The Pain of Being Alone,
#1
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Calla had been walking for some time she had been alone since her mother had died protecting her and her siblings. Her hope of finding a new place to call home was fading quickly, she tripped and stumbled trying to catch herself so she didn't fall. She hoped to find some one that could help her regain her strength. She sighed softly and kept walking as much as she could. She was beautiful even for looking as sickly as she did, She was almost fur and bones. Her long black hair tied back into a braid, living on her own she had never worn clothes, she had always been comfortable with who she was nude and all.

Calla flicked her tail stumbling again, to tired to walk anymore she finally submitted and collapsed under a tree. Calla lay there her foot paws bleeding, her beautiful fur matted and obviously not taken care of. It was clear to others that she was in need of a community. She needed to re-learn everything due to being on her own for so long. She never minded being dirty or naked. If anyone where to see her, they would surely try to get her into some clothes and make her take a bath. Taking a deep breath and laying on her side, She curled into a ball and closed her eyes hoping for the pain to slip away soon. It had been several hours before she fell asleep.

She twitched slightly as she slept, dreaming of the family she hoped and prayed to find. Twitching more violently as if remembering something horrible in her past she woke up breathing heavily, her heart racing and her paws still bleeding from all the walking she had done. Calla noticed pieces of grass scattered across her pelt, sitting up with great care of her paws she tried to think of how they could have gotten there. She assumed she had been thrashing in her sleep again and that is how the grass got there. Flicking her tail back and forth in the moon light she leaned back against the tree she had been sleeping under, looking up to see some of the stars that the tree hadn't hidden between the leaves and branches. Tears filling her eyes her heart still praying and begging for somewhere she might be accepted. In a soft tone without even thinking she spoke in a soft and beautiful voice "I hope I find a family.." she said in an almost breathless voice.

Word Count :: +2,246

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#2
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Word Count › 340 Aaand Lowry recites lame poetry, yay!

A poem begins as a lump in the throat,
a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

Lowry was a creature of light, but tonight he ventured out into the dark, stepping from the abandoned badger set that was his temporary den before shifting into a werecoyote’s shape. Yellow eyes lifted heavenward, and he smiled as he regarded the canvas of stars set off by the swollen moon. Even if he loved the warmth of day, he had to admit that the night was far more poetic, and fires burned more brightly in the dark.

The young coyote hybrid ducked down to grab his knife belt from the den, buckling it on around his waist and suppressing a scowl when it slipped sideways along his narrow hips. He was already a skinny, scrawny individual, and these months of traveling had only made him thinner, though he liked to think he wasn’t that scruffy. His hands went up to fluff his hair forward before he began his walk through the night-cool grass, his big ears constantly swiveling and his mind open for all the beauties his moonlit surroundings had to offer.

This was what he’d wanted to find when he left home: a land of beauty and simplicity, without a pack hounding him and parents pitting him against his own family. He was content to walk beneath the stars, feeling the night breeze on his shoulders, the kiss of autumn’s chill leaving his cheeks flushed.

There was still something more the boy wanted, though. Traveling through lovely country was all fine and good, but the essence of an adventure was the events that took place between those travels—and reaching a destination, eventually. What that destination was, he didn’t know, but he wanted to be more than a wandering vagabond; he wanted to be a protagonist.

Lowry sighed, adjusting his belt again as he walked, and continued to march across the quiet landscape, breaking the silence with a voice high but rich: “Dusty bards travel here / Singing songs from cradle to bier / Drink the light from an old cold moon / I hope I find my purpose soon…”


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