Post by Aztec on Mar 24, 2005 2:28:42 GMT -5
(Congratulations if you read my long rant. Please IM me if you want to join the thread 
The night air was cool, although the humidity of the day still lingered upon the boundaries of Koran. An eerie glow was cast across the smooth vegetation, silhouetting a figure, making her way across the plains that lead to Koran. It was a wolf.
The Arctic faes white pelage was stained with blood, although not all was her own. Her deep blue eyes were full of pain and suffering, blinded partly by the blood seeping into her eyes from a head wound, and partly from the anguish that filled her heart, that had shaken her body to the core. A back leg dragged against the ground, the tendon severed and torn almost completely away from the bone, leaving a thick trail of crimson with every painful step she took. But this pain was nothing, nothing, compared to what she felt inside.
She had lost everything.
Although the winter had passed, the ice that formed around her heart had not thawed, and she doubted it ever would. That was the winter that had changed her outlook on life, the winter that made her pause, and question her life here in Carpathia. That was the winter that Zephyr, her beloved ‘Mama’, had died.
Aztec had not been the same since Zephyr had passed into the unknown lands. It was like something inside her had given up, her strength, or perhaps her will to survive. The light of determination in her eyes, kindled by her spirit, was no more, and without it, she had become nothing but a shadow, a poor representation of what was once a strong, resilient wolf. Her mind spiralled out of control, and her leadership skills dwindled on the border of non-existence. For a while, she believed she could get better, with the love and help of her pack. Then Thunder had left, and Aztec gave up all hope of ever regaining her former composure. She bore a wounded heart from the death of her Mama, and the disappearance of her mate seemed to open up a fresh gash, threatening to slice her open. Her troubles caused her days to be a living nightmare, whilst in the night she tossed and turned, a cold sweat threatening to break as she bordered on the brink of insanity, her mind consumed by thoughts of only darkness and peril.
Then the news of her younger sister Saphira’s death reached her ears, and Aztec could cope with the continued sense of loss and despair no more. Saphira was the only connection she had to her birth pack; her brother Clover was dead, and she never wanted to see her birth mother again. Although Aztec had not come in contact with her younger sister for several moons, Saph had still meant a great deal to her, making her death a tragedy.
Finally, Aztec gave up. She resigned from her spot as Drappa, and ran from the lands of Deor, the sense of familiarity almost killing her. For days, she wandered the lone kerl lands, never sleeping, the worn soles of her paws cracked and sore, however, the feel of somebody watching her struck on the last afternoon, as Fenris began to sink below the mountains, and all was still. It turned out that Lasrachai, her determined, faithful, Lasrachai, the youngest daughter of Deor, had followed her from the pack lands, refusing to acknowledge the lost soul who was once her mother.
A whimper racked her body as she drew another strangled breath, remembering what had come next. Early spring was the time where one should be especially wary of bears, but of course, Lasrachai was only a pup, therefore did not know, and Aztec was in no state of mind to think things through properly. So when a bear came barrelling through the foliage ahead of them, the partly sane Arctic fae had insisted that Lasrachai run, while Aztec took on the bear, proving that her motherly instincts were still strong. But the bear was hungry, Aztec weak, and although the once strong wolf put up a good fight, her sharp teeth and quick reflexes were nought compared to that of the fully grown bear, and Aztec soon passed out after taking a particularly nasty blow to the head.
Awaking minutes later to her daughters screams, Aztec paid no heed to the searing pain in her head, or to the gushing wound in her leg which caused her blinding physical torture. It was like somebody had flicked a switch in her brain onto automatic, and all she could think of was her little Las, one who she loved with all her heart.
Only she was too late.
The sight of her daughters mangled body in a clearing of pines was grotesque, but her mother could not help but look. Midnight blue eyes widened, Aztec froze mid-step, and time seemed to stop for eternity as she watched the smug bear pick up its trophy, clutch her beautiful daughter between its powerful jaws, and leave silently, completely ignoring the freeze-frame behind it.
A small cry escaped from her bloodstained lips, as the bear flung the small carcass down beside his den, and moved away periodically. All her common sense blocked out by the pain of anguish and suffering, the Arctic wolf darted out to where her daughter lay, and gave her a feverent lick upon the muzzle. “Las?” she whispered, eyes round in denial. Her breath quickened as she clutched her lifeless daughter by the scruff of the neck, and tore away from the den, fighting to ignore the voice screaming at her in her head, telling her to stop and tend her wounds. But she persevered, her insanity insisting that once she left the forest, Lasrachai would be alright; once they were greeted by open space, everything would be fine. But deep down, Aztec knew it wasn’t fine. It would never be fine. And as she breached the border of the forest, gently laying her still daughter to the new spring grass, a cry tore through her illusions, once so convincing, now, just a shadow of something fleeting in the night. Turning her muzzle to the skies, bright filtered colours shining from the last of Fenris’s rays, a howl sounded. The howl spoke of happy times, now gone, and the grief and suffering the solemn note held was almost unbearable. A flock of sparrows took to the air, frightened by this tale of solitude and loneliness. So emotional was the tale, it was hard for some to imagine what it felt like. But Aztec knew, oh, she knew all too well. And she wished so desperately that it would all just go away.
“My little Lasrachai,” she cried out in anguish, bowing her head as she nuzzled the lifeless corpse beneath her. Ocean blue eyes veiled, she studied the body carefully, realising this was not her daughter. Maybe once her daughters soul took part in this body, but now….... Shaking her head once more, her lowered eyes raised once more, wishing the Gods didn’t need Lasrachai back so soon. “Take care of her,” she whispered, eyes brimming with a mixture of tears and blood, as she turned and ran.
For days, Aztec had ran, perhaps trying to outrun her past, her problems, the feeling of guilt that struck her like a powerful blow every time she pictured Lasrachai’s laughing face, the way her eyes sparkled when she was up to something, the way her tail lowered slightly when she knew she would be scolded. On the first night, Aztec was so lonely it was almost unbearable. The salty tears slid down her muzzle continuously, but after she was through, there was no feeling of relief, the feeling she was usually granted after tears. No, there was only emptiness, and the constant throbbing of her snapped tendon, and the seeping wound upon her head.
Days and nights passed, and soon the familiar scent of Koran flickered across her almost useless nasal passages. She was weak from dehydration and hunger, and the festering wounds on her head and leg had not been treated. She used these physical pains as an escape, to try and feel something other than the deep sense of loss and failure, boring a deep hole straight through her heart. But this scent, this Koran – “Tarkah,” her voice was cracked and lips dry and stained with day old blood, but she still recognised the scent. Pushing on, a moan escaped her muzzle, and she realised she wouldn’t have to put up with this pain much longer. Soon- everything would fade, and her body and mind would be numb to all pain, just how she wanted it.
She gasped as a searing pain shook her frail body, almost collapsing out of exhaustion. However, she was determined, and she bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood. Trying to block out all feeling, she concentrated solely at the task at hand – to find Tarkah.
For she might be the only one who could drag her out of this mindless abyss of shadows and images.
The night air was cool, although the humidity of the day still lingered upon the boundaries of Koran. An eerie glow was cast across the smooth vegetation, silhouetting a figure, making her way across the plains that lead to Koran. It was a wolf.
The Arctic faes white pelage was stained with blood, although not all was her own. Her deep blue eyes were full of pain and suffering, blinded partly by the blood seeping into her eyes from a head wound, and partly from the anguish that filled her heart, that had shaken her body to the core. A back leg dragged against the ground, the tendon severed and torn almost completely away from the bone, leaving a thick trail of crimson with every painful step she took. But this pain was nothing, nothing, compared to what she felt inside.
She had lost everything.
Although the winter had passed, the ice that formed around her heart had not thawed, and she doubted it ever would. That was the winter that had changed her outlook on life, the winter that made her pause, and question her life here in Carpathia. That was the winter that Zephyr, her beloved ‘Mama’, had died.
Aztec had not been the same since Zephyr had passed into the unknown lands. It was like something inside her had given up, her strength, or perhaps her will to survive. The light of determination in her eyes, kindled by her spirit, was no more, and without it, she had become nothing but a shadow, a poor representation of what was once a strong, resilient wolf. Her mind spiralled out of control, and her leadership skills dwindled on the border of non-existence. For a while, she believed she could get better, with the love and help of her pack. Then Thunder had left, and Aztec gave up all hope of ever regaining her former composure. She bore a wounded heart from the death of her Mama, and the disappearance of her mate seemed to open up a fresh gash, threatening to slice her open. Her troubles caused her days to be a living nightmare, whilst in the night she tossed and turned, a cold sweat threatening to break as she bordered on the brink of insanity, her mind consumed by thoughts of only darkness and peril.
Then the news of her younger sister Saphira’s death reached her ears, and Aztec could cope with the continued sense of loss and despair no more. Saphira was the only connection she had to her birth pack; her brother Clover was dead, and she never wanted to see her birth mother again. Although Aztec had not come in contact with her younger sister for several moons, Saph had still meant a great deal to her, making her death a tragedy.
Finally, Aztec gave up. She resigned from her spot as Drappa, and ran from the lands of Deor, the sense of familiarity almost killing her. For days, she wandered the lone kerl lands, never sleeping, the worn soles of her paws cracked and sore, however, the feel of somebody watching her struck on the last afternoon, as Fenris began to sink below the mountains, and all was still. It turned out that Lasrachai, her determined, faithful, Lasrachai, the youngest daughter of Deor, had followed her from the pack lands, refusing to acknowledge the lost soul who was once her mother.
A whimper racked her body as she drew another strangled breath, remembering what had come next. Early spring was the time where one should be especially wary of bears, but of course, Lasrachai was only a pup, therefore did not know, and Aztec was in no state of mind to think things through properly. So when a bear came barrelling through the foliage ahead of them, the partly sane Arctic fae had insisted that Lasrachai run, while Aztec took on the bear, proving that her motherly instincts were still strong. But the bear was hungry, Aztec weak, and although the once strong wolf put up a good fight, her sharp teeth and quick reflexes were nought compared to that of the fully grown bear, and Aztec soon passed out after taking a particularly nasty blow to the head.
Awaking minutes later to her daughters screams, Aztec paid no heed to the searing pain in her head, or to the gushing wound in her leg which caused her blinding physical torture. It was like somebody had flicked a switch in her brain onto automatic, and all she could think of was her little Las, one who she loved with all her heart.
Only she was too late.
The sight of her daughters mangled body in a clearing of pines was grotesque, but her mother could not help but look. Midnight blue eyes widened, Aztec froze mid-step, and time seemed to stop for eternity as she watched the smug bear pick up its trophy, clutch her beautiful daughter between its powerful jaws, and leave silently, completely ignoring the freeze-frame behind it.
A small cry escaped from her bloodstained lips, as the bear flung the small carcass down beside his den, and moved away periodically. All her common sense blocked out by the pain of anguish and suffering, the Arctic wolf darted out to where her daughter lay, and gave her a feverent lick upon the muzzle. “Las?” she whispered, eyes round in denial. Her breath quickened as she clutched her lifeless daughter by the scruff of the neck, and tore away from the den, fighting to ignore the voice screaming at her in her head, telling her to stop and tend her wounds. But she persevered, her insanity insisting that once she left the forest, Lasrachai would be alright; once they were greeted by open space, everything would be fine. But deep down, Aztec knew it wasn’t fine. It would never be fine. And as she breached the border of the forest, gently laying her still daughter to the new spring grass, a cry tore through her illusions, once so convincing, now, just a shadow of something fleeting in the night. Turning her muzzle to the skies, bright filtered colours shining from the last of Fenris’s rays, a howl sounded. The howl spoke of happy times, now gone, and the grief and suffering the solemn note held was almost unbearable. A flock of sparrows took to the air, frightened by this tale of solitude and loneliness. So emotional was the tale, it was hard for some to imagine what it felt like. But Aztec knew, oh, she knew all too well. And she wished so desperately that it would all just go away.
“My little Lasrachai,” she cried out in anguish, bowing her head as she nuzzled the lifeless corpse beneath her. Ocean blue eyes veiled, she studied the body carefully, realising this was not her daughter. Maybe once her daughters soul took part in this body, but now….... Shaking her head once more, her lowered eyes raised once more, wishing the Gods didn’t need Lasrachai back so soon. “Take care of her,” she whispered, eyes brimming with a mixture of tears and blood, as she turned and ran.
For days, Aztec had ran, perhaps trying to outrun her past, her problems, the feeling of guilt that struck her like a powerful blow every time she pictured Lasrachai’s laughing face, the way her eyes sparkled when she was up to something, the way her tail lowered slightly when she knew she would be scolded. On the first night, Aztec was so lonely it was almost unbearable. The salty tears slid down her muzzle continuously, but after she was through, there was no feeling of relief, the feeling she was usually granted after tears. No, there was only emptiness, and the constant throbbing of her snapped tendon, and the seeping wound upon her head.
Days and nights passed, and soon the familiar scent of Koran flickered across her almost useless nasal passages. She was weak from dehydration and hunger, and the festering wounds on her head and leg had not been treated. She used these physical pains as an escape, to try and feel something other than the deep sense of loss and failure, boring a deep hole straight through her heart. But this scent, this Koran – “Tarkah,” her voice was cracked and lips dry and stained with day old blood, but she still recognised the scent. Pushing on, a moan escaped her muzzle, and she realised she wouldn’t have to put up with this pain much longer. Soon- everything would fade, and her body and mind would be numb to all pain, just how she wanted it.
She gasped as a searing pain shook her frail body, almost collapsing out of exhaustion. However, she was determined, and she bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood. Trying to block out all feeling, she concentrated solely at the task at hand – to find Tarkah.
For she might be the only one who could drag her out of this mindless abyss of shadows and images.
