Post by Tasá on Feb 8, 2005 15:03:54 GMT -5
*the weak and pallid winter sunlight coursed through the many gaps in the weak canopy above. the skeletal fingers of the bare trees grasped at the pale blue sky, so pale and brittle it was like an thin layer of iced had formed over it, hovering above the earth; soon to shatter into a thousand pieces and fall to the earth, piercing the hearts and flesh of all lera.
the forest floor was spotted with sunlight given off by the weak rays of Fenris. Tor ruled in winter, but day by day Fenris gathered his strength for the spring that loomed upon the expecting creatures of this sad little earth.
on the patterned floor two worn and cracked pads stalked. Tasá, her dark glittering orbs half lidded from the hideous light and the ugly world saw only where her paws were about to fall, and the space before her. the sunlight fell onto her unkempt and scraggy light greyish brown pelt - grimy and parted by a multitude of scars - but her fur reflected no light, it did not gleam in happiness at the soft and carrassing touch of the warm sunlight like a healthy varg's coat should. dead to the world, and most of her kind, Tasá co-existed, refusing to leave this earth and causing more havoc and pain each second she lived. every varg she met she seemed to make into an enemy, she had forgotten all that was in her past, enemy after enemy, endless pain, all lay behind her, she lived in the present, didnt want to look forwards, for she could see nothing for her there. she couldnt even remember the vargs she had befriended, back before she had gotten worse. when she was almost normal. for she wasnt born a monster, she was made into one by her own kind.
she stuck out like a sore thumb, her ribs stuck out like she was a mere walking skeletal, her whole skeletal frame marking her as if she should be dead. more than once she had lain down in the open to sleep and awoken to ravens upon her chest, acting as if preying about a dead varg and surprised to find their meal had sharp working teeth.
Tasá plodded on aimlessly, her paws found a hollow log. an old fallen tree, hollow and leaning against another tree. propped up, a stairway to the canopy above. slowly and carefully she climbed up, her sharp and long claws acting as grips. at the top, she lifted her white muzzle to the sky, white and aged before her time, the mad old kerl howled. a pointless howl, but she let her music float into the winter's day. a solitary tune, full of bitterness, harshness, pain and pure unadultered hate.*
the forest floor was spotted with sunlight given off by the weak rays of Fenris. Tor ruled in winter, but day by day Fenris gathered his strength for the spring that loomed upon the expecting creatures of this sad little earth.
on the patterned floor two worn and cracked pads stalked. Tasá, her dark glittering orbs half lidded from the hideous light and the ugly world saw only where her paws were about to fall, and the space before her. the sunlight fell onto her unkempt and scraggy light greyish brown pelt - grimy and parted by a multitude of scars - but her fur reflected no light, it did not gleam in happiness at the soft and carrassing touch of the warm sunlight like a healthy varg's coat should. dead to the world, and most of her kind, Tasá co-existed, refusing to leave this earth and causing more havoc and pain each second she lived. every varg she met she seemed to make into an enemy, she had forgotten all that was in her past, enemy after enemy, endless pain, all lay behind her, she lived in the present, didnt want to look forwards, for she could see nothing for her there. she couldnt even remember the vargs she had befriended, back before she had gotten worse. when she was almost normal. for she wasnt born a monster, she was made into one by her own kind.
she stuck out like a sore thumb, her ribs stuck out like she was a mere walking skeletal, her whole skeletal frame marking her as if she should be dead. more than once she had lain down in the open to sleep and awoken to ravens upon her chest, acting as if preying about a dead varg and surprised to find their meal had sharp working teeth.
Tasá plodded on aimlessly, her paws found a hollow log. an old fallen tree, hollow and leaning against another tree. propped up, a stairway to the canopy above. slowly and carefully she climbed up, her sharp and long claws acting as grips. at the top, she lifted her white muzzle to the sky, white and aged before her time, the mad old kerl howled. a pointless howl, but she let her music float into the winter's day. a solitary tune, full of bitterness, harshness, pain and pure unadultered hate.*
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