optimistic gaze, perhaps? She felt she owed the small wolf beside her something for his warmhearted words.
She smiled once more at the pup, delving deep into her memories, thinking of what would take her companion's mind off the sadness that she had let loose upon the both of them. The night's air was getting chillier, speaking of early autumn and smelling of soon-to-come rains. She scooped in closer to Gotham, allowing her generous pelt to cover his side, her eyes radiating gratefulness and kindness. There was nothing about the Sadira-Marino pup that did not give her the smallest ounce of belief. Being here with him lifted her spirits considerably, and she wanted to do something for him to show her thankfulness. "But you know what gives me the most hope? That stories don't have to end, ever. There's nothing to stop you from keeping to try to make it work." She paused a bit, her tone soft, and continued, "I come from far away. I was born in lands covered by mountains and snow, with deep valleys and dark forests. And I grew up listening to the stories of the wind and the tales of the age-old trees. There's never been a day in which I haven't remembered the myths of my ancestors."
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Congrats on Spotlight Soul! <333
500+
Gotham was pleased that he had, perhaps, dulled the edge of her pain, even if it was momentary. The quiet smile that graced her lips was reflected on the boy's, despite his inability to comprehend the entirety of the set of emotions that lay behind it. The expression was sign of a small breach in her sorrow, and that was enough to make him smile, too, for a smile was always a good thing to have on one's face. It widened a little when she said that one day they would take that trip, and go to find Urma's loved one and make her happy again. The little raven pup, being so used to Urma being cheerful and finding little games for them to play, was a little caught off guard by the deep unhappiness that seemed to be nestled deep within her. He nodded a little, which was more of a shuffle of his big head on his giant paws, his blue eyes staying on his ashened friend. Words did not seem necessary, and in fact it seemed like any words he uttered would freeze the moment they got out of his mouth, crack and fall to the ground in silence's cold grasp.
Time could be lurching forward in giant bounds or it could have been taken the tiniest steps possible, and Gotham wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. He was starting to learn that it got chilly at night, so cool that the moisture in the air started to condense on the leaves and the tips of the boy's ears. Urma's closeness was welcome, and he snuggled in a bit closer, her warm white fur contrasting with his. His eyes moved to hers in thanks as he readjusted himself a little, shifting his weight closer to her side and tucking his paws underneath his own body, and his tail thumped a few times against the cool grass before coiling around his side. This was very cozy, and reminded Gotham of when he was little and the times he would curl up with his whole family. He was getting big quite fast, and those cuddles were growing less common. Time was moving so fast, and soon the boy would see his first winter.
He was glad to hear that she had hope, and if he were a little older he would have realized that that was something that had allowed her to continue playing games with him despite the little dark pit she carried around with her. The boy gave a soft smile, his eyes moving to her again. Perhaps it was something he wasn't able to understand completely, but there was no doubt he would remember those words. As she continued to speak he imagined her home, a world with a white blanket of snow, a world that was colder than the one that Gotham lived in. Stories seemed to be very important there, and the pup's ears perked just a little. He liked stories, and something that was important to Urma was surely interesting. He settled his head across his own forepaws and those of his friend as she finished speaking. Eyes wide and looking up to her again, he asked softly, "What kind of myths, Urma?" He was starting to like the way her name rolled off his tongue, the way he was starting to associate it with a mystical world covered in snow that was as white as the female's pelt.
Ithen made this! ♥
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OOC: Thank you! *blushes* I'm sorry for the wait ._. *fail* ::Word Count:: 500+
Her pain somewhat dulled, the alabaster femme stretched her front paws so as to grace the surface of the still lake, so undisturbed by the soft breeze that followed its own paths upon the air. The delicate touch startled the water only so much, creating small replicas of the same thin circles Gotham's tongue had caused earlier. The vast, liquid darkness unfolding before them felt to the fair she-wolf like a temple built in recognition of Gods that no mythology could define. The thought triggered a series of similar musings; all mythologies talked of gods and goddesses symbolizing nature's four elements, or different actions or feelings, but never the absolutely mundane ones. Though through folklore they ranged from Birth to War to Water to Death, there were no deities of which she knew that spoke of Loss, or of Anger, or of Necessity, or of the Inevitable. The Unknown that haunted the pale femme daily was by no means trivial, and she was sure it was everyone's subconscious fear, at the least. It was a feeling capable of making her diminish in the face of the many tomorrows she knew nothing of. These ideations came with the apprehension that the lake and her immediate surroundings, laced with her deep impressions in the face of the wondrous ways of nature, were part of a bigger body, something so intricate and secret that it was almost sacrosanct.
The pup's voice brushed against her eardrums, which had previously throbbed under the heavy weight of silence. His question brought back the many generations she had traveled to through stories, the infinite stretch of time she had breached without the smallest effort, the characters whose lives she had so flawlessly entwined herself with, like a ghost come from what those leading those lives could only refer to as the Unknown. She had, through the tales of old, witnessed epic battles and grand ceremonies, had crossed paths with Evil disguised as Good, had felt the thrill of the hunt, had tasted both timeless sorrow, as well as unending joy. Her amber gaze held a warmth as if from another realm entirely as she looked at the small wolf beside her, all the while sifting through memories until she finally found the one she was looking for: the first story she had ever heard. Her voice gentle, her tone mild, the inflection behind it dreamy, she said, "I too was born, much like you, in a pack. Only Crimson Dreams' open fields were replaced by steep valleys and the hills were treacherous mountains. And the first thing I learned is that everything has a story behind it," she paused to catch Gotham's eyes, her words filling up with substance, "even you and I. My pack had a story also, of how it came to be. As young pups, my brothers and sister and I would gather around our elders and listen to our common legacy." She caught herself smiling at the recollection, finding a source of comfort within the old memory. "Those legends spoke of the beginning of things, of battles and times of peace, but mostly it talked of surviving and belonging. Back then, we were taught to believe that safety lay within our hands, unless we ventured into the Unknown." I still hold that fear for what is to come. I still feel the agony of not knowing, of the unexpected.
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<3 It's fine!
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It was strange to think that different individuals experienced life so differently. Gotham had caught a glimpse of it in the library, his mind unable to comprehend the depth and variety of all types of thoughts when his father explained that humans had written different things from each other because they all had different ideas. It was one thing to see in a physical manifestation, like all those words on all those pages, but he found it rather difficult to imagine that every wolf had a different life experience. To the boy, it seemed perfectly natural that each pup should have two sisters, a mother and a father, and to imagine that the basic plan should vary from that seemed rather odd. Gotham was not closed minded, but he had a very tiny scope of the way others lived. Of course he knew that there were others around that had not been born into Crimson Dreams, but he had never really understood the gravity of that idea, or realized how foreign it sounded to him. His ignorance and tunnel vision was something that would dissipate with age, hopefully, and Urma's words were helping it to go away.
As she spoke, the pup pictured the great mountains of the female's childhood. She knew how to tell a story, that was for sure, and Gotham found himself enthralled in what she was saying. His mind was fickle and prone to dancing away to something else, but now his thoughts did not stray. He was not familiar with stories such as this, and though he was vaguely aware that every thing he came across had a history he did not know anything more than the very fragile top membrane, the here and the now. Urma's smile made him feel not happy but content, a feeling that seemed to suit the darkness that was sweeping over them and the stars that were peeking down. Gotham continued to let his head rest on his paws, his eyes upward to watch the alabaster female speak. He found himself curious to know more of what she spoke, and was just a little disappointed when she stopped. "What's the Unknown?" he prompted quietly. The boy was faintly capable of connecting this to his own life; he was safe in Crimson Dreams, and even in some of the neighbouring territories, but if he ventured too far there was no telling what was out there. Monsters?
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OOC: I'm sorry for the corny quality of this ._.::Word Count:: 600+
The silence did not have time to settle as comfortably as she paused, the small pup prompting her to go on with another avid question. Her smile was still crayoned on her muzzle, partly due to her own contentment that she was able to convey a deeper sense of the world to the growing wolf, and partly due to the rising voice of the wind, which had at last allowed its songs to waltz elegantly on its unseen wings. Her thoughts were almost magnetically pulled towards the soft whispers and the dim lull of the voiceless tune she had learned since young to understand. The numerous stories that gracefully walked as one with the zephyr filled her mind at once, and she slowly raised her head to watch the sky, whose heavy blueberry garment was interwoven with the rare gems of the night. The intensity of this moment almost overwhelmed her, making it almost impossible for her not to break the frail thread her thoughts had been following. Although the many generations of stories that had just been unleashed crowded her head, she turned to look into the cerulean orbs of the pup beside her with an expression of utmost peace of mind.
Her voice, by now inured to the daily distress of her life, flowed at once gratefully and melodically from her throat, but also soft and quiet, like one would tell a well-kept secret. "Most think that the Unknown is the future. And partly, it is that: the long sequence of tomorrows and todays that will be yesterdays, this stretch of time that we will needlessly apportion through years of our lifetime, but of which we will know nothing. The Unknown is more than the future itself-- it is that which makes our counting useless. What use is it to anyone that there are minutes in an hour, if we do not know what those minutes bring? Entire lives are spent and wasted simply in todays, yet we needlessly concern ourselves with tomorrow, planning into a future we cannot even fathom the wildest of guesses about." Her voice had taken on a deeper tone, grave all of a sudden, as if something of an imperious nature were being dealt with. She knew, however, that the story had to be told in a different light-- that was the beauty of it. No one would ever hear the same story twice and think the same thoughts. For now, the ivory femme would convey only this much to Gotham; the rest would be a journey through the realm of fantasy.
Deliberately, yet with subtlety, all the while carrying within her the rhythmic chants of old, the fair Crimson Dreamer continued, "However, that is a story to be told later. I myself do not know much about this Unknown-- my guesses are haphazard as much as anyone else's. We were taught not to venture beyond what we could grasp, unless we were equipped with the kind of knowledge that would help us overcome the perils of the world. We were told about places where dragonflies, much like the ones we found, could turn into creatures twice, maybe three times as big and as powerful as us, with fickle intentions and treacherous kingdoms we would have to journey through in order to restore peace to other lands. Such stories have always filled me with a sense of hope, of self-determination; in the realm of our minds there is nothing too big to overcome, nothing too small to make a difference, and what we do can change the face of the planet."
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It was fine :o
500+
The voice of the wind that Urma heard so strongly was nothing but a faint and distant whisper to the Phoenix boy. It was in a foreign language, too, one that he had never spoken or even heard before. Indeed, he didn't hear it now. The wind was just the wind to him, the movement of air through the grass, manifest most obviously as it swept across the flight path of a dragonfly, pulling the delicate insect along with it. It was not something that Gotham thought of often, or really at all. The wind did not speak to him, or tell him stories. Urma, settled so calmly beside him, was his sole connection to the world that she tapped into. The pup was not immune to the beauty of the world, but he was ignorant to its extent. With time he would come to appreciate the subtle colors of a sunrise, the velvety surface of a flower's petal, or the shimmery waves of water across a lake.
Gotham didn't understand most of what she was saying, but he listened intently anyway. It sounded beautiful and deep, at least, and the pup did want to know what she meant. The Unknown was the future, was what he gleaned from her words, and ultimately the measurement of the time wolves had was useless. He furrowed his brow and stared at the space in front of his paws, trying very hard to comprehend the deeper meaning that fell behind her words. The female's voice conferred a dangerous side to the things she said, and oh how Gotham wished he understood so that he might stay out of trouble.
He was partially relieved and partly horrified when she mentioned that they would return to that explanation later. The boy wanted to understand, but a bit of the weight was off his shoulders when he realized that he could learn it later, as well. He nodded a little, his eyes staying on her as he did so. Gotham wanted to go further than what he knew, he wanted to keep learning, he wanted to laugh in the face of the Unknown. Giant, menacing dragonflies sounded scary to him, but also extraordinarily exciting. Did such things actually exist, though? The pup had trouble differentiating reality from metaphor all the time, and here the line seemed even fuzzier than usual. Feeling a little lost, he fixated on a single thing that she had said and asked, "What kind of knowledge helps us overcome the perils of the world?" A younger Gotham, or even one that was simply not so drawn into a foreign way of thinking, would have enquired about the enormous dragonflies. Perhaps, by learning what he needed to know to overcome such perils he would be able to go on an adventure to find the giant creatures. Gotham couldn't imagine them being mean, though, and would much prefer to make friends with them and ride around on their backs. His childhood wasn't dead, not yet.
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OOC: ::Word Count:: 600+
It was quite evident that the wind shared its secrets only with her-- the pup that lay beside her was still too small to hear the gentle rustle of their unveiled ancestry and, from what the pearl femme had picked up, the language of the wind was not one that young wolves were taught, maybe as a consequence of few of their elders knowing it themselves. The whispers flowed through her veins, their voices intense, as if some forlorn conversation were taking place within every cell of her body. She could see the vague discomfort etched in the dark Crimson Dreamer's features, and although she could see how her relationship to what the pup could only perceive as a simple breeze, left him feeling somewhat excluded from her exotic, faraway world. A strange sort of guilt crept up her spine, leaving behind a sour taste; she did not want the small wolf to perceive this experience as something strictly related to the adult world, or as something he was momentarily denied access to.
Gotham's predicament became apparent as she finished her lengthy explanation of the Unknown, although to the fair femme her words had not even brushed upon the topmost layer of the matter. However, she was aware of the fact that the boy beside her was still too small to grasp all the subtleties and delve as deep as it took to uncover the underlining meaning behind her soft-spoken statements. Although her explication had been sententious, it had made enough sense to her; the pompousness of it, however, would prove daunting to the growing youngster. His cerulean orbs were a perfect mirror of this exact fact: confusion had taken a firm grasp on the pup, and his efforts to better understand the amount of information she had proffered were an evident consequence of this. More so, the growing Crimson Dreamer felt almost relieved that her explanations would stop at that; the dread that they would continue at a future date, though, remained. It was this innocent reaction that convinced the pale female that her stories should take on the light tone of her own childhood ones: dragons and wicked witches remained the best portrayal of the fickleness of the world.
His question offered her the opportunity of a different approach to the matter, and she gratefully clung to it, unwilling to spoil Gotham's night with stories whose time had not come. With age, he could return to her in the curious quest for knowledge, and she would, as much as possible, aid him on his journey into adulthood. Now, though, his childhood was still in its prime, and its naivety had to be preserved. Her voice was soft and cajoling as she spoke, bearing the inflections of kindness, her pauses well timed so as to add that extra hint of mystery to the tale. "Some of that knowledge you already have; not to stray away from your parents or from the security of your home. There was once a story I was told, in the early years of my life, when I used to think that I'd left childhood behind, only to realize its wondrous ways still held a grip on me. The story was that of a young wolf, much like I was then, and much like you are now, and his sudden decision to venture beyond the lands of his ancestors, where their timeless spell kept harm out of his way." When the alabaster she-wolf stopped, her voice had become barely more than another of the zephyr's ageless whispers. She hoped this trick would perk the pup's curiousity and ease the pressure her previous words had put on his frail shoulders.
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Unable to truly comprehend what the female was saying, the boy had merely repeated one of the things she had said, reshaped into a question. He was curious about it, though he did not understand the full meaning of the words, and listened carefully to her response. It was a good thing to know what to know, and Gotham didn't think that anyone had told him before. The pup had learned many things, not solely through being taught, of course, and Urma's first statement was not something that surprised him greatly. His parents kept him safe and the lands of Crimson Dreams were a rare safe haven. If he ventured off alone, it was possible that the monsters in the forest or in the ocean could get him. What about when he was older, though? Could he go then? The boy longed for adventure, and though for now just a trip to AniWaya was epic, in not too long he would ache for the air of a different world entirely.
As he listened to Urma's voice, Gotham's eyes moved across the obsidian surface of the water, tracing the faint ripples that the wind pushed around so effortlessly. The words that she was speaking seemed to become ominous and fearful, and when she stopped he turned his head to her, brows furrowed. When she had mentioned a spell to prevent harm, he wondered if Crimson Dreams had one of those, too. It should. But then Cambria never would have been hurt like that, and wouldn't have been sad for so many days. Spells should be able to keep everyone happy, as well as safe.
Gotham bought into the suspense the storyteller created, despite his thoughts on spells, and he asked gently, "En what happened to him?" Maybe it was the fact that his decision was sudden that got him into trouble, because otherwise he could have planned ahead. Would he have been able to make new spells, to keep him safe? If they were good at magic and whatnot they probably could have! But it didn't sound like that was the case, judging on Urma's tone. The ebony pup worried for the boy that wandered away, because he could see himself in this story.
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OOC: ::Word Count:: 700+
The whispers got steadily more pronounced, flawlessly doubling the growing motions of the wind, who had caught momentum in its pace and breezed, chillier than before, through the two Crimson Dreamers' furs. It was spellbinding to listen to the tone of the stories shared in secrecy within the dark confines of the night; it felt as if you had trespassed in a realm of dreams, and wanted to wake up so you could tell everyone of what you had seen and heard, only to find that you were part of the realm itself, one with the fantastical beings whose lives were consumed before you. The ivory femme felt the tug to respond to what was being imparted to her, to somehow enhance this dimension only she seemed to be aware of, but felt the restrictions imposed by her mute allegiance with the storyteller which the zephyr had become: the ability to relate to the tales of the night was the gift of her ancestors, and all she could do was pass on what she heard. She could not integrate another in this fairy tale surrounding without risking to lose her forbearers' ancestral ties with the night's Spirit.
The pup's question arose a new kind of feeling in her-- it was what she had always imagined a storyteller felt, whenever faced with the possibility of sharing a tale of old; this emotion flooded her slowly, falling into an even pace with the steady flow of her blood, heightening her sense of presence and somehow adjusting time to her needs. She was under the impression that she could take as much time as she needed to fulfill the purpose of her story-- the night would never come to an end, not before the myth had been consumed and had made its consequent impression on the Sadira-Marino pup next to her. His interest in what she was saying was giving her confidence that her words would hit a chord deep within the small wolf, that they would not be in vain or simply remain upon the wind, where the pup would not be able to find them again. Aided by the knowledge that she now had a faithful audience, clinging on to her every word, the alabaster femme began, her voice as soft and melodic as an age-old song, "Well, the story says that all children, when small and growing and still unaware of the perils of life, make an unspoken vow not to cross their parents' will, for they wish only the best for them. This pup, however, was not like most. Although curiousity ran through the veins of all the youngster of that pack, he was the only one to take it further. Far enough, even, to break his silent promise that he would never venture beyond the borders of his clan. She paused, giving Gotham time to integrate the atmosphere of the tale into that of the tranquil night. "However, doing what he did was difficult, because all the adults in the pack kept their eyes on the young ones, especially him, since he was more mischievous than the others. So, the small wolf chose the time of night to make himself unseen-- and it was this, probably more than anything else, that led him straight to danger. All the youngsters were unaware that a spell, a sort of ancestral magic kept the pack tight-knit and safe, out of harm's way. By leaving it without the knowledge of the adults and without their approval, that spell was lifted from you, and your safety lay in your own hands. But you can imagine how a child would not understand this, would think that the world was an exact replica of life within his pack. Much to his bewilderment, though, that was not the case. However, there was much magic surrounding this clan-- so much that, each wolf, be it small or grown-up, had a protective spirit. Like an unseen guardian. Usually this protective spirit would be one of his ancestors-- say a great-grandfather or great-grandmother who had died long before his time, or any other distant relative of that kind. And it can be said that this was what helped the pup overcome the obstacles that lay ahead of him." Urma's voice faded out, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement that the cerulean-orbed wolf beside her did not have any other questions to ask before she continued her story.
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Sorry for the delay b:
300+
Gotham was a good boy. He liked to do what his parents told him to and he was nice to his sisters. He liked to go on adventures, though, but so far nothing bad had happened. The pup always found an adult he knew after not too long, and then he explored with them. He didn't think he was really like this wolf in the story, though, but he certainly didn't stay within the pack boundaries. The lands around here were safe, though (or at least he was convinced so), and he didn't venture too far to places that might be unsafe. At least, he wouldn't break a promise he made, and he hadn't promised anyone he wouldn't leave. Even silently.
He wondered if he had an unseen spirit guardian, too. The boy didn't think he had a great-grandfather, or even a grandfather (despite having received his last name from one of them), and the concept of a spirit and a great-ancestor was muddled in his mind. He would have to ask his parents if he had a great-grandfather or great-grandmother that watched him, because then he would be able to go on adventures and overcome obstacles and all those things that Urma was talking about. It was a good thing he spoke Italian, just in case that guardian spirit was from his mother's side. The old wolves probably didn't speak English like he did. And what if their spirits didn't come to Canada with them? Maybe the pup in the story lived in the same place that his ancestors did, and that was why their spirits were still there. This was all too confusing to the boy for him to apply practically.
Anyway, the story was kind of interesting and for now he would just ignore the confusion about his own life. He could figure out later if he had a spirit guardian, or if there was a spell on Crimson Dreams that made it nice and safe (he kind of doubted it, since Cambria had been hurt). Shaking his head a little as if it would help him to cast all his befuddling thoughts from his head, he proceeded to look at Urma. With a nod, he urged her on.
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OOC: Maybe we should have one post each and then kind of fade it to black in favour of a more recent one? ::Word Count:: 800+
The ivory femme could almost picture the thoughts that were slowly weaving their tight web in the pup's head, each one playing a crucial role in the way the growing wolf would respond to the story that was being related to him. Her amber eyes watched her listener with great care, studying him for any signs that the story was having, so far, any unwanted impact on him. She did not want it to affect the small wolf beside her, since she viewed their little storytelling by the lake just as she had viewed the gatherings back in Greenland around the storytellers of her pack, learning about the ways of her ancestors, relatives who had, through those tales, become an integral part of her, had been brought closer and made dearer to her. Of course, she could not hope for the same aspirations in what concerned her own person-- Gotham would have no reason to feel as close to her as she had felt to the storytellers in her former pack, partly because the circumstances were different, and partly because their upbringings differed in crucial aspects, something that prevented the young wolf from integrating her fairy tales into his own existence. The pale female also took into account the fact that her pack's customs had been oriented towards a strong relationship with their ancestors, whilst Crimson Dreams held no such policy. It was Urma's burning desire to become her new pack's legacy to its own history, and even to histories that were foreign to it, simply because it was something she had always strived to achieve as a little she-wolf, driven by the inspiration her elderly pack members proved to be. Maybe her night now with Gotham would bring her closer to the understanding of a story her former pack mates seemed to possess, as they gathered the young around the fire and began to weave their intricate tale; whatever the outcome, her main wish was for the growing male to look back upon this time with at least half of the importance the blanched Crimson Dreamer attributed to her own similar experiences from childhood.
His nod, however, was a clear invitation for her to continue, as well as a hint as to the pup's true feelings regarding their nightly storytelling and the direction the tale was currently taking. The alabaster femme was filled with a small sense of accomplishment, and her gaze momentarily turned towards the deep, dark blue sky above, from whence the whispering winds seemed to come. It was the same welkin her stories were played under, unchanging in appearance and timeless in age, also one step ahead of its puppets in the face of the Unknown. These things, however, Urma could not share with the cerulean-orbed wolf beside her-- she lacked his innocence in the face of danger and assuming responsibility, while he lacked her life experience, even though she was quite aware hers was not one of the vastest at that. While this thought brought about the possibility of each of them learning something from the other, the pearl-furred female was reluctant in divulging too many of the universe's diverse aspects, lest these should seem off-putting for the growing pup in the face of life's paths. Although Urma agreed that he should be aware of destiny's shortcomings and his limited resources in overcoming these drawbacks, she felt it might prove a little premature to burden Gotham with such heavy knowledge at an age that still demanded his youthfulness and energy to be concentrated towards developing nicely. Plus, the ivory she-wolf was well aware of the natures of Gotham's parents, and trusted that her ebony friend was more than capable of catering to her own child's needs, and most importantly, deciding on the best time to entrust him with knowledge of what life may or may not have in store for him. Allowing her thoughts to finally concentrate on the pup's glowing, expectant eyes, she simply said, "But you see, this is a story to be told in the early hours of the dawn, when our minds are clear and our hearts are fresh, ready to receive the teachings of the old. Do not let this dispirit you, though. You shall discover the outcome of our tale in due time. Patience is the key to shortening the time that is given to waiting, so you must know how to use it to your advantage. Now, let us be content with watching the lake. The late hours of night and the whispers of the wind will be our guides to a rich sleep." Her voice had been tranquil and soft as she shifted closer to the pup, offering him the comfort of her own body's warmth for the remaining hours of the night, time which would allow her to sort the details of her story according to what Gotham needed most to know.
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Sounds good!
310 words
The boy was eager to hear what had challenges faced the adventurous young wolf, and curious to hear how he, with the aid of a helpful spirit, had overcome them. Gotham was, therefore, a little put out that Urma stopped their story there, but he listened to her words, and found her motives reasonable. The gap in her storytelling gave him a chance to feel the sleepiness that had been slowly creeping up on him, and he failed to stifle a yawn. Despite his alacrity, patience was a virtue that, fortunately, he had a drop of, and he accepted Urma's words. With a slight nod, he turned his gaze across the lake, its inky water shimmering beneath the light of the stars. In his imagination, which never seemed to rest, they were lamps beneath the water by which the fish talked or read. He wondered what the fish might be reading by such ethereal lights, and if there was a little boy fish that might have just heard a story, as well.
When Urma drew closer to him, the boy remembered his manners and the gift he had just been given. "Thank you for the story," he said, looking up to the woman with sincere eyes. He knew that they hadn't come close to finishing the tale, but they had started it and it had required many words on her part. He was thankful for the time that they had spent by the lake and the breath the wolf had used to translate the stories the wind brought her. He spent his days romping around the lands, and it was nice to slow down at the end of the day with the wisdom of those who were older than him. He was, now, ready for a sleep, and just as Urma had said, it would be a deep and peaceful one.
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