//.All is Not Lost.//(((Alkiera)))

[Caoimhe]

Hulking clouds rolled treacherously over the splendor of a forest in the process of utter restoration after the brutal winter snows had drained Ge-Rad of any life; that was now bequeathed unto the Vargs that roamed the terra. The abrupt sides and summits of vast mountains loomed darkly in the far distance and the solemn silence of imperial nature was broken only by the shrieks of lera as they busied themselves with the worries of inferior creatures. Life flourished, yet still the drafts of air that swept the lands did not bring welcomed scents of Dragga and son- and for one young daughter of Ge-Rad, with each passing day the earth turned duller. She walked an air of limp indifference, straying far from the dens that held her family, her pack. Scent-marks grew less evident in the core of the lands yet as she drifted closer to the outlying boundaries they again grew strong, ever-coursing through the air to let any trespasser be aware of the ferocity and zeal that this certain band protected their homelands with. Multiple spats and fights had occurred with each moon yet to her Drappa’s grave fancy no entire pack seemed to know of her Dragga and his son’s disappearance, but each wolf spat the cursed name of the Man and the bitch that forced their departure. The young femme’s Drappa, Cwen, was a phantasm of her former grandeur yet she still controlled the entirety of Ge-Rad with her continuous dominance, and for that the fae sought her as an idol. When Renn- the lover of Kop and the femme that had caused the majority of the turmoil in Ge-Rad –took her leave of the packlands the brindled hybrid felt simultaneous feelings of relief and sorrow, for the cub had not seen Renn as a threat entirely, but also a tie to the grizzled adolescent male. Unlike the golden fae herself, the younger femme hadn’t felt jealousy stir in her breast, but a driving instinct to tear Renn’s throat open; watch malevolently as her red life pooled on the ground, but instead the two bickered back and forth, using more threats than necessary, especially on private soil, in the Listern Varg’s case.
The wind ebbed and altered its course, delivering a fresh quantity of scents to her questing muzzle. The dappled brown ears that stood erect atop her head curled and twitched, interpreting each quaint sound the woodland lera chirped. In the sullen skies that stretched endlessly above the she-cub, the sharply metallic talons of her osprey companion Tarak glinted in what amber shafts of light pierced the clouds, before the dourness of the clouds yawned and swallowed. The bird’s black orbs glowered harshly over the pack’s boundaries as his mistress slowed, her tail drooping sorrowfully. Would her beloved packmembers ever return to cross these indiscernible lines without hanging limply from the jaws of another? Lowering herself stiffly into a crouch, the femme gazed to the muddied horizon, alone save for the shade of herself and the grizzled falcon that stooped in the pines. Her pelt was relatively thick, though her skin clung tightly to her ribs and hung loosely below her stomach- prey was scarce, and the adults needed the lera far more than she. She was gaunt, her ribs protruding, though in her stunning cyan eyes the unconquerable gleam of will gleamed brightly, all for the study of revenge, and he immortal hate she would forever carry towards the brutes that stole from her pack a Dragga and a son. With a smooth toss of her head, the femme’s maw was quivering with the force of her young howl, strong and spitfire and laced with the courage never to submit or yield.


(((Kudos to the person who can find the lines from John Milton’s Paradise Lost.)))

[Alkiera]

((Hmph. Never heard of it!))

How in the hell did she get herself into such situations? Thus was the question that rammed through her head like an echoeing headache, faint yet very well noticable. She always seemed to find herself upon another pack's terratory; last was List who had housed her when she suffered from head trauma. Now, the only reminder of her ailment was the cripple of a barely-there limp, unnoticable unless one watches how she walks carefully.

The wretched scent of List was long gone, and now she had the distinct scent of a Kerl, a muddled smell of pine, earth, deer and other animal musk, river water, and even the flowers that began to bloom. It was a pleasing smell, for it was the scent of the forest itself. The scents of a pack bothered her nose with the smell of urine heavy in the air from Vargs marking the terratory and relieving themselves only upon these lands. And the problem was, the vile smell was familiar on so many levels.

Ge-Rad.

She had heard the name before, either ver subtley or in a manner that made her believe it was not a well-respected pack. Alkiera had indeed met the Beta Female, though at the time she was merely the Healer. That damned Lydair, a thick-headed Hybrid dog that cursed her beloved God, Zostar, the only Varg who truly loved her enough to place her upon the planet, as Wolfbane himself. The disgrace and loathing she had felt the moment Lydair scorned the fact that fire killed and was no good, and she even refused to listen to Alkiera's rebuttle that fire is a God. If has the power to destroy and rekindle life. And infertal forest could be turned fertile with fire, for though the trees burn to ash, it is an ash so fertile that a new, more lively forest blooms. Didn't Tor and Fenris kill and birth others?

A howl disturbed her thoughts, and Alkiera stood there in all her glory. Some would call her ugly, but that was only in her spitfire personality which usually critisized Vargs if they peeved her enough. Her original victim was Lydair herself, and she enjoyed scorning of the Hyrbid's bloodline and such, but that was only because she despised the Varg with such a loathing. Now was the damned cliched of a Varg Desdimona, who was too desperate to come across as the "Oh my Tor, aren't I the most evil Varg in the world!" attempting to be something she isn't, only taking the cliched Red eyes, Black pelt equals evil as an excuse. She was agitated with this Varg to the extent. She was pretty in her own way, but why any Varg would be attracted to her would be a mystery among mysteries. Her pelt was a deep ebon, save for her paws which took on a bloody maroon colouring. She wore these socks upon her paws, save for one which was an entire stocking.

Thinking back to the howl, she decides to follow it out of sheer boredom. It was a bore to be in forbiddon lands if there was no one there, and she made her way towards where a small figure was. Being of four years now, she was the same age as the Alpha Male, and older then most Vargs she came across. Most were merely cubs, whilst others were of two years and already having a love-life, or even a mate. Desperate love-sick bitches, it bothered her to and extent with the fact that "Life isn't complete unless you love someone as worthless as you" is beleved by most. Of course, Alkiera was most definately a different Varg on so many levels.

Noting the fact that the Varg that now stood before her was merely a cub, she gives a smile that meant to have absolutely no meaning and tilts her head. She noticed that she too was a hybrid, but decided not to dwell on the topic...not yet at least.

"My, have I been tresspassing upon these lands little one?" she growls between her teeth. She was in no mood for an introduction. Apparently this pack must be contaminated with hybrids, or even all hybrids, she did not know. Was Ge-Rad a bastard's pack?

[Caoimhe]

The approaching female was intruding on Ge-Rad packlands, but the gaunt, dappled she-cub did naught. Her blank cyan eyes turned to rest on the maroon and ebony female, her colourings so absurd, yet amazing to her young eyes. Furrowing her brow, her blunt maw curled in a sadistic half-smile as her nostrils flared and the earthen, wet scent of a loner filled her senses, and as the words were spat through gritted jowls, the young hybrid stood and turned to fully view the female. Her eyes were hard and a dangerous gold, but the icy glare was reflected in the cub’s azure ones. []i“If I’m so little, then surely I wouldn’t know,”[/I] she muttered. “You adults always believe that because we’re smaller we’re entirely ignorant. Feel free to trespass, but I doubt you’ll get very far.” She eyed the black femme curiously, her brindled ears twitching. “What do you want here, anyway? What’s your name?” Alkiera’s obnoxious comment would have spurred the overwrought, mature Vargs, but the half-Dog fae was not angered quite as rapidly- little did she know, however, she was speaking with her dam’s enemy, and did not know of the hatred for hybrids the maroon-socked Kerl harbored. “My name is Caoimhe.”

It was true to an extent that many femmes believed love was the only thing worth fighting for, and whilst Caoimhe herself had fallen fast and hard, she felt there were many other things to fight for in her life, but her pack seemed to be a pathetic example of the nonsense. Two beloved wolves had disappeared, and with them vanished the pack’s splendor, and the meaning. They had housed the unwanted visitor from List grudgingly, had endured an old dragga from Koran trying to regain power in the lands, invasions from the Balkar and Sarnes…and now they hung by a claw, grappling with reasons to remain united.

(((Not done; gotta go.)))[/color]

[Alkiera]

((I shall wait for your post's completion. ^.^))