Post by André on Jan 27, 2006 22:54:59 GMT -5
The snow was cold on his dark red pads as he made his way down the slope to the Koran Dens. A cold wind blew bitterly through the air, rattling the brown underbrush around him. Dry snow crunched beneath his weight as the varg made his way slowly forward. powder whipping in the wind against his flanks. In his mind, timidly, Andre asked himself why he always did it.
The varg had once been a dragga of the pack, but was now no more than a mongrel, like a sick dog who has lost his way. Left eye completly obliterated, and scar tissue riddling his body, Andre looked like he was far past his prime. Ribs were clearly visible through the hide on his flanks, and as he walked, the skin rippled over them slowly, thing tough muscles guiding his legs forward like an unthinking machine.
Starving as he was, and sick as well, the varg held his head up high, and traversed the slope in a straight like, like an arrow. Dying dog he may have looked, but his internal workings were as rigid as ever. Unfaltering, the defamed, and lost Dragga made his way to the dens, and warmth. His single eye gazed straight before him, dark green like the tough briars that clung to his coat, and tore tiny lacerations along his legs and face. A faint limp every three steps could be seen on Andre's left forepaw, as his shoulder dipped with the motion hypnotically. Somewhere in the distance a mockingbird called hoarsely.
Ice clung to the branches of the trees from the storm the previous night, which still struggled to last. Small flakes of dry powder were torn about in the stiff wind, and obscured Andre's vision of the Dens. Nevertheless, he knew where they would lie, as he knew every square inch of the Koran territory like his own pitted and sarred body. He had sniffed the markings out hours before when he had entered the territory, and knew at once that he was on the correct path. The red-pelted varg could have walked his path to the Dens with his eyes closed.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the snow reminded Andre of the time he had first met Tarkah, in a cave sheltered from a brutal snowstorm. The darkness of early morning that surrounded Andre on his trip back to Koran was different from that of the dead night when he had met her, but somewhere in his heart Andre knew that the storm was the same one that had battered him on his path in destiny, to meet his mate. And now as he returned to her, Andre asked himself why he was doing it, and what he had done.
Half of his mind made perfect sense of it, and the other half screamed in protest. Andre was restless, and he knew it in his heart. He had set out once again to hunt the humans down beyond the mountains, forgetting his pack and his mate, But now as he returned, broken, cold and hungry, he wondered what it was all for, and why he couldn't remain with Tarkah for more than a month at a time. He loved her, true, but staying still always bugged him after the incident over a year ago. He had been caught in a bear trap, and set off to kill the humans. He had missed his pups growing, and he hadn't been there for Tarkah to help her hunt for them. Somewhere in hist heart, Andre thought the truth was that he was too ashamed of himself to remain in Koran for too long at a time.
And so Andre stood, still, outside the den, gazing in at a lone white shape in the gray darkness of the morning, and cried a single tear from his sole eye.
The varg had once been a dragga of the pack, but was now no more than a mongrel, like a sick dog who has lost his way. Left eye completly obliterated, and scar tissue riddling his body, Andre looked like he was far past his prime. Ribs were clearly visible through the hide on his flanks, and as he walked, the skin rippled over them slowly, thing tough muscles guiding his legs forward like an unthinking machine.
Starving as he was, and sick as well, the varg held his head up high, and traversed the slope in a straight like, like an arrow. Dying dog he may have looked, but his internal workings were as rigid as ever. Unfaltering, the defamed, and lost Dragga made his way to the dens, and warmth. His single eye gazed straight before him, dark green like the tough briars that clung to his coat, and tore tiny lacerations along his legs and face. A faint limp every three steps could be seen on Andre's left forepaw, as his shoulder dipped with the motion hypnotically. Somewhere in the distance a mockingbird called hoarsely.
Ice clung to the branches of the trees from the storm the previous night, which still struggled to last. Small flakes of dry powder were torn about in the stiff wind, and obscured Andre's vision of the Dens. Nevertheless, he knew where they would lie, as he knew every square inch of the Koran territory like his own pitted and sarred body. He had sniffed the markings out hours before when he had entered the territory, and knew at once that he was on the correct path. The red-pelted varg could have walked his path to the Dens with his eyes closed.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the snow reminded Andre of the time he had first met Tarkah, in a cave sheltered from a brutal snowstorm. The darkness of early morning that surrounded Andre on his trip back to Koran was different from that of the dead night when he had met her, but somewhere in his heart Andre knew that the storm was the same one that had battered him on his path in destiny, to meet his mate. And now as he returned to her, Andre asked himself why he was doing it, and what he had done.
Half of his mind made perfect sense of it, and the other half screamed in protest. Andre was restless, and he knew it in his heart. He had set out once again to hunt the humans down beyond the mountains, forgetting his pack and his mate, But now as he returned, broken, cold and hungry, he wondered what it was all for, and why he couldn't remain with Tarkah for more than a month at a time. He loved her, true, but staying still always bugged him after the incident over a year ago. He had been caught in a bear trap, and set off to kill the humans. He had missed his pups growing, and he hadn't been there for Tarkah to help her hunt for them. Somewhere in hist heart, Andre thought the truth was that he was too ashamed of himself to remain in Koran for too long at a time.
And so Andre stood, still, outside the den, gazing in at a lone white shape in the gray darkness of the morning, and cried a single tear from his sole eye.